THE TUCK GIRL AND I chapter 68

Della and I got closer and closer. By the end of the year I was pretty sure we both knew it was love. I know I did. We did have a conflict. She wanted to be a missionary and doubted that I did. I had no real idea as to what my call may have been — just the ministry I guess. All I knew was that I wanted to be in ministry. I knew that nothing resonated with my heart more than what Miss A discussed in her classes. I was convinced that we needed churches with a total emphasis on all aspects of life and that meant children and youth as well as adults. Real men didn’t go into Christian Education, and to the best of my knowledge there were only two in the Canadian Alliance at the time and for both, it was somewhat of a sideline. I always interpreted the need to be an understanding and skilled pastor. Also, if you really wanted to be Godly, be a missionary. Second, you could always settle and be a pastor. Third, wait – there was no third, but if there had been it would have been music. At least some saw a place for music in the church.

I confess that part of my attraction to Della was that she didn’t seem to really need me. I often felt like she could take me or leave me. There was no doubt we liked one another and she was probably just waiting for me to open my heart to missions. I was trying, but nothing was there. I guess God knew I would have a harder time with a foreign language than I did with public speaking. I didn’t even see myself as a mediocre speaker and as yet I had no aspirations to cross the ocean or fill the pulpit of some large church anywhere. I kind of thought I would end up closing the church if I even tried. This was an on going internal tug-o-war, albeit a gentle one. What challenged me is that she was not falling head over heals for me. I enjoyed the chase.

Della needed a car one night to get her and a few other girls to their Christian Service assignment. They were going to lead a Pioneer Girls program. It was the first time she asked to use my car. No problem. I didn’t really consider it my car any longer. It was God’s. My father was paying for it and I was using it. How could it be mine? When she returned from her service she sent word to the dorm to meet her in the Ad building. As soon as I saw her I could see something was wrong.  There was stress all over her face. As I approached she was looking at the floor. The first thing that crossed my mind was that something horrible had happened and she was about to break up with me. When I got near I could see tears rolling down her cheeks. I knew - I was about to be dumped.

 She had been in an automobile accident. My first response, after relief, was, “Are you OK? What about the other girls.” “No, everyone is fine. No one was hurt.” I was glad about that. “I backed your car into a light pole. And there is a dent in the back bumped.” I laughed and took her in my arms. “Is that all? Its only transportation and it sounds like it still runs. It’s no big deal.” “But it’s your first dent.” “So…” I didn’t care. She was surprised I didn’t want to go and check it out. I told her I would see it next time I drove the car. I think she took a step or two closer to me after that. I didn’t say it for that result, but I wasn’t disappointed.

I had now decided getting up for breakfast was a good thing. Breakfast was one of those times couples could be together. Did you know that about the only people at breakfast were couples? I didn’t until I went. The room was normally spread thinly with pairs of two. We sat with Franklin and Donna and all got to know each other pretty well. The four of us represented three different classes. Franklin and Donna were seniors, Della was a junior and I was a freshman. I suppose this should have caused me to lean more toward missions as all three of them wanted to be missionaries. It didn’t — then there was the language thing.

When in High school we were required to take two years of a foreign language. It was the 50’s and we were early into the cold war. The schools were pushing the Russian language. Everyone said it was very difficult. I really didn’t care much for difficult. I asked around to see which would be the easiest. Spanish, everyone said. I learned about a dozen words, how to say I didn’t speak Spanish and to count to 20. I was so bad; the instructor approached me at the end of the year and said she would pass me if I would promise not to take the course next year. I asked if she would write the note needed to get out of languages. Her note indicated that I had no aptitude for foreign languages. I guess I shouldn’t have been so pleased, but I was and I was released. Now maybe I could actually learn to speak English instead of Kansas farmers English (my families native tongue). Does that explain anything? Strangely, I find myself spitting out some of my families funky expressions. Where does that come from? I avoided those for years.

I first visited Della at her home on the Christmas break. I loved her mother immediately, a sweet Christian lady. She and Della were extremely close. I liked that. We certainly were dating in the cultural era of separation of men and women. When family arrived, the women all gathered in the kitchen, and most of the men stayed outside to smoke. Della’s father sat in the dining room in his recliner watching TV. I was initially led to the living room where I could also see the TV, but a wall divided her father and I. There I sat for most of that visit. If I entered the kitchen to talk, it got quiet. Not may men came around and I never figured out how to talk to her dad.  It was a strange introduction. Leroy, her brother, was friendly when he came around, but I didn’t see him much.

A huge clan gathered for Christmas dinner and to exchange gifts. They all endeared themselves to me at that time. This was a poor family and the gifts were small and meager. I was impressed with the extreme generosity of gratitude. Everyone was so thankful even for the smallest of gifts. I was impressed. My family was never that thankful. I had the sense that this would be a hard family to get to know, but I was impressed and liked them all the same. I just didn’t know if I could scale or break the walls that existed. In may ways I was not just the outsider, I was the Christian boy interested in one of their own.

As the weather improved in the spring Della and I loved walking in Wascana Park, down around the lake and Parliament buildings. The evening was beautiful and the area peaceful. Now Della had worked in a Five and Dime store in Red Deer, Alberta. As part of her job she cared for all the animals, mostly things like turtles, fish, budgies, etc. We were walking and taking and planning our futures when a bird flew right at my head. I immediately jumped from one side of Della to the other. She burst into laughter at my apparent fear of birds and never ever let me live that down - ever. It was pretty funny.

The year was coming to an end. She was going to Red Deer and I to Omaha. We were saying goodbye until fall. It would not be letters.

By the way, she was wearing that same collar flower (top photo) when I first saw her.  It is the photo that appeared in the 1964 yearbook.