Revisionist History

Once there was a boy who bravely came a knocking on the door of my parent's house.  My dad knew his mom and from his mom, knew he had bad grades.  He wasn't a drug dealer, didn't get into trouble, just had the D average my father's other two other kids would eventually graduate with.  The boy asked for me and my father told the boy he didn't have time for girls, he needed to go home and study.  I was 15 or so when this happened but today was the first I heard this guy had ever come over to see me.

I know boys are notorious hound dogs so maybe I shouldn't give him too much credit, knowing anything resembling feelings were probably protected by an armor of hormones, but coming to a girl's house is something to me, especially my house.  I spent high school and onward thinking I wasn't the girl guys liked, and somehow this story kind of knocked over a domino in my head and made me consider my history a little differently.  To be sure, I was no Lolita, but today I'm realizing between my insecurity, which came off as indifference or aloofness, and my father, and my weird reputation (one guy remarked he was surprised to see me outside after dark because it was apparently common knowledge I wasn't allowed out after sunset--which by the way wasn't explicitly true), guys probably expected to get shut down at the Ava express.  Some tried to board, but the ones my dad didn't turn away without my knowledge, I shut down myself.  All this time I spent feeling undesirable, tonight I wonder if the biggest difference between me and all the other girls might just be that they humor a guy, let him work out the kinks a bit before they decide if he's worth the trouble.  Now my dad tells me I need to cut men some slack when they are trying to talk to me.  After almost 40 years of habit, he wants me to try indulging a pick up.  Lord are they desperate for grandchildren...