The Pajama Party-a coming of age story

I have a friend that I never met in person, we met on facebook her name is Angel and the name fits her. We have shared many desperate prayers; family trouble, sickness, the start of my ministry, my first published work, we have laughed together, cried together and have come to rely on one another's friendship. Last Christmas, even though I was in Florida, she messaged me and asked for the address where I was staying. I thought she wanted to send me another Christmas card, but instead she sent me a pink one piece  footie pajamas. A couple of years ago we were talking on the phone and she mention that she was wearing footie pajamas. I laughed and told her I have been wanting some footie pajamas since we were having a particularly cold winter in Florida that year. Two years later she still remembered that conversation and sent me  pink footie pajamas. It's the small acts of kindness that shows you Jesus in the ordinary and everyday. Her thoughtfulness filled me with joy and gratitude.

Facebook is a place to meet new friends and to reconnect with old friends. I recently reconnected with my very first boyfriend. He's always been a really nice guy, handsome, quiet, and laid back. He now services God. I'm always amazed that the God that walks so close to us can walk with our childhood friends on the other side of the country. His all consuming fire burns everywhere. I know I'm dragging this story out, but I have to put it altogether, because it all came together in bits and pieces, and left me laughing, crying and shaking my head. Be patient with me this might be a long post.

Last night I had a conversation with Angel about the footie pajamas. I have been fighting a cold and walking around with puffy swollen eyes and tissue hanging from my nose. I told her that I was going to put on my footie pajamas and climb in the bed.  I wore them once before; a few days after receiving them while visiting Florida last month. My sisters Jill and Gina  had a field day. They laughed and told me I looked  five instead of fifty and that I would never get a husband(something my family annoyingly think I need-against my protest) if I continued to wear stuff like that. I told them I was bringing sexy back, they said I was setting sexy back. Angel asked me to send her a picture in the pj's, with tissue and all. I promised to do that.

As I was attempting the impossible task of creating a flattering pose in pink footie pajamas, my sister Claudia called. I told her what I was doing. I didn't want to disappoint Angel, but I didn't want to post a picture of myself in an oversize sleeper. For one, I look ridiculous and another, I don't think anyone should post pictures in their sleepwear on facebook. Claudia and I were trying to think of ways to appease Angel and protect my decency at the same time. As the subject of discretion is being discussed, a long forgotten memory emerged from that cobwebbed attic portion of my brain, you know the area that periodically demand a good dusting.

It was  late fall in the early seventies and it was also the beginning of the eight grade for my friends and I. I had just moved back to the quiet black suburban neighborhood where I spent the majority of my childhood. I had three childhood best-friends Cheryl, Fran and Reniece. We have been friends since kindergarten. In the two years that I have been away their maturity level has exceeded mine. They now have boyfriends who are sophomores in high school, and they knew how to french kiss. I was determined to learn how to french kiss and to get a boyfriend. I did just that. With a determination birthed from peer pressure, hormones and a schoolgirl crush, I got my first boyfriend. He was in his sophomore year of high school; a much older man back then. He's handsome with big brown eyes, a warm smile and reserved demeanor. Anytime he came near me, I would blush and forget how to talk. If he noticed my awkwardness he never said so. To my utter amazement, he liked me too. Back then the boy would ask a girl, "How's my chances?," and she would say, something like good or bad. If she said good you automatically became his girlfriend. That's how it happened for me. He asked, I said, "good" and just like that, with one word I went from playing with Barbie dolls to a romantic relationship.

Relationship require work, even the immature teenage kind, and unfortunately for me boyfriends didn't come with an owners manual.  Work to me consisted of french kissing like my friends. So after a few weeks of him hanging around the bumbling mute I had become, we kissed. Our relationship transformed into a few stolen kisses and bright-eyed adoration. I liked having a boyfriend and I wrote our names all over my notebooks, park benches and anywhere else I could use a pen and small carving instrument. I even wore  miniature "T" shaped stickers on both sides of my  face. One teacher asked me did my "T&T" stand for dynamite(totally inappropriate) and I boldly let him know it was for my boyfriend Tommy. Then my three friends and I had  "The Pajama Party."

We planned the party for weeks. We planned the menu, the activities, and the music. We also planned on sneaking our boyfriends in the window as soon as Cheryl's grandmother went to sleep. We decided that we all needed new pajamas instead of the tired ratty ones we wore at home. In the household I lived  new pajamas were available for Christmas presents only. I begged my mother to find it in her budget to buy me new pajamas for the party. On the day of the party, as soon as I walked in from school my mother handed me an unopened package of brand new pajamas. They were soft pink and wrapped securely in a plastic package. I was elated. I packed in a hurry and left to meet Fran and Reniece. We walked together to Cheryl's house. Our party started before dark, we combed each other hair, spraying massive amounts of White Rain hair spray on our kitchen counter hairdos. We gave ourselves facials, which back then consisted of Noxzema and Witch Hazel. We were preparing for our men smelling of a combination of Noxzema, White Rain and Witch Hazel.  After a few hours it  was time to put on our new pajamas. To my absolute teenage horror my soft pink two piece pajamas set had the footie attached like an infant. I was horrified! My mother had pulled a fast one on me. Why would she chose a pajamas party to buy me baby pajamas? There's always that certain moment in  adolescent; when while exercising your independence from your parents  you come to the unfaltering conclusion that your parents are, "Out to ruin your life." That was mine. I turned bright red and lite up like a Christmas tree from embarrassment.

At around eight-thirty or nine o'clock our dates arrived at Cheryl's bedroom window. Cheryl's grandmother went to bed early and slept hard. We had little worry of her catching us. Cheryl also had an uncle that lived in the house. He drank heavy, talked to himself and mostly stayed in his room. I wanted to cancel the visit from the guys, but my friends refused. We devised a plan where I would stay in one of the twin beds in Cheryl's room with my legs under the cover. The boys climbed into the window with little effort. In my memory the boys that came that night were Tommy, Marshal (Cheryl's boyfriend), Kermit (Fran's boyfriend) and Bubba a loud-mouth boy that played too much and was known for his laughing and teasing about your most vulnerable childhood traumas. He is a lot of fun when the jokes not on you. I don't remember Reniece's boyfriend, but none of us dated Bubba that I'm sure of. I wondered who invited him. There was no way I would let him see I had on baby pj's. I would be the laughing-stock of the neighborhood. I had finally lived down getting spanked in front of my friends for sneaking to the movies that summer.

I don't know why the memory came back the way it did. It might have been the soft pink pajamas with the footies that Angel sent, or the fact that I have been in touch with Tommy, or a combination of both.  Suddenly the memory was  vivid and technicolor full of smells, tastes, emotions and sounds. I never left the bed that night while the guys were there. Tommy sat on the edge of the bed next to me and before long we were kissing. I was in a sitting position with my feet tucked securely under the blanket. Cheryl was in the other bed next to Marshal and they were kissing, partly because of raging teenage hormones, but mostly in support of me. She didn't want me to feel alone in my embarrassment so we made it appear as if being in bed was part of our seductive plan. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

 Our kisses were clumsy and unsure in front of our peers, but sweet in that teenage love kind of way. Even though we were on the same bed wrapped in each others arms there was no groping or touching of delicate secret places. We were stuck between the two worlds of children and adults, and we didn't fit either one. That night we tried on our grown-up legs; they were wobbly and uncertain and didn't yet work. His kisses were youthfully sweet and had a slight fragrance of mint and faded garlic. I was guarded and nervous full of raw emotions and fear. My heart beat to loud, I smelled of Noxzema and hair spray, and I held a embarrassing secret under the blanket. In the background the stereo was playing a 45 of the Isley Brother's song, Summer Breeze. That night in my infant pink footie pajamas, I felt as if I had discovered the secret of grown up love and it felt scary and too big.  After about an hour of entertaining our boyfriends, Bubba laughed real loud and woke Cheryl's uncle. He knocked on the bedroom door and demanded to know what we were doing. The boys had to jump out the window in a hurry. The party was over.

Unfortunately like many small towns our little indiscretion found it's way to the rumor mill via- that loud-mouthed Bubba. Our little plan backfired, my friends and I got a reputation of being, "tramps," per the sophomore girls, of which my eldest sister happened to belong. She came home from school that following Monday and informed my mother and grandmother. I got spanked and grounded for a week. Back then there were no laws governing how to discipline your children, we suffered the consequences of our rebellious actions.  As I was telling the story to my sister Claudia last night, she was appalled at the outcome. I laughed, because that didn't bother me as much as those infant footie pajamas did. I said, "I'm just glad they didn't find out about my pajamas." She laughed and said, "Spoken like a true teenager."

Even after I had lain down to sleep last night the memory was so real it kept me awake. Fran and Cheryl both died ten or eleven years ago. Marshal died a few years later. I have not seen Reniece or Tommy in over thirty years. I did see Bubba a couple of years ago. I once read that the best things in life are the people you love, the places you've been and the memories you've made along the way. I'm glad God gave me the gift of my childhood friends. Those are the people that walked with me through those formative years; when I was skinny, and awkward; all elbows, knees and big teeth that resembles Chiclets. Yet they loved me. Last night I wanted, if only for a moment, to be back there in that room that night. I wanted to see Cheryl , Fran and Marshal and tell them that they're important and that their lives mattered. I wanted to hug each of those kids and tell them how much they meant to me. I wanted to relive that night with all it's silly childish chaotic moments.

 Tommy and I broke up shortly after that night (that's another story, and in my defense,-I think we should just let bygones be bygones). Our closeness didn't survive the break-up but we remained distant friends. I realize that he will always hold the title of my first boyfriend, the place of honor reserved for the special. I'm glad he's back in my life and hope we stay in touch, though we both admit we're sometimes slack in doing so. I spoke to Reniece for the first time in over thirty years last year and although we promised to keep in touch, we haven't. I pray that their lives are full of love, laughter and special moments and that they take the time to notice.

I hope they see Jesus in the everyday and the ordinary.

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