Those were fun times, even though it was junior high and high school, which means the joys of puberty, teen angst, growing pains of all types, pimples, training bras and waiting by the phone for the boy to call. 

I was a late bloomer in many ways, especially in physical development. I was only 5'2" my freshman year in high school, when I actually made the basketball team as a forward. Note: the type of girl's basketball we played in Iowa in the 70's is now extinct. The teams consisted of six girls - three offensive players (forwards) and three defensive players (guards). The forwards & opposing guards on both sides were limited to half court, and dribbles were limited to two per possession. Consequently, it was a very fast-moving game compared to the standard five-person, full court games.

Anyway, at 5'2" and probably around 90 lbs., I was barely able to get the ball up to the hoop, tho I could dribble and pass and move pretty well. Let's just say I wasn't much of a scorer that year, but thanks to our desperate coach's off-season tutoring, I learned how to draw fouls and shoot free throws - the short girl's dirty little trick.

The summer after freshman year, while I was playing softball (fast pitch, of course - non of that wimpy slow crap) I grew 6" in three months. Suddenly there was a sparkle of hope in our basketball coach's eye, since our entire team was pretty vertically challenged at that time. The Cattlefeederettes had enjoyed a long history as a girl's basketball dynasty, and the aforementioned coach, Mr. J, had been one of the winningest coaches in the state... until 1975, when all the big stars had graduated and he was left with a fresh and motley crew of short girls with determination and heart.

That summer of '76 was also when I began to discover the wonders of boys as more than just friends to play baseball with. In my sophomore year, I was finally asked out on a date to the upcoming Homecoming Dance by a local farm boy, B. He was actually the brother of one of my classmates and was two years older than me. That two year thing, alone, made it SO cool that of course I wanted to accept, even though I had never been particularly attracted to B. However, I had to ask Dad first. That was going to be tough, as I already knew how Dad felt about girls my age dating - not particularly keen on that.

I waited for just the right moment when Dad was in his LazyBoy after a big farm-style meal (ie: meat and 200 side dishes) and rubbing his besocked feet happily in front of the TV - "All in the Family" was on, which was one of his favorites. So I waited for a commercial break, then proceeded to launch into my hugely important request. I had decided to downplay the "date-ish" aspect of this, and said, "Dad, can I go to Homecoming with BC? He's real nice, you know." Dad just sat there, staring at the commercial as if he hadn't heard me. After a few seconds of silence, he said, "Well, you know boys'll just screw up your jump shot." My heart sank... I figured this was the death knell to my chance at a first date with an older guy with a cool car. I would probably never be allowed to date - ever. But then, Dad said, "Well, just make sure you're home by 12:00." Woo hoo! Finally I was going to have a real "date"! This was huge! OK, it was only B, but it was still a date! 

So this first date was an extra huge thing, replete with the floor length formal and corsage and all the requisite Homecoming regalia. As the hour of the magic ball approached, I was a mess - of course I had a zit!!! And I was one of those lucky 15-yr-olds who was NOT prone to acne on a regular basis, so this was just so unfair. I desperately masked the evil zit with cakey makeup, which in actuality made it look like a tiny little pie, and hoped like hell my date wouldn't notice. It would be dark at the dance, after all... there was hope. 

B showed up exactly on time (a typical Iowa thing) to pick me up in his cool muscle car. Note: most farm boys at that time had cool muscle cars. He was dressed in a spiffy leisure suit - brown, I think. He brought my corsage to the door, holding it cautiously as though it might spring to life and bite him. It was obvious that B was not very experienced with this kind of thing, which actually made me feel a bit less awkward, myself.

That night was great simply because I had a date. B and I really had nothing in common, so didn't really talk to each other much - rather we each gravitated to our own groups of friends at the dance as was typical of those occasions. Girls usually all ended up on one side of the gym, and boys on the other, except for the "steady couples" that were always fondling each other in the middle and making the rest of us cringe and snicker. 

After the dance, B dutifully took me home right at 12:00. He turned off his car and leapt out, racing around to the passenger side to open my door... but I was already standing beside the Mustang by the time he got there. Oh, well. He clumsily walked me to the front porch, which was lit up like a prison yard during an escape attempt. As we stood awkwardly at the door, B nervously said, "Well, thanks. I had fun." He then launched into the funniest "attack-peck" on the lips, turned and practically ran back to his car. I remember thinking, "That was my first kiss? Oh."

Though B and I didn't last more than a couple of dates, the whole experience seemed to have set the stage for the future. After that, whenever there was a boy in the picture - even the duds - I couldn't concentrate very well on things at hand. My game was off. My jump shot was definitely screwed up. Hmmm... guess Dad was right.

Even to this day, the screwed-up-jump-shot-syndrome continues. Now, however, the jump shots in question take the form of my work and my social life. Both seem to have suffered nearly every time there was a boy in my life. Don't misunderstand - I'm not blaming the boys. It's my thing. I don't seem to have the appropriate multi-tasking ability to handle both work/life and boys simultaneously... kind of an all or nothing situation, it would seem - either all boy and no work/life, or all work/life and no boy. Whatever. In the final analysis, I always seem to return to my work and social life in lieu of the boy, anyway. At least I know my way around in those worlds. The world of boys is still a mystery to me... an alluring, seductive and compelling mystery, but a mystery, nonetheless.

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A couple of Cattlefeederette-related links if you're interested:

This Sioux City Journal article references my old pal, Connie Kunzmann, with whom I played softball and later partied my brains out with in college - a couple years later she was brutally murdered by her boyfriend. 

And here's a nicely done little YouTube video with snippits of the Union Whitten v. Everly 1968 Championship Game including interviews with two of the star Cattlefeederettes of that time, Jeanette Olsen and Janet Sharnberg, as well as the infamous Long sisters of the opposing team - pretty cool if you have 5 minutes to kill and want a taste of what Iowa Girl's Basketball mania was like back in the day. I was one of the screaming spectators at that game, BTW.