Once upon a time I was seven years old and the new girl in the Glenmoor neighborhood. I was also maybe a little bit crazy.
In the afternoons I would ride my bike up and down the circle we had moved into, getting accustomed to the houses, showing my face to all the new neighbors.
At one house I passed, there lived a redheaded boy who was usually out shooting hoops in the driveway. I looked for him every time I made my rounds. He was pretty cute, and pretty good at basketball, so naturally, I thought we had a promising future together. We waved at each other as I rode by.
It was only a matter of weeks before my parents invited the boy's family over for dinner. I was excited and then incredibly mortified, when I learned that "my boy" was actually a girl with a short haircut, just two years older than me. She was nice, and I was ridiculous. We ended up in Young Womens together.
Seven years later, my family moved away. "My boy" went on to be a high school basketball star and, later, a sister missionary ... in the same mission as my high school sweetheart.
Isn't life strange?