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?

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