When I was a young boy I was prone to crushes. I remember once reading a true story and falling in love with the main character whose name was Nancy. She was beautiful, courageous and strong. The artist that drew her used simple charcoal strokes that made my young heart flutter.
The story progressed through her early years, her life in the wilderness with her family, her trials and tribulations. My heart broke as a tall gangly fellow began to court her and she seemed to be as taken with him as he with her. I retreated to my room when they married. “I just don’t feel well mom.” I said, trying to hold back the tears, when she asked what was wrong. I realized Nancy would never be mine when she gave birth. I managed to move on.
I guess I should be happy for her, she lived a good, long life and her son grew up to be the 16th president of the United States, but I can’t help but think she would have been happier with me.
Yes, I had a boyhood crush on Abraham Lincoln’s mother.