Byron, the boy down the street. He was 9 and I was 7 and I loved him truly. Spent every possible moment with him and we were already making plans to get married and have a bunch of children when we got really old, like 16 or 17. I couldn't figure out why our parents were so weird about us being together -- my sister had a boyfriend and no one was weird with her. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was this undercurrent of tragedy and caution, both from my mother and from his. One day after we'd been boyfriend/girlfriend forever -- which, when you're 7,is probably a few months -- my mom took me aside and explained to me that Byron was retarded, a term I'd never heard. She said that I'd continue to grow and develop, but Byron would never get any older in his mind than he was right then.

I was shocked speechless, but I wished they'd never told me. I would have figured something out eventually, and I still had a couple of years I could have loved him. As it was, it made me see him differently, and to feel sorry for him and buy into their tragic vision of things, rather than our happy-go-lucky little kid love for each other.

ww