There are certain names that, even decades later, still carry a particular warmth when you say them out loud.

Sue Ann is one of those names for me.

The First Time We Met

I first saw her in Bob Martin’s yard in New Lisbon, Wisconsin. I was 12 or 13 years old, newly transplanted into town in sixth grade, still figuring out where I fit in. The boys were doing what boys did in the 1970s — playing a rough backyard version of football, the kind where whoever held the ball got tackled by everyone else. It was loud, dusty, chaotic.

And then she walked over.

I don’t even remember why she came by that day. I just remember noticing her. That’s the only way I can explain it. In the middle of all that noise and movement, she stood out. I remember wondering who she was, where she lived, and why I hadn’t seen her before.

I soon learned she lived five miles away in Hustler, Wisconsin — a town so small it almost felt like an extension of New Lisbon. Hustler had its own elementary school up through sixth grade, which meant she wasn’t in our building yet. But that would change in seventh grade when we’d all merge into the same junior high and stay together through graduation.

At that moment in Bob Martin’s yard, though, all I knew was that I was smitten.

Junior High: Just Friends

When seventh grade came and our schools combined, Sue Ann and I became part of the same world. Classes. Hallways. School events. But in those early junior high years, we were just friends. At that age, “serious” wasn’t really in my vocabulary. I was still trying to understand myself, let alone anyone else. I grew up in a house full of boys. I was very much into sports and academics. I didn’t know much about girls — other than they seemed complicated and fascinating at the same time.

We laughed. We talked. We shared space in that awkward, in-between stage of life when voices crack and confidence hasn’t quite arrived yet. There was something comfortable about her even then.

But it wasn’t until freshman year of high school that things shifted.

Freshman Homecoming

I still remember our freshman homecoming. Sue Ann was on the Court with Ray Blackburn.

That was one of the first times we went out formally. We didn’t drive yet, of course. We were 14. A senior named Jim S. — one of the good guys — agreed to chauffeur us. He drove us to dinner, then to the dance, and later allowed me the dignity of walking her to her door. I can still picture it. The nerves. The excitement. The weight of the moment.

And I remember being too scared to kiss her goodnight.

That was the beginning.

What started as a freshman homecoming date turned into an eight-year relationship — four years of high school and four years of college. We became, in many ways, inseparable. I thought she was beautiful - full of life, confidence, and intelligence. She had an independence about her that I admired as a young man.

High School Sweethearts

If you looked around New Lisbon High School in those years, you probably saw us together. We sat together. We shared a locker together. We studied together. We walked the halls together. We were connected at the hip. We would even walk to my house for lunch on school days so we could have alone time together.

Much to my mother’s concern. It didn’t matter that it was Sue Ann specifically — my mom just didn’t think I should be “going with” anyone that seriously at that age. Like any good parent, she worried. She understood the risks of young love and young hormones better than I did. But when you’re 15 or 16 and in love, you don’t think about consequences. You think about the next time you’ll hold hands. The next hug. The next slow dance. The next kiss.

We did all the things young couples do when they’re trying to stretch time together. We biked between towns. When we obtained our licenses to drive, we borrowed our parents’ cars whenever possible. Sometimes “borrowing” when my mom didn’t know about it. I guess that wouldn’t make it borrowing then? We spent all day in school together and then called each other at night. Our phone sat right in the middle of the living room, which made private conversations nearly impossible. So sometimes we’d just sit there, quietly, almost listening to each other breathe. It sounds strange now. But back then, it felt like everything.

When I turned 16 one of my first paying jobs was a bus boy at Target Bluff in Camp Douglas. It required that I drive from New Lisbon to get to work. Not only did it provide some much needed cash for living and entertainment expenses it also gave me a chance to stop and see Sue Ann on the way home. That was definitely a highlight on Sunday nights.

Growing up in a small town meant you had to create your own entertainment, and in many ways, that was part of the charm. A lot of our time was simply spent hanging out with friends or driving around aimlessly just so we could be together. Sometimes that meant parking somewhere quiet and stealing a few kisses, other times it meant heading to the dam for a swim or slipping away to a more private lake outside of town. We’d go to the drive-in for a burger and ice cream, sit on the hood of the car, and talk about everything and nothing. There was something special about small-town living — the simplicity, the closeness, the feeling that the world was small but full at the same time — and sharing all of that with her made those ordinary moments feel extraordinary.

We would end up going to every Homecoming and Prom together. There may have been a snafu with one Prom that I’m not quite sure what happened but that will have to be for another time. Funny how brains work to block out some memories and not others. OK, maybe just my brain. We had our ups and downs like every couple. We had our break-ups and make-ups. But we always seemed to find our way back to each other.

We were both involved in sports; for 4 years I played football, basketball, and for one season, golf. She played volleyball, basketball, and softball. She was also a cheerleader—football and basketball. She had that bright smile, that natural energy. I was always very proud of her.

Growing Up Together

After four years of dating, during our senior year, we crossed another threshold in our relationship. We were both young, inexperienced, and learning as we went. It was a season filled with intensity, closeness, and discovery. Looking back now, I see how much we were still just kids. But we were kids growing up together.

And that counts for something.

Sue Ann also saw me through some very tough times in my life. My father passed away between our junior and senior years when I was 17. I remember seeing her that day on Sunday after she had gone to church in Camp Douglas and discovered the news of my dad’s death. She drove to see me at my house to make sure I was OK. I broke down and cried in her arms.

There was also the last week of our senior year when my mother became deathly ill from a misdiagnosed burst appendix. We were both in the senior class play (me as the football jock and her as the cheerleader, go figure).

My mom was in the hospital at LaCrosse and I was trying to navigate school and final tests, the senior class play rehearsals, and visiting my mom every night after school was finished. One memory that I will never forget is how she consoled me in our Biology class when I broke down and started crying in the classroom. Roger McCallum, the teacher, was also nice to give me “a pass” on the test that I had missed during that week.

College and Distance

After graduation, life started to pull us in different directions. I went to Iowa State for Engineering. She went to technical school in La Crosse, WWTI (Western Wisconsin Technical Institute) for nursing. For the first time, we had to figure out what long-distance meant.

We took turns visiting. We wrote. We called. Boy, did we call. Long distance bills were out of this world even when you waited to 11:00 PM to get the cheaper rates. Yes, that was a thing back then. But we made it work. When she moved to California during my junior year, I took my first plane ride to go see her. That trip felt like crossing into adulthood. I was stepping into a bigger world—one that stretched far beyond New Lisbon and Hustler.

I went to the state of Washington between my junior and senior years. I remember we were not together for that summer and I had turned to another classmate for solace over the phone. But once I returned and saw her for the first time in three months at her job in LaCrosse we started right back up again. We saw each other frequently that year. She was at my college graduation in Ames with my mom.

Eventually, after graduation, we both landed in the Twin Cities in the summer of 1981. It felt like destiny lining things back up. After all the miles, we were in the same place again.

But sometimes proximity reveals what distance hides.

The Realization

Over time, something shifted. We had talked for years about getting married. When you date someone that long in high school, marriage feels like the obvious next step. It’s almost assumed. But being together as adults in a new city was different than being together as teenagers in a small town.

She probably realized it before I did — that we didn’t quite have the glue needed for a lifetime commitment. There’s a difference between loving someone deeply and being aligned for the long haul. I was in no way ready for that type of commitment. Even when we were together in Minneapolis I wasn’t the best version of myself. I had a. lot of growing up to do and much more to learn about relationships.

In the spring of 1982, we broke up.

Eight years.

And just like that, it was over.

I was heartbroken. She had been my first real girlfriend. My first love. The only woman I had been with. When you tie your identity to someone for nearly a decade, separating feels like losing part of yourself.

But time has a way of revealing grace.

What She Taught Me

Sue Ann taught me more than she’ll probably ever know. She taught me how to care for someone. How to listen. How to compromise. How to fight and then make up. How to navigate the emotional world of women — a world I knew nothing about growing up in a house full of boys. She taught me that relationships take effort. That affection matters. That presence matters. She taught me about tenderness.

And maybe most importantly, she taught me that sometimes love is real and meaningful—even if it isn’t permanent.

Fifty Years Later

We still communicate occasionally. We share the same high school class. Some of the same friends. In 2027, we’ll celebrate our 50th class reunion. Part of me wonders if she’ll be there. If she is, I imagine we’ll smile. Maybe laugh about the senior play. Maybe remember Jim driving us to freshman homecoming. Maybe acknowledge how young we were and how serious we thought we were.

There’s no bitterness now. Just gratitude.

When I think of Sue Ann, what I remember most is her smile. The way she made me feel when we were together. The innocence of that time. The awkward late night phone calls in college. The inseparable years.

She was a foundational chapter in my life story.

Not the whole book.

But an important chapter.

And sometimes, when I think back to Bob Martin’s yard, I can still see that moment clearly—the noise fading, the dust settling, and a young boy realizing for the first time that his heart had just been quietly claimed. Some memories never really leave you. And some people, no matter how time moves on, will always hold a gentle place in your growing-up years.