Senior year of high school. I remember it well. The independence, the trip to Disney World, picking a college, prom. It’s an exciting time in any teenager’s life. But for me, one of the best things about senior year was my boyfriend.
Sure, I’d had boyfriends before then, but the one senior year was by far the best. He was kind, caring, considerate, never pushed me into anything, always made me feel amazing, and was one of the most mature people I’ve ever known. This is crazy because he was two years younger than me.
He always treated me with the utmost respect that I deserve. He paid for me on dates he took me out to nice places, he was interested in a real relationship, not just hooking up. He was truly a gentleman and I was lucky to have him.
Even the break up wasn’t weird. It was one hundred percent mutual. We both knew it was coming eventually with me going off to college, and we just kind of went our separate ways naturally.
The strangest part is that he was two years younger than me. He was a sophomore and I was a senior, but he was beyond mature. It’s funny because some of the most immature guys I’ve ever been with have been two or three years older than me. It just goes to show that chivalry knows no age.
I’m very grateful that I was with him. I keep praising him, but in reality, he didn’t do anything that special, he just behaved like any decent human would. He set the standard for what I should look for in both a guy and a relationship. And for that, I thank him.
