3 
3 In 1977, when I was in sixth grade at Pinecrest Elementary School in my hometown of West Monroe, Louisiana, I saw the cutest boy I had ever laid eyes on. He was new to our school, and I quickly found out his name was Alan Robertson. I was popular in school and people seemed to like me, but no matter how I tried, that cute boy did not seem to know I was alive. Maybe that’s because he was in eighth grade and did not have time for younger girls like me. That did not stop me from following him around school, though—during every recess, fire drill, and class change. Sometimes when I speak publicly about this now, I say I could have been on fire and he would not have noticed. At least that’s what I thought; he says he was vaguely aware that he had a sixth-grade stalker with braces.
By the end of that school year, Alan had become a favorite among his peers. He was even elected “Mr. Pinecrest,” which he says is the only title he has ever really held. Because our school only went to eighth grade, I knew Alan would not be at Pinecrest the following year. Our paths did not cross again until he was the cool senior at our local high school and I was “kid” sophomore.
I was excited to see Alan again when I got to high school but soon realized he was not the same “nice boy” I remembered. He was spending time with one of my cousins, drinking and smoking pot on a regular basis. Many of the teenagers in our community often hung out at our local McDonald’s, and Alan happened to notice me there one night. He thought I was attractive (actually, he says he thought I was a babe), so right then and there he asked me out for the following weekend.
I had been dreaming of a date with Alan Robertson since sixth grade. When I finally went out with him for the first time, it was horrible! He did not pick me up; he asked me to meet him. When he showed up, he had two of my cousins with him. Who wants to go on a date with their cousins? Our evening consisted of nothing more than cruising around in a car while my cousins got drunk and high. At the end of the date, even Alan was completely passed out. He did not turn out to be the gentleman I was hoping for, at least not that night.
People might think I would drop a guy who acted that way like a hot rock, but I did not. I kept seeing him and soon began smoking and drinking with him. I really cared about him and was willing to do anything to please him. When I say “anything,” I mean anything.
Since Alan was such a looker, girls were always interested in him. I decided to make sure none of those girls got their meat hooks into the man I had been dreaming of. (I have a lot more redneck in me than my sisters-in-law. They are far more like “yuppie girls,” as Phil would say.) On one occasion, one of Alan’s former girlfriends tried to make her move on him and I had to show her how a country girl hangs on to her man! We had a good “cussin’ catfight,” and even though I was pretty scrawny back then, I held my own and neutralized the threat. I think Alan was impressed, and we laugh about it to this day. I learned way back then that someone or something you really care about is worth fighting for.
With Alan, I really thought I was in dating heaven. I was finally in a relationship with the man I had loved since sixth grade. I knew the way we were living was not the way love was supposed to go, but the fact that we were intimate convinced me we could be “in love” forever, no matter what happened—and things were definitely happening. Alan’s behavior had deteriorated to the point that Phil and Miss Kay kicked him out of their house. He decided to go live with his aunt, Phil’s sister, in New Orleans, a city that probably did not provide the atmosphere Phil and Miss Kay were hoping for. I hated to see him leave but truly believed our “love” could stand the longdistance test. After all, I loved him and had given myself to him. Surely that meant as much to him as it meant to me.
Alan now says he had no intention of continuing his relationship with me once he got to New Orleans. He also freely admits he did not have the character or integrity to inform me of that decision. All I knew was that I loved him, I missed him, and with every passing week, I was having a harder time reaching him by phone.
One weekend I finally decided to go with the Robertsons to visit Alan. He knew we were coming, so I was shocked when we arrived and discovered he was out on a date with someone else. That was his way of breaking up with me. I was devastated! I cried the whole way home from New Orleans to West Monroe and for a week after that.
My broken heart sent me into a complete free fall. For the next year and a half I dedicated my life to finding the love I had lost with Alan. My life was a complete disaster. Alan’s life in New Orleans was also a mess until he finally had an epiphany on the wrong end of a jealous husband’s crowbar (Phil tells that story in detail in his book, Happy, Happy, Happy). After that incident, Alan came home to West Monroe and called me, and we went out again, this time under much better circumstances.
We knew that resisting the temptation to be physically intimate would be a problem while we were dating, so after we had dated about six months, Alan asked me to marry him. I was so happy! Of course, I said yes. He did not believe in long engagements so we were married the following Friday. This was not met with enthusiasm on my parents’ part, but Alan and I were determined to begin our lives together immediately.
When we first married, we moved in with Phil’s parents, Granny and Pa, who lived in a small house next door to Phil and Kay’s larger house—not like typical next-door neighbors, but in a small house on Phil and Miss Kay’s property, just down the hill from them. After about six months, Alan and I were able to buy a little camp house beside Miss Kay and Phil. I enjoyed being around them, and around Granny and Pa. I learned so much in those early years from these godly people—including how to cook, from none other than the kitchen commander herself, Miss Kay! Alan was long-suffering with me as I learned the ways of his mother’s cooking, but in the end it paid off. I can cook most of what Miss Kay does and Alan will go so far as to say that some of my cooking is better than Miss Kay’s, if you want to believe that.
My journey with Alan, and Alan’s journey with me, has not been easy. It has not even been pretty at times. But we have learned to love God and to love each other, in that order. Being a Robertson has been a blessing to me for many years. I will always thank God for the chance to be Alan’s wife and to be part of such a loving, supportive, forgiving family.