The lightning bolt hit me full force when I saw the tall, handsome stranger in the doorway. A sharp intake of breath that was just as quickly taken away. I noted no details at first but his presence. He was beautiful and unlike anyone I had ever seen before.

It was winter. January 25, 1973. To be exact. The handsome boy who was still a stranger to me was dressed for the weather. A blue and burgundy toque was perched lopsided on his head. He wore aviator glasses. Tortoiseshell rims with three cool holes just above the bridge of his nose. Fashion forward, I thought. For a guy.

He wore a burgundy turtleneck that hugged his torso. Slung over that was what looked to be a too-large and ill-fitting sheepskin jacket that was tilted and slightly askew on his frame. He looked like he was just hurrying in from somewhere or rushing to go somewhere else.

German class likely. The mother of all bird courses for a native German speaker albeit with a distinct Austrian accent. That distinction I only learned later when my own German improved sufficiently to detect the regional difference.

Standard 70s issue blue jeans and mid-calf, lace-up beige shearling winter boots with only the bottom half laced up. Those boots completed a mental picture taken and frozen in my head in a nanosecond.

I had little idea then that that image would persevere for a lifetime long after the lightning bolt dissipated and the boy disappeared from my life.

The Bible teaches: “There are none so blind as those who will not see.” I would too soon learn the import and irreversibility of that lesson.

The boy in the doorway was mine for but a nanosecond longer than when I first saw him. Eyes that grossly underestimated the gift in front of them, soon turned their primary purpose to grief, instead of joy and pleasure from just looking at him.

When god wishes to teach us a lesson, he spares no emotional expense. The lesson cut so deep, it has lasted unaltered to this day.