It was freshman year. I met her in one of my classes, can't remember which one because I didn't notice much of anything else in that class that year. It's safe to say I was infatuated from the first moment.

I was Charlie Brown and she was the little red-haired girl.

Only difference is you'll see a few snapshots of her amidst this blog.

 Note the black on black Chuck Taylor's. Told you I was Duckie.  

Note the black on black Chuck Taylor's. Told you I was Duckie.  

Her name is Mia Davis and she was, by the end of that first year, my best friend.

It was totally a Duckie Dale and Andie Walsh kind of thing. Wow, two pop culture references in less than three minutes. I wonder if more will come to me.

Mia was the person I could tell anything to. Anything other than, "Hey, leave that senior with the great head of hair (Ah la Andrew McCarthy) to someone else. "Blane McDonagh" will be gone in a few months. You've got me for at least four years."

 With her son Julian.  

With her son Julian.  

Thanks to the marvels of social media Mia and I have been able to reconnect over the last several years.

She is still the same strong willed lover of social causes and friend to the underdog that she was back twenty years ago. I love her heart for people and their plights.

I've been able to follow along with her son's growing up, her difficult times, the celebratory ones and the many posts of her larger than usual, non-nuclear family.

She is a as bright and shining as her lovely red hair and well deserving of #thisiscrazylove2016 but now it is a love of admiration and respect, not a schoolboy crush.

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