PUBLISHER’S MESSAGE

Dumb Freshman

When I was fourteen years old a new girl moved to town. She was a twelve-year-old Bay Area transplant, and she became fast friends with one of my younger sisters. At the time, I didn’t give it much thought— she was just another one of my sister’s lame friends.

The first time I remember us spending any time together was when she was invited along during a family vacation to Cayucos. I grew up in Visalia and “going to the coast” was always a big deal during the dog days of our 100-degree-plus weather that lasted for weeks on end in the San Joaquin Valley. At the time, the new girl did not have much experience at the beach, and she decided to capture the ocean sounds by setting up her boom box with a fresh tape for recording. About 15 minutes after she left it unattended, I ran over and did my best dying seagull impersonation followed by the sounds from a creature not common to the Central Coast—a gorilla.

Later that night when she played the tape back, checking for its soothing sounds, she started crying when she heard my offkey additions. My mom pulled her aside and uttered these prophetic words, “Honey, he only did that because he likes you.”

The nature tape incident faded away and a few years later we found ourselves at the same high school. As a junior, I signed the new girl’s yearbook, “Hey dumb freshman, Tom.” Despite the harsh treatment, we really did get along well—in a big brother, little sister sort of way. Plus, she was the only one that understood my humor and laughed at my jokes (a phenomenon that is still true to this day).

When I was a junior at UC Santa Cruz (Go, Slugs!) one sunny October afternoon I bumped into the new girl at a bus stop on campus. “What are you doing here!?” we asked each other. Turns out she was a freshman, but not such a dumb one this time around. We became great friends in college and even shared a kiss late one night, which freaked us both out completely. This time, the mutual question wasn’t, “What are you doing here!?” but, “What just happened!?”

Time passed—diplomas were earned, moves were made, careers were started—and we lost touch. It was years later, on one especially cold and rainy night in San Francisco that I received a Christmas card from the new girl, which also included her phone number. I called right away and learned that she was teaching 4th grade in the Valley and about to start her winter break. “Come for a visit—and I’m not taking ‘No’ for answer,” I told her. The rest, as they say, is history.

A friend of mine, who is also a ship captain, married us that October on his charter boat just off the shores of Angel Island. Now, twelve years and three kids later, the sign that hangs in the entryway of our home both tells the story and excuses the chaos: “All because two people fell in love.” And, if I ever catch one of my kids calling someone a “dumb freshman,” you can be sure that I will be paying very close attention.

I would like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to all of the people who had a hand in producing this issue of SLO LIFE Magazine and, especially to our advertisers and subscribers, we could not do it without your support—thank you.

Live the SLO Life!

Tom Franciskovich tom@slolifemagazine.com