28. Little Caroline

 

Little Caroline

Little Caroline was my very first girlfriend. I was 8 years old.

We called her Little Caroline because, in our family, we already had two Carolines—my mother and my sister. So, my mother became Big Caroline, my sister became Middle Sized Caroline, and my first girlfriend, Little Caroline.

Little Caroline was so easy to be friends with. I remember the way we played—side by side, always in step, as if our friendship was a natural rhythm. 

She was one of the nicest people I’ve ever known--sweet, kind, always helping others, always doing things for people, without ever expecting anything in return. We had so much fun together—little adventures, long talks, and those quiet moments that built a friendship I still cherish.

Lakeland Visit

Little Caroline came and stayed with us before we moved to Brooksville. We were living in Lakeland at the time. Little Caroline was living in Brooksville.

My mother believed in rules and boundaries. Structure made her feel that life was safe and orderly. But Little Caroline was not used to many boundaries, and she certainly did not enjoy being told what to do.

After a couple of days, the tension between them built.

Finally, Little Caroline got mad and announced that she was leaving and going to walk home — which was about sixty miles.

And even though we all laughed it off as a child's defiance, there was something about her that was so bold—so unwilling to be boxed in by what was expected. That sassiness was a part of her that never faded—she always had this fierce little light inside, even when things got hard.

As a kid, I didn’t fully understand what that took—how brave, how determined, and yes, how a little reckless she could be. But even then, I admired her. And even now, I see in her that same courage to push past what’s expected—whether it was a walk or a life decision—she is never afraid to take a step forward, even if no one else understands.

Best Friends

Little Caroline and I were inseparable. We would walk around hand in hand, just exploring—sometimes around Weeki Wachee, Bayport, or just in the neighborhood. It felt like we had this little bubble of freedom. 

We were so innocent, just being ourselves, holding hands as we swam or ran along the shore.

But one day, my older sister Caroline came up to us and said, “You can’t hold hands—it doesn’t look nice.” 

I remember feeling confused because we weren’t being silly or romantic; it was just our friendship—pure, simple. 

And yet, that moment stuck with me. It was one of those early hints that, somehow, even the smallest actions—like holding hands—could be seen through a different lens, one shaped by grown-up expectations.

Bayport

Little Caroline and I spent our summers at Bayport, a small settlement where the Weeki Wachee River flows out into the Gulf of Mexico.

To me, Bayport felt wild and free.

There were endless ways for us to entertain ourselves and explore. We had little boats with five-horsepower motors, and we would spend hours riding up and down the canals, discovering hidden waterways and feeling wonderfully independent.

But Little Caroline had something even more exciting.

She had access to her parents’ Thunderbird.

Even though she was much too young to drive legally, she was surprisingly good at it. She would confidently drive us all over Bayport in her father’s T-Bird as if we owned the world.

And for those moments, it felt like we did.

One time, though, our adventure took a turn. She accidentally drove into a ditch, and we had to go tell our parents what had happened. A wrecker came and pulled the car out while we stood there, embarrassed but trying not to laugh too much.

It became just another story in our growing collection of adventures.

When I think back on those summers, I remember freedom more than anything else.

The warm air.

The smell of saltwater and marsh.

The hum of little boat motors.

The feeling that the world was ours to discover.

Poem

We explored without fear, without schedules, without much supervision. 

Childhood still felt wide open then.

And Little Caroline — sweet, sassy, fearless Little Caroline — made everything more fun.

Summer seemed endless there.

Waterways unfolding like secret paths,

sunlight dancing on the Gulf,

our laughter carried on the wind.

We were too young to know

how brief those days would be.

So we simply lived them—

fully,

freely,

one adventure at a time.