No Biggie

When I was in fourth grade, Candace Cameron came to my school for a day. Her brother, Kirk dropped her off in his electric blue IROC convertible, lowered his black Ray-Ban sunglasses to shouted to me, “Hey, Carrie! Take care of my sis!”

Take care of her I did. I showed her all of my favorite places in the school: The cement tunnels in the playground where I had first kissed Robbie Briggs as part of a dare, the art room bulletin board where my Picasso inspired Cubist crayon drawing was hanging and the secret nook where the mimeograph and laminating machines were (I had used them).

Over lunch we traded dessert and fashion secrets. She was wearing an oversized turquoise sweater with a bunch of bright red and yellow balloons decorating the front, a matching turquoise miniskirt and three pairs of coordinating red, yellow and turquoise tube socks. Coincidentally, I was wearing an oversized yellow sweater with a bunch of bright red and turquoise balloons decorating the front, a matching yellow miniskirt and three pairs of coordinating red, yellow and turquoise tube socks. I traded my Hostess Cupcake for her JELL-O Pudding Cup.

Lunch was tough. My friends were fighting to sit next to her, and in the process knocked over her Capri Sun. Good thing I had an extra one to give to her. And every time we started to talk about how hot Corey Haim was, we were interrupted by some adoring fan. Candace was pretty annoyed by it all, because she was having such a good time with me and we had so much in common, but she graciously signed autographs and answered questions about DJ Tanner and we would be back on track with our meaningful discussion.

When it came to gym class, naturally she picked me to be her stretching partner. We won the shuttle race and got to sit out on the bleachers and make up hand claps to the lyrics of UB40’s “Red, Red, Wine” while everyone else did pull ups.

At the end of the day, Kirk gave us a ride to my house. He was invited to dinner, but had to run off for a Growing Pains shoot. He promised to make it up to me by taking me to see “Who Framed Roger Rabbit.” Candi stuck around for dinner and couldn’t stop raving about my mom’s Hungarian Stroganoff. After dinner, we ate Nerds and Gobstoppers, did each other’s makeup and traded secrets during the night during our School Night Sleepover.

When I woke up the next morning, she was gone. A week later I got a note that said, “Thanks for teaching me how to be cool.” Of course, it was no biggie. Stuff like that happened to me all the time.