First loves often make all other loves pale in comparison. They tend to be very intense and passionate, thus setting unrealistic expectations for the rest of your relationships. Pondering that made me think of my first love and contemplate whether it has affected my relationship with my wife – or any other relationship I’ve had.
I first sat down and asked myself aloud, “Who was my first love?” Then I wondered why I was speaking aloud to myself. Was I incapable of hearing my inner voice? I realized that in fact, I could hear my inner voice because that question about my ability to hear my inner voice had been asked by my inner voice, so yes – I could. What I was talking about?
Ah, yes, my first love. Was she actually capable of affecting adversely all my other relationships because of our amazing time together? Was this dream relationship the yardstick by which all others would be measured? Also – who was she? I didn’t remember, but my mom did, and she filled in the details.
Her name was April. And she was bald. And bigger than I was.
Of course, she was only 6 months old at the time, but I had a head full of hair and I was only a month older. Would the hair difference or the age difference keep our relationship from blossoming? Apparently not, because 6 months after our chance meeting, we had our first date. But that’s for later. I want to talk about the first time we met.
We stayed at the same daycare. I don’t remember how we met or what happened when we first met, but I imagine it probably happened like so many daycare relationships. Our moms (or dads – but mom, in my case) put us down across the room and at some point our eyes locked. It was only a brief moment, but long enough for us to point at each other. I wasn’t much of a talker then, more of a smiler. So I smiled at her. She smiled back and called me what would become our pet name for each other . . . “Baby.”
From that point on, our relationship took off. We played together, or at least alongside one another. Ah, those days were so simple! At times, we would just stack and unstack blocks for hours, laughing the whole time. Then there were the snacks together. Juice and animal crackers, and I’m sure she shared hers with me. I wouldn’t have shared mine though. I wasn’t much of a sharer at that point. But even with that in mind, I was still her “baby.” I was even bothered when she called the other babies “baby.” I always moved past it, though, because we had something special. And that’s why I asked her out. Actually my mom asked did the asking.
It was to my birthday party. My first birthday. And that’s where the cracks in our relationship started to show.
Everything started well, and according to my mom, people started talking about how cute we were together. But no one could get over how much more hair I had than April, or the fact that she was twice my size. Then other babies started talking. The parents thought it was only cute baby talk, but April and I knew what they were saying. They were talking about how she looked more like the boy and I the girl. It didn’t help that my mom dressed me in a somewhat girlish onesie for my birthday party. That probably had something to do with the fact that she thought I was going to be her daughter Ginny Melissa until I came out . . . not her daughter Ginny Melissa. From that moment on at the party, April and I didn’t talk to each other.
Back at daycare, we tried to make it work. But not for each other. For the kids. In our daycare. To give them hope. But, alas, it was not to be and the final straw came a couple of weeks later. When I picked up something from her. A disease. Chicken pox. My mom angrily swooped in and pulled me from that daycare, and I never saw April again after that day.
Now happily married, with two amazing kids and a cat named Pants . . . you’re probably wondering, do I ever think about what would have happened if she hadn’t given me chicken pox on that fateful day? Or not been twice my size? Or not been bald? No, I don’t. I’ve moved on. And I hope that she has too. I hope she’s not waiting for me somewhere with a sippy cup and animal crackers. Because that would be another reason that we’re not together.
Here it is. Steven's blog, where his thoughts about things are revealed. Good luck.