I met my first love when I was 14 years old. I was crazy about him from the minute I met him. Over the next five years...through high school and a little bit into college, our love would grow into something more serious than i believe most young kids experience. For one thing, I went to a continuation school the last year of high school. and my father, being especially lax about such things (or maybe just not having a clue as to how to handle such a free spirited, strong willed firecracker of a daughter) let me make the hour long train ride into Berkeley (where my sweetheart lived) approximately once a week. Once there I would stay for a few days at a time (until I had to return back to school) and my love and I would spend endless hours which turned into endless days listening to music, watching movies, hiking around the Berkeley hills, eating, giggling, exploring the city, passionately arguing and passionately making up. Being the strangely enlightened teenagers we were (he much much more than I) we saw a counselor a couple times a month for couples counseling, faithfully used birth control and visited the University campus and botanical gardens frequently for sightseeing and make out sessions. I had never known anyone like Jon. His parents were two very intelligent university professors and Jon was a well traveled vegan that spoke more than one language, listened to progressive music, meditated and was an amazing artist. In addition, he was sweet, kind, gentle, funny and I was head over heels in love with him. After high school, Jon went to Europe for 6 months and things began to fall apart. He met someone for a short time and I began meeting other people too. When he came back to the states he moved to Santa Cruz and I followed. He was enrolled in University of Santa Cruz and I was enrolled at a community college. We kept our relationship going for a time, but by then our feelings were muddled by so much time apart and confusion as to where we stood. After a year or two I met someone that would be a long term relationship (4 years) for me. I called Jon over to my house and ended things between us for good. he cried, I cried. we listened to Lauryn Hiill's "Keep It Tight" while he held me close and I breathed in his scent, thought about all our memories together and wondered if I was making a mistake. At the time, it seemed this was the right thing to do, and in hindsight, although the relationship I moved onto didn't last, and didn't end well either, I wonder if Jon and I would have fared better if we had stayed together, or if we would have ended up resenting each other or hurting each other by not sharing the same feelings or by meeting other people and moving onto other serious relationships eventually. Either way, it was the end of an era for sure.
Today, I am married and I have a beautiful son. Although it is not always sweet words and tender feelings and there are, to be honest, some things about my husband I downright do not like, there is much love and a long history between us. Plus, the addition of family, children and going through real life hurdles together, does make you stronger and add to your feelings of devotion for your spouse.
This being said, I was going through an old box of stuff today and came across a small stack of letters that Jon had written to me while he was in Europe. Reading through them brought back a lot of nostalgia. In his letters, his love and devotion to me are clear and his words are full of the strong, hormone fueled feelings that only teenage love can produce. He speaks of us being soulmates and therefore loving each other enough to feel that we are connected at the soul. He talks about me being amazing, strong, and in some ways, fragile. He speaks of our love being intense, potent and the best feeling in the world. Reading through these letters made me feel good that someone had held such intensely wonderful feelings for me but it also made me sad that real life does at some point have to intervene. I got to thinking, why is it that feelings that intense can't be maintained for a lifetime? I mean, I believe that, to some extent they can. When my husband is not around me for a length of time, I miss him terribly, but at the same time, I have responsibilities and bills to pay and distractions and I cannot just lay in bed and mope all day thinking about how much I miss him. I asked my dad if he thought that the feelings of first teenage love can last and he replied, "I don't think so, I mean, people that have been together 60 years, you don't see them just sitting in each others laps and kissing and staring at each other all the time, the guy is usually just sitting on the couch watching TV and the woman is doing whatever she is doing."
I think I realized right then why a first love is so special and why it is rare, maybe even downright impossible, to ever capture that exact feeling again. When you are young and unencumbered, the only thing you have to focus on in the whole world is each other. You don't have bills to pay or a mortgage to worry about or kids diapers to change or teenagers eating everything in the whole house or an old cat pooping on the floor...again. The only scheduled time that is required is school time or time to see each other. When you are fighting it is because he looked at another girl too long, not because you overspent on your credit cards and don't know if you can pay your rent. So here is what I realized. No, love may never produce those same feelings without a boatload of hormones running through you, but maybe it can be even better (and much more real than that). Maybe the feeling you get when you look back on your life and you have a gaggle of well rounded children and grandchildren, extended family, friends, neighbors and acquaintances that care equally about the well being of both you and your spouse and you have built a whole LIFE together with hard work and have worked equally hard at keeping your love alive, maybe THOSE are the ties that truly bind you together in a love built of not only passion but mutual respect, admiration and devotion to one another. And hey, that sounds pretty damn life altering, amazing, potent, and intense to me.
I am so glad to have known Jon and I will never forget our experiences together. We are friends to this day and I have nothing but love in my heart for him, for what and who he was, what we had, what and who he is and who he will become. He is amazingly talented and a beautiful person. Our experiences taught me so much and were invaluable at helping to shape me into the person I am today. We don't talk as often as I would like but I hope, more than anything that he is happy and that I made as big of an impact on his life as he made on mine. I hope that one day, I can dance at his wedding, meet his children and, when we are old, that maybe we will one day find ourselves sitting in rockers with our respective loves and family and can look back at our lives, look at each other and agree...that we sure did good :)
Much love to you and all whom you love, have loved and will love!
-New Mommy in Town
A couple days ago we took our 1 year old son to the mall to see Santa. this being our first Santa outing (well, since my husband and I were young of course) we were not sure what to expect, and, to make things even more exciting, we went to see Santa wholly unprepared for any sort of emergency such as desperate snack needs, the re-emergence of a horrible diaper rash or preparation for the realities of waiting in an hour and a half long line while wearing 3 inch heels. The night started out on a hopeful note. I straightened my hair, put on a nice dress, did my makeup, put on a nice pair of earrings and even brought along a festive Santa hat to wear in, what I imagined would be, our perfect family photo with Santa. I dressed our son up in a cute little pin stripe suit with a crisp white shirt underneath, packed the diaper bag and "walla" we were ready to go. Once we got in the car, it dawned on me that maybe things would not go quite as smoothly as planned. In our rush to get to the mall before the crowds, I realized that we had not packed any snacks and Giovanni had not eaten in a couple hours. "Oh well, I thought, just a quick trip in, snap of the camera and we're out of there. How hungry could he possibly get between now and then?" Next, my husband informed me that we did not have a camera to actually take a picture but assured me that everything was OK and that he had his phone on him and we could take a picture with that. When we arrived at the mall, even though we had gotten there "early", there was a long line that consisted mainly of grumpy, underdressed patrons with several dogs barking at one another and pulling at their leashes while their weary owners cast sympathetic looks at each other. My husband, who hates crowds, began to get fidgety, Giovanni quickly followed suit. I offered to stand in line while they played on the playground. As they walked away I wished that I had not worn heels, or a dress, I wished that I had worn sweats. Still, I stood in line with the stroller, a huge umbrella (this being Portland, it was of course, pouring) three jackets (mine, my husbands and the baby's), my purse and the diaper bag. As I made my way through the line I maneuvered carefully to keep from toppling the stroller, spilling the contents of my purse, or impaling any small children with our dangerously large and pointy umbrella. When I got near the front of the line, I texted my husband and he arrived back just in the nick of time (no pun intended). Giovanni's suit was wrinkled, his shirt hanging untucked out of his pants and his hair was a mess. He also seemed more than ready to leave the mall. My husband took a test snapshot with his phone to find out the camera on his phone was not working. He began to shake and turn a little red. I offered to let the people behind us in line go ahead of us so that we could figure out the phone. I tucked G's shirt in, we got the phone working, OK...our turn...here we go. We walked up to Santa, he held his arms out to the baby, sat him on his lap and then...Giovanni lost his mind. The second he sat on Santa's lap, Giovanni's face turned bright red and he began squirming and screaming at the top of his lungs, tears rolling down his face. My husband snapped a picture (see sidebar) G kept screaming. I put on my Santa hat and stood next to him, G looked at me and screamed louder. My husband took another picture, I grabbed the baby and we left. Now, at this point, any sane parent would have quickly exited the mall but me, being the fearless (or perhaps clueless) individual that I am, decided that we should take one more family picture in front of a large tree before we left. Johnny tried to take one of me and Giovanni first. I put on my Santa hat and stood in front of the tree with our son. Giovanni arched his back and screamed like I had tried to rip off one of his toes. People were looking at us strangely. My husband suggested we grab something to eat and then try the picture thing again. We headed over to the food court and got G some grilled chicken and milk with a straw. In trying to feed him the chicken and use the straw to pour sips of milk into his mouth, we got milk and chicken juice all over his face, his suit, ourselves. Immediately after his hearty dinner of chicken and milk, G needed a diaper change and I took him onto the cramped, fluorescent lit changing room to find that an earlier diaper rash had re-emerged. He howled as I changed him, I bumped into the door, the table and most of all, I felt sweaty and like I might begin howling and crying myself. When I brought him out I can't even imagine what the two of us must have looked like, he with his tired, bleary eyes, stained, wrinkled suit and sad expression and me, red from sweating, hair beginning to frizz and limping in my high heels that had never been meant for standing for extended periods of time. I limped over to my husband and suggested we leave (after, of course, trying to get one final shot in front of the tree-Don't even ask me what I was thinking). We went over the to the tree and I snapped the final shot pictured above which I feel sums up the feel of the evening fairly well. So, the moral of the story is this. If you feel that perhaps your very young child might be frightened or daunted by the prospect of waiting in a large line only to be met at the end by the sight of a large, strange man in a big red suit with a huge beard then, by all means, proceed at your own risk. Hey, its not all bad, your child could love Santa or, you could get hilarious pictures of your child looking either happy, nervous, bewildered, or of them screaming their head off while Santa struggles to maintain a smile. But please, whatever you do, if this article has taught you anything, be sure to bring an actual camera, dress comfortably, be prepared for a long line and surly patrons and, for the love of all things holiday...BRING SOME SNACKS!!! To all a Good Night! -New Mommy in Town
