First Love parts 1 and 2
Here is a post I put on Journalspace the first few days of July. It was really rewarding to remember fondly things that happened some twenty years ago. Some of you no doubt have read this, but some have not, and even if so, its good enough I think it deserves a second look. GRIN
Enjoy!
Cori
Friday July 2, 2004 9:08 am
F i r s t L o v e ... part I
Rose (not his given name) moved into the neighborhood when I was four years old. Into a pale blue ranch style home three houses up from mine on Aberdeen way. We were instant and immediate friends. By the time I hit five I was dropped off at his house in the morning where we'd play until it was time for our afternoon kindergarten class. We grew up together in a very real sense. I recall me and my sister bathing with he and his sister. The countless sleepovers at both our homes, well into the years that could have been considered inappropriate for a little boy and girl. We played with action figures in the sand box (Stars Wars were our favorites but also G.I. Joe and the occasional Star Trek) We swung on swings and played in the fields across the way. Jumped on the trampoline and swum in my pool. We did all those things and many more.
He was my best friend.
Although we enjoyed a wide range of activities the thing I remember most, the thing we were known for was our long talks. Even at the tender ages of seven years old we would disappear into the walk in closet in my bedroom and sit and talk for hours on end. Considering that as I recall I had the relative attention span of a Nat, three hours talking was impressive. We talked about EVERYTHING, and I mean everything. I honestly don't recall the contents of most of those talks, there are a few memorable exceptions, but mostly I only remember that they were an important part of our relationship and we took them very seriously.
It should hardly come as any surprise that Rose grew into to my first crush. I hesitate to use that word because it seems so juvenile, crush... like the feelings my prepubescent sister would have had for Justin Timberlake. An infatuation with the IDEA of someone, a fixation and projection of an ideal onto someone you didn't even know.
That is not what I felt for Rose, I KNEW my friend, knew him better than probably any other person on the planet and that was why my childhood affection grew and crescendoed towards mature, more hormone-driven feelings. I do remember feeling very grown up about it, and conflicted I even recall in one of those memorable conversations in the closet one heated summer afternoon.
“But we're young!” I insisted to my friend, trying desperately to make him understand the powerful and confusing welter of emotions that stirred with in me, I pressed on “It, it just seems like, I dunno, like were too little, like we shouldn't have these kind of feelings.” My friend nodded his understanding at my bewilderment.
“I know, me too.” He assured me, moving to touch my hand as it rested on my thigh. He looked me in the eye and told me softly but firmly while he lifted one shoulder in a half shrug “But we DO feel this way.” He was so calm so sure, as if what we were experiencing was inevitable and inescapable.
I remember his wisdom. You may wonder how a nine year old boy could be wise, but he was, wise beyond his years and easily one of the smartest people I've known. Perhaps it was because we'd both had struggles early on in our lives, things that forced us to mature well before children ought. Perhaps it was because we had so much in common, our love for music, creativity and classic star trek, our mutual, above average intelligence, so much history and shared experience.
I honestly can't say-- perhaps it was those things and more. I do know I came to care about him in a way far different from the way I had for the little tow headed boy I'd bathed with.
When I was ten years old these feelings had consolidated into a very strong affection and dare I say it-- attraction to my best friend. I knew I couldn't tell any of my little girl friends about it, who had only recently decided boys weren't 'icky'. Sure we all participated in the playground game of 'going out' (a term I was always confused by. Go out? Go where? it wasn't as if we as ten year olds actually WENT any where, certainly not on a date, but I digress...) 'Going Out' mostly consisted of one little boy or girl telling their friend (or often a long successive string of friends) that they liked another boy or girl. The message would pass like wild fire in a dry field, whether it was on the playground or through much giggled over notes passed in class. If the child on the receiving end liked the boy or girl in return the words would be whispered into a little receptive ear or penciled boxes were twittered over and fat, fuzzy ended pencils checked yes or no. The declaration making the return trip with a dizzying, rapidity rivaled these days only by an email sent over high speed connection. Once the message was received and if it was 'Yes' the 'going out' couple announced it to the rest of assemblage from the top of the tower at the South East corner of the play ground. There was even a delicious rumor that the most infamous couple at Heatherwood Elementary Ben and Katie had actually kissed there. It was a harmless game, one everyone played, or at least they all did. I only had eyes for my friend, who on some level I feared would reject me if I tried to change our relationship. Still I loved him, had loved him since I was five years old. The nature of that attachment had changed somewhat, but he was still Rose, my best friend.
Friday July 2, 2004 9:39 pm
F i r s t L o v e ... part 2
As Rose and I grew up we were always the best of friends, when were we celebrated our respective fifth, sixth and seventh birthdays, we were fixtures at each other's birthday parties. Until that is, that fateful day, that cool October afternoon of Rose's 8th birthday. It was the first time I was made forcibly aware of the momentous changes that were fast coming upon us. Seven people showed up at Rose's house for the festivities, seven and I was quite noticeably the ONLY girl. The only girl at a time when most eight year old boys considered girls to be GROSS and infected with COOTIES. I'll never forget the squirming, discomfort of those six little boys. The averted eyes and awkward pauses of six children, most of whom I'd known since Kindergarten.
We were all in the Third grade. Not long after the party, Rose pulled me aside on the walk home from school (we walked to and from school together every day from kindergarten to the sixth grade). It was a blustery fall afternoon, and he tugged on my arm, bringing me to a halt. I looked at him inquiringly, tucking a strand of my long brown hair behind my ear, in an attempt to keep it from the tugging wind. Rose just looked down and kicked at the orange gold leaves beneath his feet. I waited and the moment grew pregnant with discomfort. Finally he looked up at me, his cheeks scarlet as told me his voice a little strangled,
“Look, Cori-- we can still play at home and stuff, I promise, but, well, its kinda embarrassing when you come over to me when I'm trying to play ball with the guys.”
I was shocked, he was embarrassed to admit his best friend was a girl? Ashamed of me suddenly, now that we were in the Third grade? I was crushed. I could hardly believe he didn't want to get caught playing with a girl in front of his guy friends. Clearly thought he didn't, I could see it in in his still shamefully glowing cheeks, in the way he wouldn't meet my eyes, toeing withered leafy flotsam while he waited for an answer. What else could I do but acquiesce? I didn't want to shame my friend, no matter how horribly unjust it felt, I cared about him too much to want to humiliate him.
We still talked, still played at home, but for a few months, at school all but casual contact was strictly off limits, it was painful, but I knew he still liked me. I knew it with the absolute unshakable faith of a child. He was still my friend & I was pretty sure he'd get over it.
He did.
I weathered the the storm and by our Fourth year at Heatherwood Elementary it all changed. I will eternally cherish the memory of that auspicious day we were taught the rules of flag football in P.E. Class. The early fall afternoon was sunny and warm, with a crisp breeze. The field was green and springy underfoot, perfect conditions if every there were. We played five on five, day-glo orange cones marking out a space of just a few yards for our fields.
I was of course in Rose's team along with Rose's good pals, Travis, Jeff and Eric. The scene is permanently etched in my memory. While the other five children milled about looking faintly confused, we huddled up, me and these four boys. We huddled up, and all business, Travis assigned us positions. We weighted our options, and made a game plan. We ended up settling on the old 'Statue of Liberty play'. I got to play Liberty herself. The other team didn't stand a chance, they were small children fumbling around with a with a football far too big for their little hands, and were completely unprepared to deal with our advanced level of gamesmanship skills.
The ball was hiked and I held it aloft, waiting for my team mate, I held it in one hand and gleefully passed off the ball to Travis with out missing a beat. They fell for it--completely snookered, Travis clutched the ball to his side and raced for glory, blue flags flapping at his waist before our opponents knew what hit em. He charged into the in zone.
TOUCHDOWN!
We all yelled as he did a victory lap around the cones. The other team took the ball and their pathetic attempts at a play soon landed the pigskin back in our hands. When we huddled up again, we decided that since the Statue of Liberty worked so well we'd try it again, this time I would take the pass.
"Hut... hut... HIKE!"
The nubbely ball was smoothly passed into my outreached hands, fingers tight around the laces as I tucked it under my arm. I leaned into the now stiff breeze, flags and hair streaming as I stretched out my legs and ran for all I was worth. I zigged, I zagged, and dodged questing fingers as I sprinted for the electric tangerine cones. I hurtled past the invisible line and breathless, slammed the ball into the ground.
TOUCHDOWN!
My team mates roared in approval. It was heady, blissful stuff. Those same boys that had been mortified to find me at Rose's birthday party, were cheering for me, hugging me and ruffling my long hair. We'd made two touch downs in just a few minutes. The bell to go back inside rang clarion loud and we all whooped again, we had not only scored, but we'd won, we had completely demolished the competition. It was beautiful, a glow we carried with us all day, a victory we bragged of to any who would listen for weeks to come.
I think all the boys saw me in a little different light from that day on. I had gone from being a girl-- one of the ENEMY-- to being, at last, part of the team--one of them.
Enjoy!
Cori
Friday July 2, 2004 9:08 am
F i r s t L o v e ... part I
Rose (not his given name) moved into the neighborhood when I was four years old. Into a pale blue ranch style home three houses up from mine on Aberdeen way. We were instant and immediate friends. By the time I hit five I was dropped off at his house in the morning where we'd play until it was time for our afternoon kindergarten class. We grew up together in a very real sense. I recall me and my sister bathing with he and his sister. The countless sleepovers at both our homes, well into the years that could have been considered inappropriate for a little boy and girl. We played with action figures in the sand box (Stars Wars were our favorites but also G.I. Joe and the occasional Star Trek) We swung on swings and played in the fields across the way. Jumped on the trampoline and swum in my pool. We did all those things and many more.
He was my best friend.
Although we enjoyed a wide range of activities the thing I remember most, the thing we were known for was our long talks. Even at the tender ages of seven years old we would disappear into the walk in closet in my bedroom and sit and talk for hours on end. Considering that as I recall I had the relative attention span of a Nat, three hours talking was impressive. We talked about EVERYTHING, and I mean everything. I honestly don't recall the contents of most of those talks, there are a few memorable exceptions, but mostly I only remember that they were an important part of our relationship and we took them very seriously.
It should hardly come as any surprise that Rose grew into to my first crush. I hesitate to use that word because it seems so juvenile, crush... like the feelings my prepubescent sister would have had for Justin Timberlake. An infatuation with the IDEA of someone, a fixation and projection of an ideal onto someone you didn't even know.
That is not what I felt for Rose, I KNEW my friend, knew him better than probably any other person on the planet and that was why my childhood affection grew and crescendoed towards mature, more hormone-driven feelings. I do remember feeling very grown up about it, and conflicted I even recall in one of those memorable conversations in the closet one heated summer afternoon.
“But we're young!” I insisted to my friend, trying desperately to make him understand the powerful and confusing welter of emotions that stirred with in me, I pressed on “It, it just seems like, I dunno, like were too little, like we shouldn't have these kind of feelings.” My friend nodded his understanding at my bewilderment.
“I know, me too.” He assured me, moving to touch my hand as it rested on my thigh. He looked me in the eye and told me softly but firmly while he lifted one shoulder in a half shrug “But we DO feel this way.” He was so calm so sure, as if what we were experiencing was inevitable and inescapable.
I remember his wisdom. You may wonder how a nine year old boy could be wise, but he was, wise beyond his years and easily one of the smartest people I've known. Perhaps it was because we'd both had struggles early on in our lives, things that forced us to mature well before children ought. Perhaps it was because we had so much in common, our love for music, creativity and classic star trek, our mutual, above average intelligence, so much history and shared experience.
I honestly can't say-- perhaps it was those things and more. I do know I came to care about him in a way far different from the way I had for the little tow headed boy I'd bathed with.
When I was ten years old these feelings had consolidated into a very strong affection and dare I say it-- attraction to my best friend. I knew I couldn't tell any of my little girl friends about it, who had only recently decided boys weren't 'icky'. Sure we all participated in the playground game of 'going out' (a term I was always confused by. Go out? Go where? it wasn't as if we as ten year olds actually WENT any where, certainly not on a date, but I digress...) 'Going Out' mostly consisted of one little boy or girl telling their friend (or often a long successive string of friends) that they liked another boy or girl. The message would pass like wild fire in a dry field, whether it was on the playground or through much giggled over notes passed in class. If the child on the receiving end liked the boy or girl in return the words would be whispered into a little receptive ear or penciled boxes were twittered over and fat, fuzzy ended pencils checked yes or no. The declaration making the return trip with a dizzying, rapidity rivaled these days only by an email sent over high speed connection. Once the message was received and if it was 'Yes' the 'going out' couple announced it to the rest of assemblage from the top of the tower at the South East corner of the play ground. There was even a delicious rumor that the most infamous couple at Heatherwood Elementary Ben and Katie had actually kissed there. It was a harmless game, one everyone played, or at least they all did. I only had eyes for my friend, who on some level I feared would reject me if I tried to change our relationship. Still I loved him, had loved him since I was five years old. The nature of that attachment had changed somewhat, but he was still Rose, my best friend.
Friday July 2, 2004 9:39 pm
F i r s t L o v e ... part 2
As Rose and I grew up we were always the best of friends, when were we celebrated our respective fifth, sixth and seventh birthdays, we were fixtures at each other's birthday parties. Until that is, that fateful day, that cool October afternoon of Rose's 8th birthday. It was the first time I was made forcibly aware of the momentous changes that were fast coming upon us. Seven people showed up at Rose's house for the festivities, seven and I was quite noticeably the ONLY girl. The only girl at a time when most eight year old boys considered girls to be GROSS and infected with COOTIES. I'll never forget the squirming, discomfort of those six little boys. The averted eyes and awkward pauses of six children, most of whom I'd known since Kindergarten.
We were all in the Third grade. Not long after the party, Rose pulled me aside on the walk home from school (we walked to and from school together every day from kindergarten to the sixth grade). It was a blustery fall afternoon, and he tugged on my arm, bringing me to a halt. I looked at him inquiringly, tucking a strand of my long brown hair behind my ear, in an attempt to keep it from the tugging wind. Rose just looked down and kicked at the orange gold leaves beneath his feet. I waited and the moment grew pregnant with discomfort. Finally he looked up at me, his cheeks scarlet as told me his voice a little strangled,
“Look, Cori-- we can still play at home and stuff, I promise, but, well, its kinda embarrassing when you come over to me when I'm trying to play ball with the guys.”
I was shocked, he was embarrassed to admit his best friend was a girl? Ashamed of me suddenly, now that we were in the Third grade? I was crushed. I could hardly believe he didn't want to get caught playing with a girl in front of his guy friends. Clearly thought he didn't, I could see it in in his still shamefully glowing cheeks, in the way he wouldn't meet my eyes, toeing withered leafy flotsam while he waited for an answer. What else could I do but acquiesce? I didn't want to shame my friend, no matter how horribly unjust it felt, I cared about him too much to want to humiliate him.
We still talked, still played at home, but for a few months, at school all but casual contact was strictly off limits, it was painful, but I knew he still liked me. I knew it with the absolute unshakable faith of a child. He was still my friend & I was pretty sure he'd get over it.
He did.
I weathered the the storm and by our Fourth year at Heatherwood Elementary it all changed. I will eternally cherish the memory of that auspicious day we were taught the rules of flag football in P.E. Class. The early fall afternoon was sunny and warm, with a crisp breeze. The field was green and springy underfoot, perfect conditions if every there were. We played five on five, day-glo orange cones marking out a space of just a few yards for our fields.
I was of course in Rose's team along with Rose's good pals, Travis, Jeff and Eric. The scene is permanently etched in my memory. While the other five children milled about looking faintly confused, we huddled up, me and these four boys. We huddled up, and all business, Travis assigned us positions. We weighted our options, and made a game plan. We ended up settling on the old 'Statue of Liberty play'. I got to play Liberty herself. The other team didn't stand a chance, they were small children fumbling around with a with a football far too big for their little hands, and were completely unprepared to deal with our advanced level of gamesmanship skills.
The ball was hiked and I held it aloft, waiting for my team mate, I held it in one hand and gleefully passed off the ball to Travis with out missing a beat. They fell for it--completely snookered, Travis clutched the ball to his side and raced for glory, blue flags flapping at his waist before our opponents knew what hit em. He charged into the in zone.
TOUCHDOWN!
We all yelled as he did a victory lap around the cones. The other team took the ball and their pathetic attempts at a play soon landed the pigskin back in our hands. When we huddled up again, we decided that since the Statue of Liberty worked so well we'd try it again, this time I would take the pass.
"Hut... hut... HIKE!"
The nubbely ball was smoothly passed into my outreached hands, fingers tight around the laces as I tucked it under my arm. I leaned into the now stiff breeze, flags and hair streaming as I stretched out my legs and ran for all I was worth. I zigged, I zagged, and dodged questing fingers as I sprinted for the electric tangerine cones. I hurtled past the invisible line and breathless, slammed the ball into the ground.
TOUCHDOWN!
My team mates roared in approval. It was heady, blissful stuff. Those same boys that had been mortified to find me at Rose's birthday party, were cheering for me, hugging me and ruffling my long hair. We'd made two touch downs in just a few minutes. The bell to go back inside rang clarion loud and we all whooped again, we had not only scored, but we'd won, we had completely demolished the competition. It was beautiful, a glow we carried with us all day, a victory we bragged of to any who would listen for weeks to come.
I think all the boys saw me in a little different light from that day on. I had gone from being a girl-- one of the ENEMY-- to being, at last, part of the team--one of them.
posted by Deb Bluth at 10:04 PM
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