My first love(s)

Day 3: Your first love

Okay, I know--today isn't Day 3. Cut me some slack here; when little man comes home, I am less inclined to stay up late and write. It happens. Sue me?

My mind decided to react in a strange way to this topic. It kick-started it's analytical processes, and next thing I knew, I was imagining how to sum up the idea of "Love," how it applied to me and my life, in a traditional sense or in the context of a Shakespearean tragedy--basically, I wanted to make this a lot harder than it really was. Huzzah!

I had decided that "First Love" would easily be cheated by talking about that first dog, or my mother--anything that wasn't the intended topic. Loving one's mother is taken as a granted methinks...as far as the author of this list was concerned? This is to be about Romantic Love.

This is actually really simple. Here we go!

My first Kiss: 14 years old, in the backyard of Matt Green's house while everyone else was at a swimming party. Her name is Lisa. She was also my first "girlfriend," though at the age of fourteen I had know idea what things like "girlfriend," or "Love" really were. At that age, Love is a new and exciting prospect; the world is just starting to open up before your eyes, and it is so much fun! Love at fourteen meant all the excitement, discovery and wonder, without responsibility! At fourteen you aren't worried about how much the mortgage payment went up this month; your biggest concern is how good your jacket smells after she wore it. Sublime.

My first girlfriend: Now, I will qualify this as meaning my idea of a first real girlfriend (not taking anything from you, Lisa!). A long-term girlfriend. The first person that you say "I Love you" to. In the only way you know how, at the ripe age of 17-18, you really do. Vacations. Prom. Wanting to spend more time with them than anyone else. Endless hours on a telephone. Flowers on Valentine's. Arguments. Family functions. Graduations. Ultimately, heartbreak. This person, for me, is named Jenny. Good stuff.

It is interesting to note that I am still in contact with both of the women named above. They have amazing lives, wonderful husbands, and are people I will always call my friend. Thank you, both of you.

My ex-wife: This one is a conundrum, because we are no longer together, and as such, there is no "Love" left. I can sum our relationship up in two words: train wreck. Terrible. Painful. An immensely powerful collision of two opposing forces, becoming entangled in some sort of mangled, twisted embrace. Yet strangely compelling to behold. Obviously, at one point, we must have been in Love--and we were. The problem was, we failed to nurture it, to grow it. Love within a marriage is work. Everyday. We let it pass us by, and became resentful and hurtful towards each other--probably because we had failed ourselves, and more importantly--failed each other. It ended badly.

I wish I could say that I was friends with this woman; I am not. We are quite decidedly not friends.

There exists, however, some semblance of Love for this woman I despise: she is the mother of my child. She gave me the most precious gift anyone could ever be given. As the mother of my child, I will always Love her for that. My Love for her is defined by and limited strictly to my son. Not through him by any means, for no child deserves that burden; but by the mere existence of him. I need to treat her with respect, and foster respect for her in my boy; I do him a great disservice if I don't. I make sure that he knows that his mother and I, although we are not in Love, are still his parents. He needs us both to appear as partners, as a team. We're still working on that one. It's a learning curve!

A few thoughts as I reach today's conclusion: I am lucky to have friends and family to Love and who Love me. There are of course, many examples of these wonderful relationships, and they do not need to be enumerated and detailed here. I am blessed to experience every single day a Love that is so absolute, so truly unconditional, I cannot even believe it is real, from my son. It simply pours out of him, and washes away any complaint or headache or how bad a day could have been.

I guess that as I move on in life, looking forward to one day meeting that special person to Love, and be Loved in return, this is what I would say:

I am waiting to hold a jacket to my face again.