How You Made Me Love You: Part I

My first real boyfriend was in 11th grade. Disregarding elementary school romances with boys who pulled my hair or teased me at the bus stop, my very late start was, when all was said and done, pretty good. He was tall and blonde and he played the guitar (which would later become one of my biggest weaknesses when it came to members of the opposite sex) and, very importantly, at the time at least, he went to my church. The first time I saw him, he was playing bass as an 8th grader (I was in 10th grade at the time) for a hight school choir concert. I thought he was cute, and when he was at the after party, I watched him talk to his friend as we listened to Glycerine by Bush on the CD player. It is, perhaps, one of my most vivid memories of him, ever.

I saw him very rarely for the rest of that year, and was unconcerned by it. He was simply a cute boy that would, as others always had, come and go in my life. The next year, when he moved up to the high school with me, I had all but forgotten him until band camp started. He played the trombone and I was a dancer. His friends were like him and he was sarcastic and had a unique sense of humor. I was pleased to find out that when he spoke to me, he was smart and goofy.

I invited him to hang out at my house, which, as houses go, was one of the busiest for parties on the weekend. We were a relatively calm group, most of us good strong Christians and active (as you could be at the time) with the Youth Group and after-school activities. My parents enjoyed having all my friends over. He fit in with our group quite well. I eventually developed so strong a crush, that my two best girlfriends at the time found out and somehow managed to embarass me in front of him about it (harmlessly). One laid back evening he and my friend wrote notes back and forth to each other, speaking in metaphors (they were both excellent writers, as most of us were at the time) about how strong his ankles were to play soccer, which translated to a conversation about his fears to try to be more than my friend.

We eventually decided to go out (thanks in part to he and my friend's little note-writing party) which involved a lot of staying in; renting movies with friends and going to youth group together. Our mothers talked in church and we became friends with each other's friends. We went to homecoming and prom and he made me a Valentine's Day card that involved torn pieces of a plastic bib. I loved it. Our first kiss was outside in my driveway on a very quiet, snowy night. We stayed together 9 months.

I don't remember exactly why we broke up. It was probably something along the lines of both being relatively immature and not exactly ready for a serious relationship. I was very sad about the end of it; I likely cried every day after school for several days. Fortunately, my memories of him are not of the breakup but of some of the funny, and nice times we had together. I moved on and dated other boys (one of which was a good friend of his, surprisingly causing no drama), and he dated at least two more girls that I know of, the second of which, he is married to.

Ours, although not The One, was a successful relationship, and I'm happy to include him on my list. For our age, and for that time in our life, it was a very good thing. We had someone to call every night afte school, and sometimes kiss, and to call our boyfriend/girlfriend when having one of those was key to your status in high school. We were a lot alike, and in a time in most people's lives where you feel very lonely, it was good to know someone like him and have him so close to me. I have no idea what he thinks of me these days, or if he remembers as much as I do, in fact, I'm closer with his wife than I am with him (she was a good friend from high school as well). It was a simple relationship, for simple times. It was good.

Next time: How You Made Me Love You: Part II