Leader: In her Words
Feels Like the First Time
Lessons in love from a first beau, a Foreigner song and Bambi
If you haven’t watched Bambi lately, I recommend doing so. Actually, I insist on it. The 1942 Disney classic offers traditional timelessness through which we are reminded of simple life lessons. Like remembering what it feels like to be utterly twitterpated.
According to extensive online and extremely credible research (namely www.unwords.com), I found this definition:
1. (adj.) Describing someone who is head over heels in love.
Origins: From twitter, to utter in chirps expressing overwhelming excitement, and from –pate, of the head or brain.
I dig the definition. It supports my theory that a) the band Foreigner is comprised of shrewd sages; b) Foreigner rocks hard and rolls harder; and C) Foreigner seriously knows their stuff, because nothing “feels like the first time.”
My first time* took place in my hometown’s ragged bowling alley over a slice of chocolate cake during his 13th birthday party. He had just given me his jacket (for keeps!), and I gave him that first real piece of my pubescent heart – the one that hadn’t yet had the chance to swell with hurt or anger or bitterness. Our courtship had started when I told a friend who told a friend who told his friend that I “like liked” him. Word came back to me that he felt the same way. So he scribbled a note on a page from his neon Mead notebook, boldly asking, “Will you go out with me?”And it was locked. No awkward business-card exchange, no martini-charged good-night kisses, no mixed [text] messages. Just a bowling party and a loyal crush. (The patched jacket didn’t hurt either.)
I’m still in touch with my first love. You might even call it close touch – and I don’t mean “close” in reference to the steamy night we spent together in a pool in Arizona more than three years ago. No, no – we’re just very up-to-date on each other’s lives and eternally supportive of each other. But like all first loves, he grew up. And moved on. And met a new lady I hear is quite lovely. I’ve had girlfriends – rational, nonsentimental girlfriends – tell me that maybe I should end up with him. Maybe it would “work out.” I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my irrational, highly sentimental mind. But if my middle-school beau is destined to be the end-all, then what the hell have I been doing for the last 14 years (besides eating a few more slices of birthday cake than necessary)?!
And see – just like that, sensibility sneaks up, and I think about him and the new lovely lady who makes him happy. And how that honestly makes me happy. And how your first time, as great as it was, doesn’t have to be your last.
And mostly how, when all is said and done, we hope that last time feels just like the first.
*I’m referring to the first time I felt twitterpated. Obviously.