April 2nd, 1986

Twenty-six years ago today, a boy in my 9^th grade class, a friend, called me up and told me he realized the best girl for him was right under his nose. Just a few evenings earlier he had watched me slide down the brass banisters at the Met steps and put his arm around me while we walked and talked about our parents and our crushes. Even so, I asked “who?” “You,” he replied. I can still hear it in my head. My giddy, heart racing response surprised me a little at the time. I knew it was important, being asked out and all. But I didn’t realize how important. We were a couple for the next 2 years or so. He was the first person I talked to about so many things. Sitting quietly on the phone with him late at night in my dark apartment, I felt like we were electrically connected. I was free to be me at my best and my worst. Without a reference point, I did not know to be self conscious. I did not know how far my home life was from the norm. Well, maybe it actually wasn’t too far from the norm for growing up in Manhattan in the 1980’s. My mother was unpredictable and often anxious or angry. My reactions were impulsive. One particularly bad afternoon, he came for me in a taxi. Loved. I think I did the same for him, in a way. I am grateful. When I need to dig deep in order to recognize myself, I look to see who I was back then. Of course, I am better for the maturity and perspective I have now, but I wouldn’t trade that first, formative love for anything.