Tuesday, September 18, 2012

a hymn to first love





On Sunday, my family went to the Georgia Tech football game to celebrate my first grandson's fourteenth birthday.While we were hanging out, he brought his phone over to show me the face of a girl he likes, she of dark hair and sweet soulful eyes.I admired her and have thought of her since.What does he feel for this girl, this pretty teen-age girl.Is it anything like my first love? Could anything be like that?

 It is a summer evening on Long Island, after I graduated from the 8th grade. One of my classmates, Teresa, has invited me to her house to meet a neighbor friend of hers that she thought I might like. I really didn't want to go but she was my friend, so I headed off towards Jerusalem Avenue, crossed that big street and went several blocks to her neighborhood of old, stately brick houses. She introduced me to her friend: I am shy and don't say much. I can recall nothing of this guy or what was said, but what I do remember is the walk home in twilight.

I was going home to my room with the pink bedspread, the tall maples that guard and shade, and the street where my heart has been captured. As I walk, I am hoping  that maybe, when I get home, he will be out shooting baskets or hanging with the neighbor kids and I will see him. "And you walk down the street on the chance that you'll meet , and you meet not really by chance".And my heart fills with a joy that I recall to this day.

This boy rode into my heart on a lightning strike when I was 13. Until that day, I had been a normal kid and then, besotted and bewildered was I. He was tall, well-built and had a perpetual grin that lit up my world. He was also unreachable.

 This is the scent of first love: lilacs, sea breeze, mouldering leaves, lily of the valley.The sounds, I can still hear as I type: calling robins on the evening lawn, planes from Mitchell Field revving their engines, the slap of a ball being kicked and laughter.

This boy is older and my perfect boy.My devotion is pure, and never-ending.

I have shared some of the photos that I take of things that I see in my wanderings .The attached was taken last week at Stone Mountain and like the picture of the rocks on the beach,  this one had something to tell me. First of all, how is it blooming by a stream in September ? It is an azalea. I's flowers are pure white and tucked into the green leaves off to the side of the path, easily overlooked. It finally said this:"Tell the story of that pure devotion and how if you sit still, close your eyes and remember, you are there again."

There is more to this enchanting story, this perfect boy and I are still friends.We hold each other in prayer and the devotion that I feel towards him is still intact.

"Eye has not seen,ear has not heard what God has ready for those who love Him".First love is a taste.

4 comments:

kris spikes said...

Aidan is 14!!!??? How is this possible? I remember when he was born!

I'll be crying in the corner now...

sharon graham said...

I know...no crying...he's a great kid....I keep checking for signs of teen-age angst but still has an open face..

Margo said...

Your writing takes me back in time. Thanks. What creativity, Sharon, to tie in your special picture of the almost hidden azalea.

sharon graham said...

Thank you,Margo....glad you like what I write..it means alot to me...