Alex J. Cavanaugh is hosting the First Loves Blogfest today where we are asked to write about the first movie, first song/band, first book, and first person we ever loved. Be sure to visit Alex's site to read from this eclectic group of authors and bloggers.
The first movie that I fell in love with was The Sound of Music. I remember going to the theater to see it twice with my family, and once we even had to sit in the first row. I still remember the words to many of the songs, and loved the chemistry between Christopher Plummer and Julie Andrews. At the time, I probably wasn't old enough to appreciate much more than "Do-Re-Mi," and the spectacular color images projected on the large screen. My memory is a compilation of all the additional TV viewings.
While many ten year old girls were swooning over David Cassidy, Bobby Sherman serenaded me with, "Julie Do You Love Me?" I remember rummaging through Tiger Beat magazine looking for Bobby Sherman posters. My classmates were either David Cassidy or Bobby Sherman fans, and Bobby's side part and personalized love song made him the clear choice.
A few years later, the side part sprouted facial hair, and dimples. Freddie Prinze didn't sing, but every time he said "That's not my job" on Chico And The Man was music to my ears. My parents surprised me for my birthday by taking us to see his comedy act at a theater in the round. I was so excited to be seated just a few rows away from him. Sadly, he died about a year later.
The first book that I remember being able to relate to was Beverly Cleary's Ellen Tebbits. It was a comic look through a third grader's perspective about whether her teacher liked her, and being accepted by her classmates. I remember how Ellen was embarrassed about changing for ballet class, because her mother made her wear long underwear. Fortunately, she befriended another girl with the same dilemma.
For my first love I could write about the boy in my 5th grade class with an overbite who spent more time trying to classify our relationship than actually have one. We would pass notes back and forth during class about how he wasn't ready to go steady, but was willing to ease into "going friendship." I was more turned on by the fact that he could read my handwriting than anything else. When it came time to take the next step by talking on the phone, he chickened out and our relationship was over before it began.
The following year I decided I preferred older men, and had a huge crush on my sixth grade social studies teacher. He was only twenty two, and we seemed to have a similar sense of humor. I'll never forget when he was discussing a historical case in class about a doctor who lost many of his patients. When he asked if anyone in the class knew why I replied, "Because he didn't wash his hands." Shocked by my response, he asked me to act out a likely scenario.
Hence, I proceeded to pretend I was in an operating room while coughing and sneezing all over my hands. I tried to channel Sarah Bernhardt, but came off more like Carol Burnett. Afterward, he told me how I really surprised him by being the only one in class who knew about the dangers of not washing your hands. Apparently, he had never met my mother.