You Never Forget Your First

As a Hopeless Romantic, I've been thinking a lot lately about First Love...I’m obviously talking about First Love, Modern Philosophers.  This is a family friendly blog, after all!

As a Hopeless Romantic, I constantly generate Deep Thoughts about love, relationships, dating, and affairs of the heart.  Most of those thoughts have to do with my trying to figure out where I went wrong along the way.

I’ve never been very good at love, and whenever I try to figure out why I can’t master something, I like to go back to the very beginning.

That’s why my head was filled this week with Deep Thoughts about my First Love.

I believe I’ve walked you down this path before, Modern Philosophers, but Memory Lane can be a wonderful place to visit when you stop at the right intersections.

First Love found me the summer I was sixteen.  My Stepmother declared that I was old enough to have a summer job, and I ended up working at a sleep away camp in upstate New York.

As a huge fan of the Friday the 13th franchise, I looked forward to the experience.  I knew I was safe from any serial killer’s wrath because I was a virgin, and everyone knows only the sexual active campers and counselors get hacked to bits.

It was my first time away from my family’s influence for such an extended period of time, and I looked forward to spreading my wings and learning to be a bit more social.

In other words, I was hoping to figure out how to talk to girls while I was far away from home and wouldn’t be embarrassing myself in front of any member of the opposite sex I’d have to face on a daily basis around my neighborhood.

Love found me, but since this was the geeky teen version of your favorite Modern Philosopher we’re talking about, First Love was awkward, weird, and one sided.

You know, typical Austin.

I found love for the first time at Summer Camp.  I just wish Bill Murray had been there to give me some witty advice...I fell for a fellow counselor, but she was too old to legally reciprocate.  She let me hang around her all the time, though, and she was really cool and fun.

I never got my first kiss that summer, and didn’t come close to even leaving the dugout, let alone making it to first base, but I did finally learn how to be comfortable speaking to an attractive woman.

That was a big step for me, and even though I didn’t notice it at the time, it gave me some much needed confidence with the opposite sex.

Of course, it still took me until the following summer to get my first kiss, but who knows how long it would’ve taken had I not had this awkward rendezvous with First Love?

If you’d like to read more about my First Love and how it has affected every romantic decision I’ve made since, please head over to The Good Men Project to check out my new column.  I never get any comments on my articles over there, so I’d love it if you could leave me a few lines about your first love.  You know, make my column look as if people actually read it!

You can find my article here:

As always, thank you for your support, and I’m really looking forward to reading your experiences with First Love.  Why do I think my tale is going to be the most awkward?

I may not be your First Love, but you can follow me on Pinterest…


About Austin

Native New Yorker who's fled to the quiet life in Maine. I write movies, root for the Yankees, and shovel lots of snow.
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10 Responses to You Never Forget Your First

  1. Where was the camp? As a New Yorker, I hate it when people say “upstate New York,” which of course means “anything that is not NYC.” I recently began a magazine article with the observation that a woman never forgets her first love, but I was talking about beer. Oh and, not for nothing, but, sometimes when love doesn’t work out it is not because of mistakes you made, so don’t beat yourself up. Also, didn’t those slashers ever kill virgins who had just done it for the first time?

    • Austin says:

      Because of the non-disclosure agreement I hate to sign, I can’t reveal the camp’s location. What I can say, is that it was used in a PBS show about summer camp called Camp Highfeather. Have your interns research that for you. 🙂

      • I have no interns and no great abilities for internet research, but that is a pretty good clue. Damn non-disclosure agreement! What was it, when you got the job at the camp, you had to sign a thing saying if you were ever a writer (couldn’t say “blogger” because it didn’t exist back then), you were not allowed to say the name of the camp or fictionalize it with or without a mad hatchet murderer?

      • Austin says:

        Something like that. I can’t talk about it…

      • BUT… you could make it a camp in a small town somewhere in the midwest… I daresay there are many hatchet murderers in the midwest. I can see it now: a sweet, tender, coming-of-age romance with a hatchet murderer thrown in. Maybe I’ll write it. Only I went to music camp.

  2. mulvihillustrious says:

    I don’t kiss and tell ,but reading this defiantly sparked thoughts of my first love; )

  3. donedreaming says:

    Did you ever think about contacting the women in your romantic liaisons and asking them how it went from their perspective? Like Jack Nicholson in Somethings Gotta Give. That could be interesting ..

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