I remember before the events of 9/11 shook the foundation of our country my mom used to always say she would never forget where she was when she found out about Kennedy's assassination. After the events of 9/11, my generation can say we will never forget where we were when the Twin Towers were first hit. I was in 8th grade American History with Mr. Greher and I recall the rest of the day being a relative wash because in each classroom we were all gathered around the television screen watching the devestation play out.
I can remember feeling overwhelmingly sad about the events that were taking place and not really being sure why I felt that way, because these events seemingly had nothing to do with my life. . . Of course now I realize it made sense that I had such a strong reaction, because those events changed everyone's lives. That was the first time I realized that a day that didn't really seem to have purpose for my life will forever be a part of my memory chip.
And you know the saying. . . there's a first time for everything. . . So on to lighter scenarios:
The first time you learn (or in my case, try to learn) to ride a bike: I don't recall my exact age, but Nick took the training wheels off my perfectly pink and purple bike with hearts all over it and hot pink tassles streaming from the rubber wrapped handles. Our side walk is very small and very narrow which led to limited virgin bike riding experiences, but we tried . . . and we failed. I got on that bike with all the gusto a scared, young girl can muster only to fall promptly off the perfect bike and blubber to Nick that he was to put the training wheels back on. . . NOW! Which he did (great guy, even then) and now here's the BIG secret, folks. . . I am 24. . . and I still do not know how to ride a bike.
So in the event of the bike riding expedition, there was a first time for no training wheels, which also coincided with my last time for no training wheels.
The first time you learn to tie your shoes. My mom, in my most humble, educated opinion, is the greatest mother ever to live and she went about the shoe tying experience by using the age old rabbit ear route. She taught it flawlessly and to this day I am an expert shoe tyer (tier?). Thank you, very much.
The first time you realize boys don't have cooties. I do not recall the exact age or grade. . . it was definitely elementary school for me and his name was Josh Anderson (laugh it up, fellow Miami "Easters") Josh was cute, and still is, and was a really great, kind guy, and he still is. This crush did not come to frutrition in any way and as a matter of fact, he was and still is, a very good friend of mine (and possibly a very distant relative.) So this elementary school crush does not have a fairy tale ending, but I quite possibly am divulging very serious harbored secrets here, people. So, you're welcome!
The first time you get kissed, for real. I was in sixth grade, it was after a rolling skating extravaganza at the local 36 Skate, on my basketball court in the backyard on a pretty blue-sky-ed, sunshine-y day, and his name was Brandon Sizemore. Of course, the world stopped moving as I was convinced that this kiss was the best kiss ever to be had on solid ground. (Admittedly it was a nice kiss, but we were young, inexperienced, and faking at being grown up, so . . . ya know . . .) Either way, it was my first kiss which makes it totally memorable, totally worth it, and totally anti-climatic compared to various other DNA swapping events.
The first time you "do the wild thing." I choose this particular phrasing because, as most of you know ( I would guess ) there is likely nothing "wild" about one's first time in the proverbial sack. I would imagine it is safe to say that every single female on the planet begins to imagine what her first time will be like around the time she gets into her first serious relationship and is conceivably in love with said partner in serious relationship.
As many of you know I have a flair for the dramatics so, naturally, my first time was going to be full on soap opera style: candlight, soft jazz music in the background, we would walk towards one another in a fevered desperation and RIP each other's clothes to shreds to allow full skin on skin contact. . . rolling in the sheets would be easily accomplished and, of course, our hands would be intertwined the entire time. . . ha-haha-ha-ha-ha. Looking back on those fantasies, I have this great desire to allow my joints go where no joints have gone before and kick myself in my own ass, because honestly, who exactly did I think I was? Where exactly did I think I was living? Not on an overly directed, perfectly lit sound stage, that's for damn sure!
Because I am a lady and I do not "kiss" and tell, I will not go into the great details of my first time (apologies to any family members who maintained I was virginal, still), but let me say this: It was memorable, but during the day, and not in a car! Ta-daaaa!!
The first time you realize you will touch someone's life along the way, in some way. I have always wanted to write and, through my writing, have always wanted to change someone's world. As a college Senior who is beginning to see the eventful graduation day looming in the near future, I had begun to question whether this would ever be a possibility. . . and then I started this blog, I started opening my heart up, I starting being honest and not being concerned about consequences and guess what? You are all responding . . . with love. And it has blown me away. I am not paid to do this blog, but look forward to it every day. My hope is that one day I will get checks with my name (one day hyphenated, of course) on them to do just what I'm doing right now: making you tear up with my losses, helping you see something through a story, creating laughter by making a mockery of myself.
Let me introduce myself: My name is Steph. I'm a story teller, a giggle ensue-er, a young woman still testing the waters. . .
I am a writer.
Like I said, there's a first time for everything.