I was in the second grade when I developed my very first crush. “Love,” to that point, had been limited to big hugs and kisses from my parents, Barney’s favorite song, and Sweethearts candies passed around the classroom each Valentine’s Day. That is to say: my scope for the concept, at least in a romantic context, was narrow.
Still, I felt my face flush and my heartbeat quicken whenever I found myself in Clayton’s presence. He was smart and sweet and everything I hoped for in a 7-year-old boy friend (not to be confused with boyfriend). And we were friends, jointly involved in school events and extra-curricular activities and Sunday church groups. I was so joyful in my adoration for Clayton and, like any big secret within any tiny child, the crush was dangerously susceptible to being shared. I couldn’t contain it.
I was delighted, one day, to find myself beside my best friend, Kaitlyn, with Clayton to her opposite side, in the second row of Clayton’s family’s minivan. Of course, we also had the company of Savannah (Clayton’s mother) and Blake (his preteen brother), but I was not deterred. At the moment, we happened to be stopped, filling the car with gas and filling our time with jokes. In addition to being smart and sweet, Clayton was also funny, at least by second grade standards.
The moment appeared ideal to share the information of my crush with Clayton, wrapped up prettily in a knock-knock joke. It went something like this:
Me: Clayton, knock knock
Clayton: Who’s there?
Me: I love
Clayton: You love who?
Me: I love you
To this day, I can still feel that moment in all its raw terror. I can hear the deafening silence, which was probably no more than a second but that seemed to last for minutes. I had jumped, and my stomach had fallen; I felt intensely vulnerable.
I don’t know what I was expecting, because I had not yet had this experience to learn, wrongly, that I must control and predict all outcomes in love to minimize pain. But I know that everything that followed – Blake’s laughter, Savannah’s giggle and “Aww,” Clayton’s blank stare – made me wish, more than anything, that I could take the moment back. Take the words “I love you,” and put them back in my mouth, back in my brain, safely locked up and never to be risked again. I forced a laugh, too, hoping to play off the joke as meaningless. But as the conversation moved on to less awkward (but certainly funnier) jokes, I looked out the window and willed the hot tears in my eyes to please not run down my face.
For the first time, I experienced the overwhelming pain of romantic rejection and shame.
Thank you, Clayton, for being the first object of my affection. I learned so much that day, and I have had the privilege of unlearning in love ever since.
