Stages of Love In A Lifetime

From crushes to . . .

Do you remember your first crush? I do. I was around six years old. Can you believe it? His name was Courtney and he hung around with my brothers. I used to follow them around, all over the neighborhood. They would stop and turn around to see that I was hiding behind a bush, lamp pole, street light post, whatever! I was like glue. Then they would turn and laugh because, you know, it was funny or strange. Then, either he moved or we did, but it was over. We moved a lot then so it was probably our family that moved. (sigh!)

Then, the next one was in second or third grade. He gave me a ring but I don’t remember his name. Something like Hammond comes to mind.

When I was eight I thought a priest at our school was handsome, but, he was a priest.

When I was ten my father died from a stroke! He looked like Clark Gable and he was only 42. I didn’t have my father’s love anymore. I missed him then and still do now. I always wonder how my life or if my life would have been if he was still alive for another twenty or so years. My mother was so mean I think I would have stayed with him more. Just don’t know as he was an alcoholic and abused my Mom.

My mom was a wreck with five kids at home to raise all by herself. She was in a constant bad mood and had to deal with a sixteen-year-old that had a job but would not give her any money and hid it from her, a ten-year old who thought she was grown, an eight-year-old, a six-year old and a four-year old.

She wasn’t very big with communication and love; mostly shouting and hitting. She kept us all straight though until we couldn’t deal with it anymore and rebelled.

But there is one thing that haunts me. She never told us that she loved us and after we all had moved out with our own families and lives, she never was available for us to visit her. She didn’t want to see anybody. You could say she suffered from “high anxiety” whenever any family wanted to come by. Other than this, I question “why?”

The oldest at home rebelled by joining the Army. He at least had some freedom to do what he wanted. Mom didn’t want him to even date. Thank goodness he didn’t leave anyone pregnant.

The second oldest, me, rebelled by getting a job and a boyfriend. That was a high school boyfriend which lasted for around six years. He introduced me to sex, pregnancy, marriage and divorce before I turned twenty-two. It was not all his fault. I didn’t want to be with him either.

My mother had a fit about the pregnancy part, called me names, and threw me out of the house on my own. All I could do was go to my boyfriend’s to see if his family would take me in. They did but his Mom wasn’t happy. Weird times! Late sixties. Double standards and Catholic rules!

It was as though I was the bad guy and he didn’t do anything wrong or have any responsibility for his part.

I survived and met more men after that as I was working for a large bank in Atlanta.

I had my own place and was single. I enjoyed being single and yes I was selfish. I had a life of not having anything, now I wanted what I wanted. I had my own money and I could do what was good for me for once.

I bought a car and learned to drive. I had my child over every other weekend per court order and would go to her step-mom’s house to pick her up. Her step-mom hated me! For whatever reason, it didn’t matter, I was free and she had to take care of my child. That was the way it was. Blame her husband not me.

Then I ran into someone that knocked me off my feet. Handsome, sweet, smart, deep and interested in helping me, as I suppose you could say, someone who was a bit lost. By this I mean, after a year or so, I was tired of dating men that either had no substance, no money, no looks, no future, no interest in me, just my body. I was just disillusioned about all of it.

I stayed with this new guy for eight years. He was good to me most of the time until he was not. I always say, “We had four good years, then four bad years.” He cheated and had a roving eye. He made debasing comments to me and mentioned I was always negative to him, his friends, his family, and it embarrassed him. I didn’t know what he meant because I had not learned how to be any other way. I had not had a positive comment or idea my whole life.

When we broke up he talked about me behind my back saying I did this to him, and I did that to him. Wow! We were a mess. I never married this guy. He told me once that his aunt would never let him marry me because I was too poor and I did not have an education.

This aunt, Mary, was supposedly rich as hell and owned a Greek island. Her family vacationed in Banff and Aspen.

He took me to Aspen and we stayed with her family there. He set up a day long trip down the mountain skiing. I had never been on skies before so I was a bit scared. I didn’t go. He went by himself. I waited at the lodge. He went up in the morning and did not come back down until after 6:00 p.m. It had gotten very cold and wet. He came down and we drove to the hotel. He was so angry. I guess I was not the adventuring type but I never said I was and he knew better. He did this same thing to me riding horses in Bryce Canyon.

I didn’t want to freeze to death on a mountain. I think we broke up after that or after we drove each other mad with revenge.

Love sometimes is mean. And as far as I am concerned it’s also a bad judge of character.

The next person I got involved with was a criminal. He was a shyster and if he wanted something he got it. He got me and wouldn’t let me go. It lasted eighteen years, along with verbal and emotional abuse, twin babies, life in another country, homelessness, mental illness and poverty.

He was great in the beginning. He protected me from being bothered by a cult and I appreciated it. Then he got vengeful because I did not stick to my end of a bargain. I just wanted them to leave me alone.

We had to finally move out of state for them to leave us alone.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe I don’t really add anything to relationships. Maybe I always take too much. (I am soul searching right now.) Maybe I expect too much of another human being. Maybe I want to be loved, respected, and granted the right to just be me.

Now, am I doing the same thing? At my age, 69, I have a boyfriend and have for three years after not having anyone but my boys to care for. It was twelve years until I had a new male friend.

We seem to get a long well. He gets a bit perturbed with me when he has big ideas and I don’t follow through with them. They are HIS ideas, not mine. And I don’t like quick and immediate change.

He is two years younger than I am but still works very hard. He wants me to do the same. He wants me to work with him. He is a interior/exterior home repairman. My previous work was sitting behind a desk. I’m not going to do that with him.

He is also in really good shape. I’m afraid I’m not. As you can see we have things to work out and if we don’t want to see or talk to each other we don’t. Things are more relaxed now but there are things that just rub me the wrong way. I voice them now instead of hiding them or not bringing them out into the open.

All I know is love comes in many shapes and forms and circumstances. It is a tricky thing. You have to use your head instead of your hormones and be smarter than it is.

Jo Ann Harris is an author, parent, book devotee, writer, copywriter, and film fanatic. She is an autodidact who learns about everything on her own. She grew up and worked in Atlanta, Georgia and lived there sixty years. She writes articles about love, hope, personal life stories, advice and poems. She is a published author with an article in Woman’s World magazine in October, 2017.