First Loves

Probably opening a can of worms here as some of you think unkindly on that love ‘em and leave ‘em, never called you back, took your virtue and ran fella. Some may think of the guy/girl who you knew was so far above you that you wouldn’t dare even talk to her (news flash: he/she was scared of you too and far more insecure that you could ever imagine.)  Others may even recall a genuine connection where you grew apart as your minds and ideas of real life became realities, or even the one you had bottled up and still yearn for, but realize you’re better people separately than together.

Yeah.

That’s not who I’m going to talk about right now. Today, the first loves on my mind go further back than teenage or college angst and dreams. They go back to solids. The ones you can still count on today to pull you out of the hell of everyday doldrums and put a nostalgic, goofy grin on your face, or sweet smile deep in your heart as you remember.

For me, my first love was Papa Joe, my mother’s dad. He has been gone since 1964 and I still miss him like crazy, and get teary eyed thinking about him. He was my buddy, my ally in my fight with my mom against all things girly, and to this very day, 53 years after his death, I can see and hear him more clearly than any other relative that has passed. When I was around 3 and wanted a fire truck, he bought me one. He might have lost that argument with my mom, but he listened to what I wanted and loved me enough to provide it instead of getting me another stupid darned doll. We went fishing together, although I rather imagine it was on days my mom and her mom went shopping and I was left in his care. We kept my beautiful cane pole hidden in his basement, and I was thrilled every time we went out to the county lake for blue gill, crawdads, and turtles. Bologna and butter sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, and (shhhh) grape Nehi always went with us. I don’t know how he explained those boiled crawdad dinners, or the turtle soup (the blue gills were always too small and thrown back to grow for next year), but those were precious times. I also dearly remember sitting on his lap in front of the ancient round screen, black and white TV and watching the Gillette Friday Night Fights, and Ozark Mountain Jubilee. Fourties and fifties country music is still my go-to. Yup. I know my cousins who lived all the way in Boston back then, feel the same way about him. He was and still is a very special man. We all miss and love Papa Joe dearly.  

Another first love of mine was Gordon the mailman. To a toddler, he looked like a big, scary, giant, but he always got eye level with me when he talked….and talk he did. He told me about his grandchildren before I could understand that other people had families too. I think he always had a treat for me and the other kids on the block, and he was never in a rush. Of course, this was back in the day when the mailman carried a big, heavy pouch and walked his route, depositing mail into actual mailboxes all the way up on people’s front porches. On scorching hot days, he was always invited to sit on the porch a spell and partake of some lemonade, and on cold and rainy or snowy days, there was always a cup of hot coffee for him in the kitchen. Now I understand the concept of the different looking child in the family being jokingly referred to as the mailman’s.

Of course, if we are talking love, Roy Rogers cannot go unmentioned. From age 14 months to 6-1/2 years, every Saturday morning allowed, I plopped my then tiny behind on the floor and watched the most wonderful man alive, who also happened to have the most beautiful horse (Trigger), and the funniest friend (Pat Brady) who in turn, had a contrary jeep (Nelly Belle.) As for the woman in the fringe skirts, with the pretty horse named Buttermilk, well, I pretended to be her along with my trusty red plastic stick pony. She had the best life…her own business, great music, a cool cowboy boyfriend, and a silly best friend named Pat Brady whose goofy open jeep always took off without him. I must confess that occasionally, my nostalgia runs so deep that I hook up with a few episodes on youtube. Don’t tell my family. I fear they are already drawing up papers to have me committed. 

My last first love has been around since the 1930’s so when I first fell, I don’t know, but when I fell, I fell hard and have never recovered. Daffy Dumas Armando Sheldon Duck. Such love I will never again see the likes of, for it is all consuming. To even classify it as love seems too insignificant. Daffy is indeed my dethpicable soul mate. The one. My love for all time into infinity and beyond. I still watch his cartoons on the internet and some children’s channel, and although I have given up adding to my collection of memorabilia, I still drink from my plastic Daffy glass, and drink from my Daffy mug, of which I have a child size replica should I ever have a grandchild. We will sit and sip cocoa with marshmallow fluff from matching mugs and watch cartoons together. 

So for now, Happy Trails to You, and don’t forget that it’s always wabbit season.