My first crush was in the second grade – perhaps my most innocent experience in attraction. I knew that boys like girls and that girls like boys. That was the extent of it. By the second grade, I had heard the word gay, but I wasn’t yet certain of what exactly it meant. Peers would ask if I was gay because I was friends with girls; I refuted, saying ‘Why would I hang out with boys if I want to date girls?’. I distinctly remember how the person I was talking to – a class clown, troublemaker, bully; Louis – was truly changed by that thought. I struck a chord with Louis, who exclusively was friends with boys, and shortly thereafter, he would make friends with the new girl at school.
I did hang out with boys though; Namely, two (which certainly means five or six by proxy). These two boys: they were my best friends. We played with nerf gear, whatever game was newest on the Wii or Xbox Kinect, hung out in their tree houses, and fucked with whatever sibling wasn’t home. Almost always hanging out one-on-one, birthday parties became an absolute treat for having everyone all in one space. In fact, my very first homo-curious experience happened at a birthday party in the second grade; However, neither of my aforementioned best friends were involved.
The summer between second and third grade my friend, Jake, had his birthday party. Notably, he was friends with the popular crowd. This event alone became my ‘in’ with the popular crowd for the years following. The party began as a mixer, if you will. Boys and girls came to this party for the trampoline, grilled hotdogs, presents, and cake. Then the girls left, and the real party began. We started with a bonfire, where we grilled more hotdogs and made s’mores. It was early summer, the air was warm, the breeze was refreshing, and the cicadas were familiarizing with each other. Followed by a jump on the trampoline with Jake’s new presents, it became too late to be laughing and screaming outdoors. All the boys were directed to the basement, where our overnight bags had been waiting since we arrived; Sneakily hidden from all the girls that were upstairs earlier. Jake’s brother also lived in the basement, but as far as we were concerned, he was away at college. At this point, Jake’s mom came down with a final round of snacks and drinks for the night and encouraged us to get to sleep before the sun rises. After devouring the snacks while playing a new video game Jake received, we decided to set up camp. Having only one bathroom in the basement, the group decided upon two things:
- We will set up our sleeping bags next to each other, all together.
- We will change into our pajamas at the same time, all together.
As it does, this prompted the discussion of what we, as boys, slept in. Answers varied widely, and likely still do: nothing, underwear, pants shirtless, pants no-underwear shirtless. Luckily for me, at the time, I was sleeping shirtless with pants on. I was always petrified of attending a sleepover during the times where I preferred wearing a shirt to sleep. Why we decided to change with each other, I am wholly unsure, but we were all certain it needed to be done. As we undressed, we talked about each of our bodies, and how they were developing at different rates (in much lesser terms). We explored each other’s bodies, innocently and non-sexually. Much like the cicadas outside, we touched and looked and became interested in the physicality of each other. We played in the nude, wrestled, and used the bathroom together. We got loud and rowdy, with laughter filling the space. After all, it was the first time any of us had seen such a plethora of genitals at the same time. With our shirts, pants, and underwear thrown into one large pile, Jake’s brother came out of his room and saw us running around naked. He told us to put clothes on and go to sleep. In fear of getting in trouble, we obliged.
To this day, I have never talked to those dozen or so boys from the party about what happened or if they remember it. It never came up, an unspoken event.
Like I mentioned, my two best friends were not at this party. I am curious what would have changed if they had been there. Would our friendship have felt weird? Suffered or disappeared? Would we talk about it on our own? Discuss what happened when the other wasn’t near? How unspoken would the event still be?
I had another event unspoken, with my best friend second to one. We shared a teacher that year. Each morning began on the carpet, color-squares of ROYGBIV. I normally arrived early, my bus always on-time. My friend Leslie was the only one to beat me there: her mom’s classroom was just down the hall. I’d chat with Leslie as students trickled in, bus by bus, from breakfast and the bathrooms. Sitting anywhere on the carpet, students grouped up, friend by friend, and, as usual, my best friend would sit near me.
Something was different that day. Was it his hair? His clothes? His skin? Blonde hair, blue eyes, and “WOW, this boy is CUTE.” For one of the few times in my childhood and adolescence, I felt attraction without fear of judgment, without acknowledgement of expectation. I knew this boy was cute, and I was ignorant to the notion that that was different in any way. But, it also felt odd. This boy was one of my best friends, we hung out regularly and would be playing on the playground later that day. Is this something I should tell him, or do I keep it to myself? Maybe in private, next time we hung out. I kept thinking he was cute, all day long, and for the weeks following.
I never told him how I felt. The next time I went to his house, I was introduced to his sister, a few years our elder. Immediately, I forgot about my crush and my desire to tell him. Instead, all my efforts when with him went towards getting beneath the skin of his sister.
My innocence was sweet. It was gentle. It was profound. Shortly thereafter I would recognize a distinct man in church who dressed differently than the rest of the congregation. I asked my family about why he dressed differently, and I learned that this man was gay. Prodding further, I needed to know what that meant. My parents explained it to me as follows, “Being gay is a sin, it’s a choice that certain people will make that distracts them from god. It’s a lifestyle that chooses to put yourself first, and god second,” little did they know, that didn’t sound so bad to me. They continued, “Certain people, like Brian, the guy from church, still have a relationship with god and try to repent for the sins they commit. I can’t say if that works, it is between him and god.”
I was satisfied with this and stopped prying.
My first crush was in the second grade – perhaps my most innocent experience in attraction.