We are told that first love is supposed to be simple. It is supposed to be the boy or girl in your math class, the shy exchange of notes, or the nervous hand-holding at a high school dance. It is supposed to be innocent, awkward, and age-appropriate.
Jake and I are still friends, though we live in different cities. Last Christmas, I saw Lisa for the first time in four years. She has gray hair now. Her hands are a little more wrinkled. She hugged me and said, "You look happy." my first love is my friends mom
During the turbulent teenage years, peers are chaotic. They ghost you. They mock you. They change their loyalties with the wind. A friend’s mother, however, represents a stable anchor. She has already survived the storm. She is competent, calm, and—if you are lucky—kind. We are told that first love is supposed to be simple
Unlike the teenage girls at school who played emotional games, Lisa was direct. She listened. When I told her about my father losing his job, she didn’t offer platitudes. She put a hand on my shoulder and said, “That’s hard. Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to play video games to forget it?” She gave me a choice. That was the first time an adult had ever treated my emotions with that level of respect. Jake and I are still friends, though we
I almost broke.
Let this impossible love teach you what you truly value. You value emotional safety. You value maturity. You value someone who has their life together. That is an incredible gift. Most people date for a decade before figuring out what they need. You figured it out early.
Loving my friend’s mom broke me in a necessary way. It taught me that love is not about possession. It is about admiration. You can love someone from a respectful distance. You can carry a torch for someone and never burn down the house. If you are a teenager reading this, and your heart is currently aching for the parent of your best friend, I want you to hear me: