Tag Archives: being a teenager

Lessons From My First (Failed) Crush

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Being a teenager sucks. Unless you’re a star athlete, an attractive cheerleader, or the child of a filthy rich celebrity, there’s a high probability that you’ll be overwhelmed by the experience. Some people handle it better than others. I can say without question that I was not one of those people. If I were to get a grade on how I handled being a teenager, I probably would’ve gotten a C-minus at best.

As rough as it can be, you can learn a thing or two during your teenage years and I’m not just referring to the awkward changes that come with puberty. We don’t have much choice in how our bodies mature with age, but we do have a choice in how we handle the harsh lessons that come our way. In the interest of sharing some personal insights, which I’ve done before, I’d to revisit a lesson I learned about love.

With Valentine’s Day just around the corner, I think it’s fitting. Those lucky enough to have a special someone to spend the day with probably had to endure plenty of hardship to achieve what they had. I’m not afraid to admit that I envy those people. However, seeing as how I am such a romance fan, I’m not bitter. Why else would I spend so much time writing sexy novels and sexy short stories?

That said, there’s a difference between being a fan of romance and actually pursuing it. That was part of the lesson I learned with this particular incident. It occurred right around the time I started high school, which was already plenty miserable for me. I’ve already gone on record as saying how much I hated high school and those first few years were some of the worst.

There were, however, a select few reasons that made high school worth going to back then. One of those reasons was the first girl I ever had a serious crush on. It’s almost as corny as it sounds, but I won’t apologize for it. I was a lonely, miserable teenager who was just starting to develop a terrible acne problem that would plague me for the next five years. I wanted to connect with someone.

On top of that, I was a closeted romance fan. I genuinely wanted to seek the kind of love that I saw in comics, TV shows, and movies. I wanted to be part of my own love story and when I saw this girl, I felt like she could be part of that. I know that sounds like the musings of a love-sick teenage boy who listened to one too many boy bands, but that’s how I felt.

I still remember the first, last, and middle name of my first crush. Out of respect, I won’t share it. For the sake of keeping this story coherent, I’ll call her Angela. Without getting too descriptive, I’ll just say she was cute in a way that would always brighten your day. It doesn’t matter if you lost a fight, failed a mid-term, and got detention. One smile from Angela was enough to make everything in your world feel right.

I know that’s melodramatic. Again, I was a goddamn teenager who had read too many comics and watched too many movies with romantic sub-plots. That’s just how my brain was wired and the added effects of male hormones didn’t help. All I knew was that I had a crush on this girl. What I didn’t know was how to act on it.

This is where I learned a couple critical lessons. The first, and most obvious, realization I had was that my social skills sucked. It’s not just that I was socially awkward. My conversation skills for people outside my immediate family were awful. I struggled to get a conversation going. I struggled even more to keep it going. If I talked long enough, I would often say something stupid.

One time, I was sitting next to this girl in a science class and I just blurted out that I tried cat food once. I don’t know how or why I admitted that. It wasn’t even true. All I know was the girl just looked at me weird for the rest of the day and I honestly don’t blame her.

I already knew this about myself before I met Angela. As a result, I avoided talking to her at first. We initially met when we got paired up for an English assignment. I thought we got along well. I managed to work with her and not say anything too stupid. While I did learn she had a boyfriend at the time, she actually told me that it was not going well and they were definitely breaking up.

At the time, I thought that was a sign that maybe we had something. Looking back on it, I’m pretty sure she was just venting about her own personal issues. I just happened to be there to listen at the time. In my warped teenage brain, though, that was proof that I wanted to pursue this girl. I just didn’t know how and that’s when I learned a few more harsh lessons.

Chief among them was that if you’re really interested in someone, you have to be mindful of how you show that interest. If you’re not careful, it can come off as creepy and pathetic. For me, I don’t think I was creepy, but I was definitely pathetic and no woman finds that attractive.

I know because it took me almost a year after meeting her to make a move. I’d shared a few classes with her. She knew my name and I knew hers. I’d been friendly with her and she’d even been friendly with me a few times, but I was so shy and awkward that I really didn’t give her a reason to see me as more than just a casual acquaintance.

To make matters worse, my way of telling her I had a crush on her didn’t involve a difficult, face-to-face conversation. It involved me leaving a folded-up note in her locker with my email address written on it. Yes, I knew exactly where her locker was. I also took the time to slip it in when nobody else was there to see me. I admit that’s both creepy and a little pathetic.

For that reason, and probably others I’ll never know, she didn’t respond. I didn’t hear back from her and, at the time, that was genuinely heartbreaking. It ended making me more reserved and more socially awkward. High school was bad enough with hormones, homework, and acne. My first crush wanting nothing to do with me only made it worse.

That’s not to say I never heard from Angela again. About two years later, shortly after she moved away, I actually got an email from her. However, it did not lead to the epic love story I had hoped. It was a very short, very messy email. She just said that she got the note and thanked me for it. I told her who I was and she said she remembered me, but not much else came from it.

While not romantic, it still taught me one final lesson that ended up being the most important. When it comes to looking for love, you can’t go about it as though it’s story in a novel or movie. Love in the real world doesn’t work like that, especially with awkward teenagers. You actually have to work on talking to people, building connections with them, and giving them reasons to love you.

I never gave Angela enough reasons. I never even showed her that I was someone worth loving. I’d worked under the assumption that if I were just a nice, caring guy that the girl of my dreams would fall for me. That may work in cheesy sitcoms, but not in real life high school.

Some of these lessons took a long time to appreciate. It wasn’t until after college that I could look back on my experience with Angela with a more balanced perspective. I honestly wish it hadn’t taken so long. My social skills are still behind the curve. I feel like I held myself back for years, in terms of being a romantically desirable man, and I’m still trying to catch up.

While I’m in a much better place now than I was back in high school, I’m glad I went through that difficult experience of my first failed crush. Even though it took me way too long to learn from that failure, it offered insights that are more useful today than it ever was during my awkward teen years.

In terms of a first crush, I like to think I got lucky with Angela. She was sweet, caring, and understanding. She didn’t judge me for my social ineptitude or my terrible acne. I don’t blame her for not feeling the same way about me as I did about her. I just wish I’d handled it better.

One day, I believe I’ll find someone who will be as attracted to me as I am to her. When that day comes, I’ll be ready and that’s thanks in part to the lessons I learned by having a crush on Angela. While I doubt I’ll ever see her again, I’ll always be grateful to what she taught me about what it means to craft romance in the real world.

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Filed under Jack Fisher's Insights, romance, sex in society

Recalling The Time I Felt Most Emasculated

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Everybody has a few low points in their lives that they would prefer to forget. Even the richest, most privileged among us have moments where they feel like a wounded deer in a den of hungry wolves. I’ve certainly had my share of those days. While the pain they’ve caused me has waned over the years, I still remember them as clearly as they day they happened.

Talking about those moments is never easy. Most are content to keep them buried in the past and not think about them, a tactic favored by eccentric mad scientist cartoon characters. However, I believe there is some therapeutic value to revisiting those moments. Some of them can even offer insights that are more relevant today than they were when they happened.

In that spirit, I’d like to share one the greatest low points I ever had. What makes it relevant, though, isn’t that it was just especially bad. This one particular point marked the time in my life when I felt most emasculated, as a man.

Seeing as how I’ve talked a great deal about masculinity, from the way it has been demonized by ongoing social trends to the double standards that affect it, I think moments like this stand out more than they would have in previous years. I’ve even found myself recalling these moments more lately, but this particular moment tends to hit me the hardest.

To understand this memory and why it left me feeling so emasculated, I need to establish the situation. It takes place back when I was in grade school, specifically the fifth grade. That’s an important detail because this is a time when most kids are on the cusp of puberty and just learning what it means to mature from a kid to an adult.

Even before this particular event, I wasn’t handling that transition as well as I’d hoped. I had some attitude problems back then. I wasn’t much of a troublemaker, but I had a nasty habit of getting defensive. I would take things way too personally and overreact way too easily, even by the standards of a fifth grader.

As a result, this left me with few friends and more than a few enemies. I won’t say they were outright bullies, but they were close and I did everything I could go to goad them. My social skills were just that poor and my insecurities were just that great.

All those issues culminated near the end of the school year when my class took part in this big Civil War project that was supposed to be fun. The way it worked was we all picked names out of a hat to represent notable Civil War figures. Then, we would act out those roles in a make-shift activities, the last one being this big mock battle outside using water balloons.

It should’ve been fun. It was late May, the weather was warm, and we’d have an excuse throwing water balloons at each other. For me, though, it turned into one of the worst moments of my pre-adult life. I still consider it one of the most damaging moments of my life, to date.

Back when we were picking names out of a hat, I had the misfortune of picking the name of a woman. The name of the woman was Louisa May Alcott and, for all the wrong reasons, I’ve come to shutter at that name. That’s not to criticize her place in history, but picking that name really made that project a nightmare.

I tried to get another name, but my teacher wouldn’t let me. In hindsight, I could understand why. There were a lot of girls in that class stuck with male roles and there were only a few female roles to go around. I couldn’t even trade with someone. She basically told me to suck it up and go with it.

That, alone, was tough because I was the only boy in that class stuck with a female role. Needless to say, I got made fun of pretty quickly. Thanks to my attitude and immaturity at the time, I did everything possible to make it worse.

Throughout the project, I felt very uncomfortable playing this role and didn’t do a very good job. No matter what I did, I just gave everyone another reason to make fun of me and I reacted in a way that just gave them more incentive. In many ways, it was my fault for letting it get that bad. There were easy solutions, though, and my teachers never did a damn thing to help me.

Finally, on the day of the water balloon fight, it all came to ahead. I had already been in a bad mood that day and I did a lousy job of hiding it. As a result, I heard some kids talking about how they’d gang up on me and target me alone with their water balloons. It left me genuinely scared that I was going to be completely humiliated.

That might have been paranoia on my part, but it was more than enough to make me sit it out. When we were lining up to start the water balloon fight, I slipped away and sat down near the back wall of the school. I don’t remember if I told my teacher. I’m pretty sure I got knocked down a grade for not participating, but I wasn’t thinking about that.

However, that wasn’t the worst part. Shortly after the water balloon fight started, some of the kids from my class started mocking me from far. They started calling out, “Hi Louisa!” None of them ran up to me and threw their water balloon at me, but the damage had been done.

It was at that moment, all those kids laughing at me and calling me that woman’s name, where the distress I felt turned into outright emasculation. Make no mistake. There is a difference. Just being embarrassed is hard enough for anyone. Being emasculated, though, feels much more personal.

Regardless of how you feel about gender being a social construct or the faults in masculine standards, our gender is very much a part of who we are. Being a man is part of who I am, more so than me being a comic book fan or an aspiring erotica/romance writer. When I feel like that part of me is under attack, the damage runs much deeper.

Hearing those voices from my classmates and the laughter that followed didn’t just make me feel upset, sad, and angry. I suddenly felt less than human, lacking the qualities of men and women alike. I had no sense of worth, dignity, or identity. I felt like a wounded animal, just waiting to get eaten.

I tried to shut it out. I just kept my head down and stared at my shoes the entire time, trying with all my might not to break down and cry on the spot. I managed to avoid that, thankfully. I don’t doubt that would’ve made the moment even worse.

I’m also grateful that one of the school counselors stopped by and sat next to me. I think her presence was what stopped the chanting. She talked to me, but I don’t remember her saying anything that made me feel better. I just sat there and waited for the day to end.

Eventually, it did. I got through it and moved forward, but that moment still left quite a few scars that took a long time to heal. After that day, I became much more of a shut-in. I stopped talking in class. I stopped trying to make friends. I basically shut myself off as much as possible, saying as little as I could to get through the day.

I’m not saying that moment was completely responsible for my poor social skills, which would carry on through high school where a terrible acne problem helped compound my situation. However, I do think it set the tone. It damaged my sense of self, both in terms of my gender and of the person I was growing into.

It took a long time and a lot of work, complete with the undying support of my friends and family, to recover from that moment. When I think back on it now, I feel like it has greater meaning at a time when masculinity is seen as inherently negative. Having had my masculinity attacked at one point, I understand how damaging it can be.

These days, it’s not uncommon to hear people decry and demean men, as a whole. There have been women who advocated for the outright murder of men. They’ve been brushed off, not unlike how my teachers brushed off my discomfort on that fateful day. However, if a man even shows a hint of misogyny, they’re outright vilified. Just ask Henry Cavill.

That gives the impression that it’s okay to make a man feel emasculated, but you’re an outright monster if you make a woman feel offended in any way. It’s as though our gender determines how much compassion we get. That’s not just unfair. That’s unjust to an egregious extent.

I’ve since come to terms with what happened that day. I acknowledge that I was responsible for how parts of it played out, but there were also factors I couldn’t control and it hurt me on a deeply personal level. I don’t doubt for a second that plenty of men out there have found themselves in similar positions, feeling so low and utter unmasculine that it’s downright traumatic.

Nobody deserves to feel that way, regardless of their gender. I hope that by sharing my experience, other men will feel comfortable sharing theirs as well. There may still be those who hear stories like this and roll their eyes, thinking a man’s pain just cannot compare to that of a woman or someone who is transgender. To those people, I would say that pain is pain. It doesn’t care about your gender. It still hurts all the same.

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Filed under gender issues, human nature, Jack Fisher's Insights, psychology, sex in society, sexuality