Tammy Letherer 
There were 10 of us around the large wooden table. We came together on Valentine’s Day to talk about writing and to have a little fun capturing the memories of our first loves. After a 15-minute exercise, every paper was marked with details that were touching, surprising, funny, and heartbreaking.
We heard about the beautiful red hair of a pre-teen boy; about a first kiss, at 12 years old, in a field, that made the writer’s body feel things she had never imagined it was capable of; about the storybook Germanic features of a first crush that the writer, now in his sixties, can see as clearly as if it were yesterday.
And, from one person who protested that he did not know how to write, we heard about a jar of gumballs given to him by the girl he liked. He described how she’d painted a yellow heart on the wooden top, how he treasured it and kept it safe on his bedroom shelf until his sister stole it and ate them all.
As we listened to each story, we were there. We saw the red hair, we were standing in the field, we pined for a lovely blue-eyed girl, and we mourned the loss of those gumballs.
How could these impromptu vignettes be so powerful?
I think it’s because we were connecting with the desires of our hearts, back before we “knew enough” to limit ourselves, when innocence and possibility were still alive.
And I believe that power is always available. Sure, we grow up, we forget our stories, we dismiss our experiences as irrelevant or silly.
But one always returns to one’s first loves.–Etienne Aigner
First loves are so many things, not just people. Like the jar of gumballs, your heart is held in many pieces, each brightly colored and treasured.
So what does your jar of gumballs look like? What captivated you before life came along and took it from you?
Or maybe you still have a keepsake that reminds you of your first love. I came across this in a box I’d saved from the ‘70s.
It’s the first book I wrote. I was 8 years old, in Mrs. Kline’s third-grade class at North Holland Elementary School. It’s the gripping story of the day a thief came through the window of the schoolhouse and stole the teacher’s jewels, which were, strangely enough, kept in a cloth sack in her desk.
There were many years when I forgot about the desire I once had to make books. But even as I turned my attention to other things, it was always there, waiting for me.
And this week I get to experience the thrill of my first love again as I share my latest book cover, fresh from the designer, with you. It will be several months before I can hold this in my hands (release date is October 16) but until then, I’ve got my dusty, faded one-and-only copy of The Schoolhouse Mystery to warm my heart.
Here’s to remembering gumballs and love, innocence and hope, disappointment and loss—whatever still holds the power to stir your heart. May you savor or share every precious piece of you!
