Play The Field.

In a world where forty is the new twenty, and where woman are still having children as they approach their fifties, eighteen really isn’t that old.

Many people seem to have the opinion that at the age of eighteen, you haven’t fully experienced life; you haven’t gotten out into the world, you haven’t experienced true hurt… you haven’t loved.

In my humble opinion, they’re wrong. I first fell in love with something when I was three years old. I fell in love with the game of soccer, or football as most of the world calls it.

Ever since I was a little boy, my mom has told me that she knew I was going to be a soccer player. She’d always remind me that when I was in her womb, I’d wake her up by kicking so hard. I always used to laugh whenever she brought that up, and I’d beg her to tell the whole story, even though it was imprinted in my memory.

By the time I was thirteen months old, I could already talk; sure, it was just the words mom, dad and gee-gee, but it was still talking. I was walking at sixteen months, and by the time I was three years old, I’d been enrolled in my first soccer camp.

Thinking back on it now, my parents were like the ones you hear about on television; the ones who force their little girls to participate in those beauty pageants, where they’re ogled by god knows how many pedophiles and made to prance around like street walkers. In this case however, my parents were making me get up at seven o’clock every day so they could drive me to camp. Then, as soon as that ended, they signed me up for a non-competitive team.

To tell you the truth though… I liked it. Soccer helped me get out some of the pent-up energy I had from staying inside almost all day. My mom made some new acquaintances and I ended up having a few play dates with some of my soccer friends.

So, that’s the beginning of my life long love affair with soccer. As for my second love…

I met him when I was five years old. At first, I only knew him as the little dark-haired boy who lived across the street. Then, we became enrolled in the same school and became fast friends.

I think there was always a part of me, deep inside my young self, that knew I loved Frank Iero more than any friend should. There was a part of me that knew that the innocent hugs and cuddles we shared meant more.

The clues were there; it just took me a long time to notice them.

In fact, it took almost nine years for us to realize we were a little more than just best friends, but neither of us realized how much we loved each other until I fucked up so badly I never thought I’d get him back.

Every parting begins with a meeting, every couple starts as friends…

Let’s go back to the start of our story, and then work to the end…