Firsts

There's ever only one first...

This is my first Substack post. I love firsts.

Andrea Green was my first kiss. I was five, first grade, St. Mary’s Hall (now Doane Acadamy), Burlington, New Jersey. For whatever reason, Andrea, missing her two front teeth, leaned over and kissed my cheek. I froze, slackened, smiled, and thanked her.

I was 14 for my first mouth-on-mouth intentional kiss nine years later. A rainy October Sunday. Rollerama Skating Rink, Levittown, Pennsylvania. A couple of my friends said girls were beginning to let boys kiss them. I skated up to the first girl who smiled at me and asked her if she wanted to go outside and kiss. To my amazement, she said, “yes.” Without a word, we took off our skates, walked out the front door into the rain, and headed to the north side of the building. She found her spot, turned around, rested her shoulders on the brick building wall, closed her eyes, thrust out her chin, and did nothing more. I kept my eyes open, pushed my lips against hers, and didn’t know what else to do. I pulled away, thanked her, and again, without saying a word to each other, we walked back inside, put on our skates, and roller-skated away to be with our friends.

I distinctly remember losing my virginity, a monumental and intimidating first, but that’s another story about being mounted by a horny friend’s older sister who was leaving the next day for Canada to marry her Vietnam War draft-dodger fiancee, and we’ll leave it there.

The first time I got high was in 1970. My mother made me go upstairs and ordered me not to come down until I cleaned my room. Hippy friends asked me to hold their hash stash and I thought getting high would make cleaning my room easier. I broke off a hunk of the hash they called Greenwich Green, took a piece of aluminum foil, fitted it over the bowl of corn cob pipe, poked a few holes with a toothpick, lit a wooden match, and took a deep hit. Nothing happened. I took another hit. I didn’t know what to expect, so I took another. And another. And then I felt it. Slowly snaking up my spine, I intuitively knew I had just a few milliseconds left of rational thought, and then, BOOM. Bugs. The Moon. My birth. Death. Lights. Whispers. The room. My closet. Everything altered. I tried to lie down, but the bed began to levitate and I didn’t know how to fly. I had to get out of the house and headed downstairs moving quickly toward the front door. “What’s wrong with you?” my mother shouted. “Nothing!” I shouted back defensively. “Then why,” my mother asked, curiously, “are you not wearing any clothes?” I was standing in our foyer buck-naked.

My first bike was an orange Schwinn Sting-Ray Krate, complete with the banana seat, a sissy bar that made it impossible to swing off the back of the bike, ape hanger handlebars, and the stick shift gear shift mounted on the suspension between my knees. I bought the bike with my own money, earned from being a paperboy for The Bucks County Courier Times. 

I remember the first time I appeared as a stand-up comedian at New York City’s original Catch A Rising Star. I remember my first time in The Oval Office at The White House. I remember the first time I made love to my now wife of 33 years. I remember the first time I had a private audience with Pope John Paul II. I remember the first time I emceed a soldout crowd of 41,000 rock and roll fans, firing up the crowd at the 1978 KY102 Summer Jam at Royals Stadium in Kansas City. I remember the first time as a photojournalist I covered a murder. It was around midnight, and there he was, a dead black man lying face down in a cheap motel parking lot. I remember my first moments in Paris, stepping off the train from Amsterdam into the vast Gare du Nord. I remember my first television appearance, the birth of our first child (and then, of course, two years later our second), and the first time I was in Los Angeles, where for another first, I tried sushi at a little joint on the PCH, Pacific Coast Highway.

And now, another first, my first Substack. For the last 30 years, I’ve been a professional compass: helping wonderful men and women find their personal North Star. I’m also a Reputation and Crisis Management expert, the guy who gets the calls in the middle of the night when something goes terribly wrong and a person or company’s reputation is in peril. And now, I’m here for you.

This is my first post. I’m feeling a bit fragile and vulnerable. A new adventure where I have no idea how it will turn out. My intention is to be transparent and share with you the same counsel, advice, inspiration, guidance, reflections, and insight I share with my family, friends, and clients. I will share excerpts from my books and other works that move me. 

I will recommend other coaches and resources to help you on your path. I will introduce you to ACA – Adult Children of Alcoholics and Dysfunctional Families - and more importantly, I will answer your specific questions about finding your own deeply personal North Star and how you can continue to successfully move in the direction of your grandest hopes, dreams, and desires.

So tell me, what are your memorable, defining firsts?