young love Archives

This Christmas Eve 1988 diary entry reflects on family traditions, meaningful gifts, and the quiet shift that comes with first love.
Some moments don’t feel different until suddenly… they do.

December 25, 1988

Dear Diary,

Last night was Christmas Eve, and Mom, Mitch, Molly, and I went over to Josh’s house for our annual Christmas dinner and gift exchange like we always do.

Josh was home for a little while from touring. I think he said he didn’t have to go back out again until February, which feels like forever but also not long enough at the same time.

The second we walked inside, it smelled like cinnamon. Mom uses the same one at home—I think it’s called Cinnamon Sticks. It’s that Glade one.

I’ve always liked that smell, but for some reason it felt different last night. Warmer, I guess.

The tree was my favorite part. I always loved looking at all the ornaments. Mitch, Molly, and I each had our own personalized one on the tree too.

Mrs. McGuire always thought of us as her kids too.

I think that’s why it has always felt like home there.

Everything felt the same as it always does, but also… not.

Dinner was fun like it always is. Everyone was laughing and talking, and it almost felt like nothing had changed.

After we ate, it was time for presents.

Mrs. McGuire always passed them out first before anyone could open anything. She went around the room one by one, handing them out, and we all just sat there waiting until everyone had a pile in front of them. It’s kind of my favorite part, even though it makes it feel like it takes forever.

Josh and I were sitting next to each other on the floor by the tree, so we could see what the other one got.

Once everyone had their presents, Mrs. McGuire finally said we could start.

I looked down at the pile in front of me, trying to figure out which ones were from him.

Josh leaned a little closer and pointed to one of them.

“That one’s mine,” he said.

I nodded and picked it up, and then pointed to one in his pile.

“That one’s yours,” I told him.

He opened his first.

It was the Boston Red Sox cap and the tickets to a Bruins game. I watched him the whole time, even though I tried not to make it obvious. I don’t know why I felt so nervous all of a sudden. I’ve given him presents a million times before.

And I didn’t get him friendship bracelets this time like I did for his birthday a few years ago.

I don’t even know why I thought about that.

But he smiled when he opened them. Like, really smiled.

Then I opened mine.

The first one was a diary.

It had a really colorful cover with dolphins and bright pink and purple all over it, with a little lock on the front, even though I would probably lose the key.

I smiled when I saw it. I don’t know why, but it felt like a really perfect gift.

Then I opened the other one.

It was a cassette tape.

Block 213 was written across the front.

I turned it over in my hands before looking back at him.

“So you can listen when I’m not here,” he said.

I don’t even have a tape player in my room, but I was already trying to figure out how I was going to listen to it.

That was a special moment.

I hugged him right then and there, even though everyone else was still opening presents. I told him thank you and that I would listen to it every day, and I actually meant it.

I kept looking at the cassette after that, even when I was opening my other gifts.

I don’t know why, but everything felt a little different after that.

Later, when it was time to go home, Josh walked me back across the street.

It was really quiet outside. You could still see Christmas lights on all the houses, and the air felt really cold, but not in a bad way.

We stood there for a second in front of my house like we always do.

He looked at me for a second, and then he leaned in and kissed me.

He’s kissed me before.

But for some reason… it didn’t feel the same.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” I said back.

I don’t even know why, but I kept thinking about it after I went inside.

I kept looking at the diary and the tape later that night.

And I kept thinking about that kiss too.

I don’t know why everything felt different all of a sudden.

Now I’m writing in the diary he gave me.

Mom got me a new jambox for Christmas, so I’ve been using it all day.

I’ve listened to the Block 213 tape so much already that I had to stop because I was scared I might wear it out.

So I switched it over to the radio.

There was a song that played a few minutes ago.

I think I heard it last night too, but I didn’t really pay attention to it then.

I think it was called More Than You Know.

But this time…
I actually listened to it.

It didn’t sound like just a song.

It felt like something I was trying not to think about.

Like it was saying something I already knew but didn’t want to say out loud.

I’ve heard songs before that made me think of him.
Like… a lot of them.

But this one felt different.

I don’t even really know how to explain it.

It wasn’t just that it reminded me of him.

It was like…
it meant something.

And the whole time it was playing…
I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Not like before.

This was the song playing on the radio that night—the one she couldn’t stop thinking about:

More Than You Know — Martika (YouTube Video)

Read more diary entries here: Emma’s Diary

Read more about Emma and Josh’s history here: Emma’s First Kiss

Interested in the whole story. Get your copy here: Unfinished Melody — Amazon

A First Love Memory That Stayed With Me

I’d played a hundred games before that one… but it was the first time it actually mattered who was in the stands.

She told me she would come, and she kept her promise.

I caught her walking in with Olivia just before warmups. I remember trying not to stare—but I did anyway. I lifted my hand in a quick wave, and when she smiled back at me… yeah, that was it.

She looked so cute. Effortless. Like she didn’t even realize what just showing up meant to me.

And I remember thinking—she’s here. She came to see me.

I couldn’t actually believe she was mine.

Fourteen-year-old me was pretty sure that meant something permanent.

The gym was loud that night. Sneakers squeaking against the floor, the echo of the buzzer, people shouting from the stands. I’d heard it all before.

But that night, it all sounded different.

Or maybe it was just me.

I kept telling myself not to look for her again. I’d already seen her come in, already waved like an idiot during warmups. That should’ve been enough.

It wasn’t.

Every time I stepped up to the line, every time the ball left my hands, I caught myself glancing toward the stands.

She was still there.

Sitting with Olivia, leaning forward just a little, like she was actually paying attention. Like it mattered to her.

I don’t remember much about the first half. I probably should. I’m sure Coach would’ve had a lot to say about that.

I just remember my heart pounding a little harder than usual.

Not because of the game.

Because of her.

I thought that meant something important—that if she was there, if she was watching, then I had to be better.

So I played like it mattered.

I ran a little faster. Took shots I might’ve hesitated on. Dove for loose balls I probably would’ve let go.

And every once in a while, I’d hear it—her voice, somewhere in the noise.

Cheering.

For me.

It came down to the last few seconds.

I remember that much.

The score was tied, and the gym got quieter in that strange way it does—like everyone’s holding their breath at the same time.

The ball ended up in my hands. I don’t even remember how.

I probably panicked for half a second.

And then I looked up.

Not at the basket.

At her.

She was already watching me.

And for some reason, that made it simple.

I took the shot.

It went in.

The buzzer sounded, and the place exploded. Teammates yelling, people jumping up, Coach clapping me on the back like I’d just done something incredible.

And maybe I had.

But I didn’t look at any of them.

I looked at her.

She was smiling.

That’s the part I remember.

By the time everything settled down—handshakes, Coach talking, guys messing around—I kept finding myself looking toward the stands again.

She was gone.

And for a second, I thought maybe I’d missed her.

Then I turned around—and there she was.

Waiting for me near the edge of the court.

Like she’d been there the whole time.

I remember walking over, trying to play it cool, like I hadn’t just spent the entire game hoping she was watching.

“You were amazing,” she said.

Simple.

But the way she said it… like she actually meant it.

And before I could even think of something to say back, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.

I froze for half a second—probably longer than I should have.

I had no idea what to do with that.

But I hugged her back.

Of course I did.

And then, just as she pulled away, she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek.

It barely lasted a second.

But yeah…

I felt that for a while.

Funny, the things you hold onto.

I couldn’t tell you the final score of that game now if you asked me.

I don’t remember who we played.

But I remember exactly where she was sitting.

I remember the way she smiled when I looked over.

And I remember walking out of that gym thinking I’d just had the best night of my life.

Because she was there.

And for a little while…

I was pretty sure she was mine.

Read more of Adam’s journey with Emma here: Adam’s Myspace Blog

Want to read Unfinished Melody? Get your copy here: Unfinished Melody – Amazon

🎧 Song for this memory: “To Be With You” — Mr. Big — Listen to it here: Youtube Video

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Emma’s Diary: Christmas Eve, 1988

💙 Adam’s Blog – The Game and a First Love Memory

A First Love Memory That Stayed With Me