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My Real Memoir
“For in my inner being I delight in the will of my Creator. But I see another will at work within me, warring against the will of my mind, and holding me captive to the selfish desires within me.” ~Romans 7:22-24
This is the most confessional post I’ve ever written.
The day I turned twenty, I wrote, “I have a love that I have been carrying with me always…” I was a romanticist, searching for the love of his life (which turned out to be infinitely larger than any mere romantic love). But I was also a callow, libidinous youth.
Three months earlier, in response to my pen pal Judy’s question about whether I liked marijuana, I told her, “Yes, but not in a big way. I’ll take sex any day.” My generation had embraced “free love” as an ideal, a beautiful thing. But whether casual sex was actually “beautiful” or not, labelling it as such helped me sustain my self-image as a fellow of unfailingly noble character.
And then came “The River.” During Spring Break, I’d heard, the Colorado River was one giant non-stop fleshfest. I’d never been, and neither had my buddy Rick, but he was always ready to head for parts unknown, so he said, “Let’s go!” Somehow my poor, neglected VW bug clunked and banged its way there.
We arrived at dusk and began trolling the riverfront: too many moms and dads with screamy-meemies here…too many cats-eye-sunglassed old ladies in one-pieces there…wait! We finally found a campground where the smell of burning cannabis was equal to the smell of burning hot dogs. We headed for the riverfront, and Rick, who never went anywhere without his stash, rolled a few. Within minutes we had a whole new circle of friends. Most of whom, unfortunately, were guys or couples. But…
When two not-bad-looking girls sat on the dock near us, we began chatting them up, passing along a steady supply of doobies and wipe-and-share bottles as we talked. As we drank and smoked, the buttery-brown-skinned girl next to me grew increasingly pretty.
She was a sweet, ordinary girl. There was no special spark. Our conversation was mundane and we had little in common. But she had curves, and the night was warm, and so was her mouth. We soon moved our impromptu foursome to their campsite. Rick and the other girl disappeared and, in almost total darkness, butter-brown girl and I climbed into her sleeping bag. Then, just as we were about to consummate our temporary love, she whispered, “We could wait. I really like you. Are you sure?” “What? Yes, I’m sure,” I replied. At least my body was. “Do you…do you like me too?” she asked. I hesitated, and then, “Yes.”
She smiled. “OK.”
The next morning, she hugged me and gave me her phone number. I knew I’d never call. On the way home, Rick drove while I tried to sleep in the backseat. I didn’t. Instead, I had an anxiety attack, from everything I’d consumed the night before, no doubt: marijuana, whiskey, vodka…and shame. Especially the shame.
It was the most shameful thing I’d ever done.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
Thanks for your openness.
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Oh wow, I bet that hurt for both you and the young woman.
My shame grew greater over time, Priscilla. I really have no idea what she went through following that experience. I pray for her from time to time.
It takes a man of honour to admit that.
That’s very kind of you to say, Pamela.
“Free love” is not free and it’s not love either, as you discovered. Happy for you that God led you to repentance and faith, and pray that girl was led to the same end. We were kind of stupid when we were young, weren’t we?
I couldn’t agree more, Rob. And, yes, “kind of stupid” is an understatement.
Christian transparency, much needed today. It lets us see our failings in the light of others’. It’s out we bear one another’s burdens. It’s how we walk alongside each other and move beyond.
It’s how, not out. An autocorrupt, I hope.
;>) And thank you, Nancy.
I love a good series. I appreciate your candor.
My privilege, Michelle, and good to meet you.
Mitch, very well written…can just picture the VW, and you and Rick rolling a few 😂
I see so many folks on here who, years…decades… after some event, are still eaten up with remorse. We’ve all done something similar, we’re all fallible humans. Why is that even after confessing our guilt to God and receiving His forgiveness…we are unable to forgive ourselves? Do we think we have a higher standard than God?
I have no doubt butter-brown girl met a great guy, had kids, and probably recalls her evening with you on the CO River with rose-colored glasses… as we all do 😎
Thanks, Darryl.
A difficult post, Mitch, and a brave one. Thank you.
My privilege, Gail.
That was my generation too, like it or not. The casual sex was plentiful if you needed that. Many young girls and guys did it because it was the new “social” thing to do, Hippie Dippy stuff indeed. It felt forced and cheap because it was expected. I did partake at times, but like you, I finally said enough. I grew tired of the rock music pseudo hippie stuff around my second year in college and got a haircut and cleaned up myself. As far as Pot, yeah, most of my musician buddies smoked it, I didn’t until my first year in college, then it was sparodic. Think of how out of control our generation would have been if the internet and social media had been around. It might not have matched today’s demonic hold on teens, but it would have been hell to pay. Good post, Mitch.
Thanks, Phil.
Feeling shame and having sincere regrets is a good thing. But not knowing what happened to her would be worrisome, especially if precautions weren’t taken. Live and learn. 🙂
Indeed, Nancy. And thank you for your thoughtful response.
Oh my – looking forward to the continued story . . .
This story is very familiar but from my female perspective. The 70’s and some of 80’s were a blur to me, and I carry shame like yours about some very impetuous, poetic choices I made. I thank God that he sent down angels to protect me from myself. I too am looking forward to your continued story.
It’s understandable to feel conflicted and burdened by the choices we’ve made, especially when they don’t align with our values or expectations. Writing about it can be a therapeutic way to process those emotions.
I can indeed, and not just for the one who writes them.
Thanks for another inspiring post, Mitch. Despite the mercies new each morn promising to wipe our life’s slate clean, those memories of such shame pop up over time until we finally abandon them at the throne. May those laboring under recrimination enjoy the certainty of God’s forgiveness.
Thank you, and amen, Grant.
romans 9:47-49
Thanks for your honesty, Mitch! I really believe that is a gift to others, because it frees them to admit their own mistakes and also to learn from yours. Sadly, casual sex is still around, and the pressure on young people can be enormous.
Thank you, Ann, and yes, the pressure is indeed enormous.
Obviously older than you, Mitch, the free love thing was happening either when hubby and I were overseas during ‘Nam while he was in the Navy or in the 70s after we got home. We were married some time by the time we got home and exposed only to a “key club” in Japan or doobies after we got home, but the smell was so bad we didn’t participate. I don’t miss having that free love experience at all and I do believe neither does hubby. It’s nice to know that some caring men are now realizing what that really meant not only to the partner but to themselves.
Just as well, Virginia. You didn’t miss anything of substance.
Your transparency is a breath of fresh air, Mitch. Shame has a way of sneaking back into our psyche and soul. I’m attempting to write a series of essays that I’m calling, “Essays of Encouragement” (Falling Flat on my Faith). The conversations about sex at the middle school during my days there were interesting. It thrilled my heart about 18 years ago when I visited with a group of 8th graders, a mix of boys and girls, who shared that shame was something that “felt” along with the pressure of just human biological emotions. It was an encouragement to me. Sadly, since then, I’ve visited with those as young as 12 who feel the pressure already. When shame is finally replaced with sanctification it’s hard to describe to young people. SO, telling YOUR story, my story, hearing others tell the TRUTH, makes us all…well, human!!! Imperfect and messy humans are saved only by grace. Keep telling us, Mitch! I respect you and thank God for your testimony!
Thank you so much, Karla, and amen!
You’re welcome, dear friend!!❣️
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