During my winter break in 1964 when I was a Junior in High School, my father informed me that the following summer I was going to Europe. It was a special tour where I would be living in Holland for a month with a family and then traveling with ten others to various places on the grand, but very modest tour of Europe. He felt that this would be a good experience for his son.

I, of course, immediately upon hearing this, tried desperately to get out of going. I begged him that this was not for me.

In his fashion, he announced to me as if from the voice of God, “you can go and have a good time or you can go and have a bad time, but you’re going and that’s final.” Of course deep, deep down in the marrow of my bones there was a little voice that was excited, but only fears and anxieties were apparent.

Oh how silly a boy I was. For this trip was where I finally became a man in a young boy’s shoes.

I remember that early June evening, when all the parents and students met and were introduced to each other. These were the students who would be traveling with to and through Europe. I remember walking into the room and seeing the girl of my dreams. She was shy, delicate, and oh so beautiful. I immediately thought that this was the girl for me and just imagine, we had over two months together.

We soon, thereafter, boarded the ocean liner, a floating student ship with over 1,500 kids, (mostly of college age) making a lazy eleven day crossing to Marseilles.

Just imagine 1,500 kids, with little chaperoning, for eleven days with an Italian crew, drinking, laughing, playing, and…

I didn’t know where to look first. It was the adventure of my life. Girls, girls, and more girls, sunbathing, drinking, and dancing all night. It’s quite amazing; I made it to the other side.

When we landed in France the ten of us and two chaperone made our way to Holland where we all met with our new host families. During the month we’d often all get together as a group and slowly I began to fall in love with this girl. I always felt myself so awkward and so unattractive and worst of all Jewish. I never thought I’d stand a chance with her.

Deep into our last month in a convent in Venice after sneaking into the convent after the closing hours of 11 o’clock pm she and I embraced each other and became one. It was the first for us both.

It changed my world and two and a half years later, we married and ultimately had a son together.

I remember one evening some months before we were to be married, she asked me if it was alright that at times she didn’t care for me. I remember being in shock but so worried I might lose her that I said it was fine, even though I wasn’t sure. In retrospect, I am still not. Forty years later, I understand that love comes in and out;  by the way what is love?

But there is also a part of me that easily thinks she never really loved me. How could she? I am unlovable and filled with faults, and a good part of the time unreachable. Despite this I remember walking down to the beach while we were still in high school with a good friend of my future wife. I don’t remember exactly what prompted this, but I do remember her friend turning to me and saying, “Remember, when a good girl is bad, she’s very, very bad.” From that day forward I should have been forewarned and tried harder to focus more on her and keep her happy. In my early 20’s, after the deaths of my parents, I began to understand how difficult I am. I became more and more obsessive and unapproachable. She became more distant and more distraught.

I should have seen this coming. I am so perceptive when it comes to pictures. Over all the years of our marriage, she never wanted me to photograph her. It was always out of protest that I did, and I must admit, I never took a great picture of her as the beauty she was. She was my height, black Irish with the most piercing, beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. There were others though, who did and could. Her college pictures were beautiful and all of mine over the years simply failed. What went wrong? Deep inside me even as a young boy I must have felt I could conquer the world. In this case, I ultimately failed.

So 15 years later, she got my full attention by hurting me with thoughts and deeds to deep for tears. The good girl had become very bad and my life fell apart for many years.

Even though I thought (on that early European tour and for a few years thereafter) that we were connected, deep inside we probably never were. I often ask myself, whatever happened to The Best Years of Our Lives?