What Peter Cetera taught me about love

by Freiya Benson

The first date I ever went on was to the cinema. It was with someone I thought I loved, because I

was only 14, and completely unable to tell the difference between love, and just fancying someone

enough to go to the cinema with them.

The two of us used hang out a lot, although a lot of the time it was because we both got dragged

along to the same church by our parents. We’d sit at the back on the pew furthest away from the

front, along with the other teenagers that had to come due to parental pressure. (I say pressure

here, but in all honesty it was pretty non-negotiable.)

To our parents it possibly seemed like an easy decision, as they understandably had concerns for

our eternal souls and the potential for them to end up in hell. We though were less concerned for

our souls, because we were teenagers, and literally everything else seemed like a better option than

two hours in a church.

I think we both knew that we’d go on a date together at some point. I’m not entirely sure either of

us realised how incredibly awkward that date would turn out to be, but then again, that’s not

exclusive to first dates, or teenage exploration of love, as my adult experiences will now happily

testify.

Thing was though, when I was a teenager I was very, very uncomfortable and self-conscious. It was

very much inevitable, I had issues about my gender and sexuality that were pretty big, and sadly

there was no internet to ask for help in those dark days.

I found it really hard to work out how love fitted into how I was. I knew I found people attractive

(although as I said before, at first there some stumbling blocks with separating love from this), but I

didn’t really know what to do about it, or what to do once I did know what to do about it.

If this was what love felt like how come it was so awkward, and messy, and how could I ever fit into

this, when I’m not even sure what or who I am?

I needed some pointers.

Enter Cetera.

I brought Peter Cetera’s album Solitude/Solitaire, complete with a classically eighties album title if

ever there was one.

My main incentive for buying the album was the song, The Glory of Love, from the film, Karate Kid 2.

It’s a catchy tune, it spoke of this thing called love, and I needed to know more so I saved up my

pocket money, and brought the cassette album from the record shop in town.

I listened to the whole album numerous times, absorbing the lyrics, singing along, headphones

clutched to my head. I discovered many important things, including the life changing fact that

wearing headphones does not make singing along silent to people around you. Real life actual

embarrassment is when your Mum comes upstairs to ask you to stop singing as everyone in the Bible

Study group being held in your house can hear you singing along to the lyrics of the song ‘The glory

of love’.

Apart from learning about how headphones work, after repeated listening of the album I also learnt;

-that honour should be fought for,

-that men are often bastards, and women are often sassy, and the two are often linked,

-that love can be fleeting, but it can also be reoccurring, and that we should learn from it each time

it happens, except when we don’t

-that love can also make you really sad, and really happy, and a bit confused, and a bit woah, and

regretful, and forgetful, and also a multitude of many, many other things. Basically if you feel

anything then it’s probably love doing it.

-that when things go wrong, and you’re planning on saving the day you should do it at the last

moment, a bit like a knight from the olden days.

-that lyrics to songs don’t always make much sense, and often give quite mixed advice

-and finally, that we should always, without fail, never waiver in doing it for the glory of love.

Admittedly it’s a strange mix of advice regarding the complexities of love, but when you’re 14, quite

messed up and living in 1986 you’ve got to take what you can.

Armed with this new found knowledge of love, and after about another 4 months of procrastination,

I decided to ask my crush out on a date. I say ask, but what I actually mean is clumsily start a

conversation about what films we want to go and see, wait for them to suggest Karate Kid 2, then

wait some more for them to suggest we go on a date together to see it.

Doing it for the glory of love yeah.

At this point in the story, you’ll be forgiven for thinking to yourself well this doesn’t sound so bad,

yes the execution is a little shoddy, but she’s somehow got the person she wanted to ask out to

actually ask her out instead. Things are looking good……. right?

Well.

We meet at the cinema, and exchange stories of how our respective parents had really gone to town

on the whole teasing your child because they’re going on a date thing.

We walk to the ticket booth and get our tickets, both half expecting more teasing from the adult

behind the counter.

The person behind the counter though doesn’t honestly give a fuck, because, as I later find out as an

adult, working in retail does that to you. For us though this is a good thing as we’re also smuggling in

contraband in the form of Cherry Cola and Jelly Babies.

We head on into the cinema, and sit on the end of a row, because I like to stretch my legs out (I am

abnormally tall for my age). Unfortunately though, this means that every 30 seconds we have to

stand up to let people sit down in the most popular row of seats in the room aka our row. Not the

best start.

The cinema goes dark, and the film starts. I sit there thinking about how I really want to see this film,

but also want to make out. I realise the fatal flaw in going to the cinema for a date and choosing a

film you actually want to see. I start weighing up the options available to me. I’m focused. I need to

make a decision, and then…. she touches my hand……and I jump and let out an awkward half squeal,

sending Jelly Babies and Cherry Coke everywhere.

People look round and tut. Worse, someone laughs. I go very, very red. Thankfully it’s dark so this

doesn’t matter so much, although I still feel like I’m a glowing beacon of embarrassment. I look

round and my date is looking directly ahead at the film with a mortified expression on her face. I get

the impression that I may have fucked up a little. We watch the rest of the film in silence, not

touching, not looking at each other, as if we were sitting at opposite sides of the cinema, and then,

to ice the metaphorical cake, Peter Cetera’s song “The glory of love” comes on.

As an adult I can look back on this and think oh well, whilst only slightly cringing at everything, but as

a 14-year-old?

Literally the worst date ever.

In hindsight of course it was doomed from the start. I was a trans girl inside a body that was just

starting to develop in all the wrong ways, in a time when nobody (and I include myself in this) spoke

about that sort of thing, trying to learn about love from Peter Cetera.

Honestly, it’s a miracle more didn’t go wrong.

Now I’m much older, and love is, on occasion, still messy and awkward, but I do know who I am, and

I do know where I fit.

I know honour can be a thing to fight for, but rights, equity, and freedom are better.

I know that people are complex, and nuanced, and sassy, and bastards.

I know that love is a contradictory, messy, wonderful, lifelong thing that we never learn from.

I know that you shouldn’t listen to knights from the olden days when it comes to advice on love, or

saving the day.

I know that lyrics to songs don’t always make much sense, and often give quite mixed advice,

and finally, I know that a good pair of headphones is essential for modern life.