When I was thirteen, I had my first real crush. His name was—well, let’s spare us both the embarrassment and call him Ben. Ben Williams. I first met him when I was about eleven or twelve, and I have to admit, it wasn’t love at first sight. We were just friends back then. I was a Girl Scout, and he was a Boy Scout, and our troops often went on joint camping and backpacking trips.
My dad, who was a Boy Scout leader for a Webelos group, got involved with Ben’s troop. Their Scout leader, Mr. Lewis, would sometimes invite my dad’s group to participate in activities with the older scouts. One weekend, my dad’s Webelos and Mr. Lewis’ troop planned a joint camping trip, and my dad insisted I tag along.
We camped at Lake Chabot in Castro Valley, California. The area was stunning—rolling hills, shimmering water, and the perfect backdrop for an adventure. Some of the older scouts had even built homemade kayaks and paddled along the lake to the campsite. The rest of us, including my dad, his Webelos, and me, hiked in with our gear.
When we finally arrived, the boys on the kayaks were already there, lounging and ready to jump into the lake. As soon as we arrived, my dad gave clear instructions: set up camp first, then swim. Everyone got to work, scouting out spots for their bedrolls and supplies. I was busy setting up my area when Ben and one of his friends sauntered over.
“Since you’re the only girl, you should set up our stuff,” Ben declared with a grin, dropping their sleeping bags and packs at my feet before heading off to the lake with his friend, laughing.
I smiled sweetly. “Sure,” I replied, my tone dripping with mock innocence.
My dad raised an eyebrow but said nothing, busy helping the younger scouts get settled. Little did Ben know, I had a plan. Earlier, while scouting for a camping spot, we’d come across a giant anthill. Perfect.
I carefully began “my womanly duties” and set up their sleeping area right on top of it. First, I laid down the tarp, concealing the anthill completely. Then I unrolled their sleeping bags on top and propped their packs against a nearby pine tree. Their setup looked so cozy, that no one would suspect a thing—except my dad, of course. He knew me too well to believe I’d simply obey their demands without a little twist.
After we’d all cooled off in the lake, the peace was broken by my dad’s booming voice. “Ann Marie!” he roared, his tone half-scolding, half-amused.
I rushed over, stifling my laughter, only to find Ben and his friend frantically trying to shake the legions of ants out of their sleeping bags and packs. Mr. Lewis and the other scouts were doubled over laughing as the two boys struggled with their unexpected roommates. The two Nentherthals began the daunting task of removing the legion of ants that had found their way into the bedrolls and packs left next to the tree.
My dad gave me a look that said, I knew it, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He told me to help the boys clean up the mess, but they wanted no part of my “help.” Even Mr. Lewis chimed in, “They had it coming.”
The boys spent what felt like hours trying to evict every last ant from their gear, but they didn’t get them all. That night, their shouts and curses echoed through the campsite every time an ant found a soft spot to nibble. My dad and I tried to keep our laughter quiet, but I couldn’t help giggling every time I heard a yelp.
Somewhere along the way, Ben and I started to grow sweet on each other. It was the summer before my freshman year of high school, right before I turned fourteen. Ben would come over to see me, and we’d ride our bikes around the island, hang out at the beach, or just sit on my front stoop talking for hours. It was easy, carefree—until the day it wasn’t.
One afternoon, Ben showed up with his best friend, and we joined the boys from my neighborhood, who were hanging out in my yard. We were laughing and chatting when, out of nowhere, Ben leaned against my dad’s car, pulled me close, and kissed me.
The laughter and teasing from the other boys started instantly. I froze, my cheeks burning. I knew I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t do something. So, I did the only thing I could think of: I punched Ben square in the jaw.
It wasn’t a hard punch—just enough to save my reputation. Ben laughed, rubbing his jaw. “I’ll see you later,” he said before hopping on his bike and riding off with his friend.
And just like that, my summer romance ended as quickly as it had begun. In that moment, I realized something: being a girl wasn’t going to be easy, especially when it came to the unpredictable and puzzling antics of boys.
Tales of a Family 