I seethed with repressed anger, waiting with my parents at the gate for Lufthansa flight FL401 to board.

Scowling, thinking,

I hate you, Mom, for agreeing to this.  I hate you, Dad, for telling Mom, “It will be a good experience for her.”  I hate you, Uncle Jack and Aunt Betty, for offering to host me for the summer.  Thanks for f@#king my summer!  I hate you all.

Uncle Jack was Dad’s brother.  A career U.S. Air Force officer, he fell in love with Germany from the first time he was stationed there.  He was now stationed at Rhein-Main Air Base.  Aunt Betty (a diminutive for Elisabeth, her given name) was his German-born wife.  They had no children, and for some reason known only to them, I was their favorite niece.

In the spring of 1971, they offered to host me for the summer.

When my parents broached it with me, I emphatically said “NO!  No way!”

 I wanted to spend the summer in Alabama with my friends, hanging out at the local diner, or a swimming hole, or wherever.  Anyplace but Grafenhausen, Germany, where they lived on ‘the economy’.  Staying with an Uncle and Aunt I barely knew, in a country whose language I didn’t know, and not knowing anyone there my age.

I KNEW the summer would be a disappointing disaster.

The highlight of the summer was a 21-day guided tour of Italy.  We would begin the tour in Munich, Bavaria, and spend a day and night in Austria before entering Italy and visiting Venice and the Adriatic Sea side of Italy. Crossing over to Naples, the tour would proceed up the Tyrrhenian Sea side of the ‘boot’ before entering Switzerland, where we would spend a final day and night at Zürich. 

*****

When we boarded our coach in Munich, Uncle Jack and Aunt Betty took seats at the front of the bus behind the tour guide.  I went to the very back, much to my aunt and uncle’s annoyance, and sat next to the window. 

My initial impression was that I’m going to be bored to death for the next three weeks.  I was wrong.

“Entschuldigung, sitzt jemand auf diesem Platz?”

Looking up, I saw a tall German boy pointing down to the empty seat next to me.  I silently stared at him, having no idea what he said.

He repeated the question in German before asking in English, “Excuse me, is anyone sitting in this seat?  Do you mind if I sit down next to you?”

I moved over, getting as close to the window as I could.

“My name is Michael,” and he offered me his hand.

“Deborah,” returning his handshake.

“Well, Deborah, it’s nice to meet you.”

Michael was 16, two years older than I, and proved to be quite talkative. 

I might like this tour now.  At first, I hadn’t been so sure.  Now, after meeting Michael, my outlook changed.  I would have at least one person my age to be with for the next three weeks.  

For the next hour and 45 minutes, we talked before arriving at Salzburg, our first stop.  We visited a salt mine and, of course, the birthplace of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.  A lunch of Bratwurst and Sauerkraut at a small café followed. The bus then took us to Vienna, where we spent the next two nights.

After settling into our rooms, we had free time until dinner at the hotel.  Michael offered to take me down to the waterfront.

While walking from the hotel, he slipped his hand into mine and squeezed slightly.  Michael looked at me at the same time to gauge my reaction.  His touch sent shivers up my spine.  I never held a boy's hand like this before.  Liking it, I reassuredly squeezed back and returned his smile.

We walked along the Danube Canal and, for the first time, away from adult supervision, I was enjoying the company of a boy.  Mom and Dad would almost certainly not approve.

During dinner, I made sure to sit next to Michael while eating that classic Austrian entrée, Wiener schnitzel.  Dessert was Sachertorte, a quintessential Austrian chocolate sponge cake.  The whole time, Michael and I kept glancing at each other and smiling.

After the meal, Michael and I asked his parents and my aunt and uncle if we could go back to the Danube Canal and attend an open-air concert.

“You two seem to be taken with each other,” Uncle Jack quipped.

“He’s smart and easy to talk to.  Yes, I like being with him.”

Getting my uncle’s permission, I changed into a nice summer dress and sandals before meeting Michael in the lobby.

*

We sat on the grass where the concert was to be held and talked – a lot – while holding hands.

As the strains of waltzes by Johann Strauss and serenades and divertimenti of Mozart wafted through the night air, Michael held me tightly while our fingers intertwined.  Soon, we swayed together while the music played.  We were spending more and more time glancing and smiling at each other.

I had never had so much fun with a boy and was thoroughly enjoying it.

Glances became more frequent and longer-lasting.  Finally, it happened.

His glance became a stare.    His eyes looked deep into mine, and mine deep into Michael’s.  The music disappeared from my consciousness as we moved closer together.

Then, my first kiss!  I can’t fully describe that first time my lips met his.  Feelings I had never felt before and never expected, overwhelmed me.  Our kisses quickly became more passionate, especially after he slipped his tongue into my mouth.  I was in heaven.

Needless to say, our attraction grew even closer over the next three weeks.

After the tour, we promised to write.  We did, for a while, before gradually stopping. 

But I still remember that warm night in a park along the Danube Canal and the magic of my first kiss with my first crush.