three little words.

At fourteen years old, I did not know much about love. Shocking, I know. Ten years later, I can say that I know a little bit about the way I experience love. See how I carefully qualified that statement? I did that, because learning about love for me has been a series of disillusionments. I'll have an idea based on unreliable sources (friends, movies, Country Crock commercials featuring hands), which is then tested in my life, and I come to the conclusion that those butter commercials are not about real love. Rather than make you laugh by trying to explain what it is I think I know about love now, I'm going to discuss a very specific part of love, namely, the phrase "I love you."

Three little words, as pop music is so quick to remind us, but of so much importance. Blah blah blah. The phrase gets more credit than it deserves, because it's so easily and frequently abused. Take a survey and see how many people have said it without meaning it, either intentionally or not. Just words, guys, just words.

That's an opinion I had even at fourteen. I'd heard stories about boys, evil and horny boys, callously tossing those words around just to get to second base. I was not going to let that happen to me. I would not fall for those three little words, nor would I let them pass my lips until I was good and sure that I was in love. That seems like a pretty reasonable attitude for a fourteen year old. Unfortunately, my implementation of that attitude was, well, misguided.

My first boyfriend tried to tell me that he loved me. He was so nervous and cute. We'd been talking on the phone a lot for a few months, seeing each other at church youth group every week or so. We'd held hands once. It was textbook puppy love, very sweet and innocent. He probably did want to get to second base, but that was more of a long-term plan. When he tried to eek out those all-important words, I stopped him. I was so sure of myself as I told him that I wanted to make sure this was love before we let those words out between us, and I just didn't think he'd given it enough thought.

The first time you say you love someone is portrayed as being very crucial on TV. You put it out there and then you wait to see what the other person will say. No one wants a nice hug and a thanks. That's heart-breaking. But that is nothing compared to being told that you're actually wrong. Fourteen-year-old Sandra took heart-trampling to new heights.

To that boy, I say: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was an idiot. But you knew that.

Somehow, we survived my obvious lack of understanding about relationships and the feelings of others. I did eventually allow him to tell me that he loved me. But I didn't say it back. I had learned a little bit, but I still was firm in my belief that I surely wasn't going to tell someone that I loved him unless I knew it. And so I waited to be "in love."

How do you know when you're in love? I still can't define that. There ought to be a test, something more significant than a set of ten multiple choice questions in a teen magazine. The only thing I can figure is that I was waiting for gongs. I would have accepted bells or flashing lights and streamers, but I was waiting for some sort of big sign, a giant epiphany that told me I was really and truly in love. Sudden, swelling music would have worked as well. Life in general would be easier if there were more gongs.

To all you fourteen-year-olds out there, I would like to state that there are no gongs. No, really. No gongs at all. Is this getting through to you? I'm imparting wisdom here. Are you even listening to me? Of course not, you little twerps. Kids these days.

The result of that debacle was that I ended up not telling that boy that I loved him when I did. I'm embarrassed, nay, ashamed to admit that was the state of things for two years. It's lucky for me that he was just a kid in love for the first time, too. Otherwise, he probably would have told me to buzz off, because I was clearly incompetent at life.

Again, I say: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was an idiot. You knew that even then.

This was all a long time ago and that particular relationship advanced much farther, allowing me to make new and more serious mistakes. Now it's all over, and I suppose only water under the bridge. I was young and foolish then; I feel old and foolish now.

The first time Josh told me he loved me, I hesitated. I hadn't been in the beginning of a relationship for years and years, and I'd almost forgotten about the first time those words are said. My fourteen-year-old self told me to tread carefully. But then I thought, no, I'm not doing this again, and I said it right back. And the world continued on, everything was wonderful, because I was in love. It shouldn't have to be that hard, and really, it isn't.

I used to think that the words could get old. I knew a lot of people who seemed to say it to their mates automatically, without feeling. I thought that came from overuse of the phrase itself. My ex-boyfriend was in the habit of saying "You, too" to my "I love you." I hated that. It seemed so routine and insincere. It's also what he said to his mom. I realize now that the staleness of the words has more to do with the state of the relationship than the tally of times the words are used. Still, I think that even if I was in the best relationship in the world, that "you, too" crap would bug me. Even Demi Moore got mad at Patrick Swayze for saying "Ditto," and he came back from the dead to love her.

Having come to that realization that the words do not get old on their own (or at least they haven't yet), I abuse the phrase. I use it a million times a day, at the end of every phone call, after being handed a glass of water, in the middle of a James Bond movie. It's like I'm testing it for robustness. It always comes back to me, and it has not gotten old. I love, and I am loved. We don't get tired of communicating our affections to each other, but maybe that's because we use a lot of silly voices.

We even have The I Love You Test of Anger. You know how you can count how many seconds between seeing the lightning and hearing the thunder to figure out how far away the strike hit? You just count how many seconds it takes the other party to return the "I love you" to find out how mad he is. It's quite effective. It also has the added benefit of putting the argument into perspective. Yes, I know that you're mad right now, but remember that I love you and more importantly, remember that you love me, so we're just going to have to get over this. Like any good relationship trick, we each know what the other person is doing, but it still works.

Even with all the mileage those three little words get in my relationship, I still think they get more credit than they deserve. The words only mean as much as the people saying and hearing them allow them to mean. They have no inherent value. To boys trying to get to second base, they mean nothing. To the girls who fall for that, they mean a lot. Love should be communicated, but not necessarily in that manner. "Tell me about your day," "Let me rub your feet," or even, "Have some of my ice cream." You don't have to use words at all, just hand the ice cream over and start rubbing my feet, and I'll know you love me. The words are just one of many ways to communicate love, and I want to use them all. Maybe I'll even get a gong.