You may want to just stop reading here. Because, well, I use this journal to share the personal things that matter in my life. And for the first time in about 20 years, I'm going public with a long-held secret. Back when I was about 14 years old, I had one of the best nights that a 14-year-old boy can have. I was at a summer camp in Maine, and we had taken a 'barnstorming' (still not sure exactly what that means) trip to Quebec City. My friend Eric had previously met a very, very cute French Canadian girl and gave her a call. She said she'd show up at our hotel with two friends. Now, let's do the math: 14 year old boys + hotel room - parental supervision = a pretty exciting nightUnfortunately, there were 4 guys in on the plan, and after a hard-fought ping pong game, it was agreed that I would back out so that there could be some alone time for the three guys and the 3 French girls, if and when they showed up.As it turned out, they did show up, and it also turned out that they didn't speak a word, and I mean not a single word, of English. I'm not sure how Erc had communicated with these girls, as all he seemed capable of saying was "Je joue au tennis" (I play tennis) and "Je skie en hiver" (I ski in the winter). That conversation didn't last very long, as you can imagine. Since I actually spoke more than 2 lines of French, I engaged in a conversation with French Girl #3 while raiding the mini-bar, and before you knew it, Eric was talking to French Girl #1 while they shared a Bartles & James Wine Cooler on a queen sized bed, Frank was massaging the butt of French Girl #2 on the floor (he was really into butts), and I was on the other bed with French Girl #3. Our friend Jeff, extremely angry, said something about winning the ping pong game and stormed out, turning out the lights behind him.Now, this is a family website, so I'll save what happened next except to say that it involved me mangling French words of passion and my much older date showing me things that I had never previously experienced. Let's remember folks...this girl was French. Well, French Canadian. What's relevant here is that the date was August 10th, 1983.The following year on August 10th, at camp yet again, I had a similar night, and the year following that as well. By the time I was 17 (1987), I began to think that in fact, August 10th was the luckiest night of the year. I also noticed that AFTER August 10th, my fledgling sex life dried up considerably, and so August 10th became the pinnacle of my teenage boy years, a date to look forward to and plan for, understanding that like a bear, it could be the last action I'd see until a much later thaw.The short version is that now, at age 36, I still believe in the mystique of August 10th. It's been 20 years to the day and the "curse" of August 10th has generally held true, through college, my 20's and now today. I'm married, got 2 kids, and it's not like I'm out prowling for random dates in early August of every year, but let's just say that this date has always held a special place in my heart, much to the chagrin of my wife, who firmly denies that there should be anything special about this date, unless she receives a massage and a nice dinner first. So tonight...no babysitter, so it's me, my wife, kids sleeping and possibly a DVD. doesn't seem like a formula for some crazy romance...but who knows...I've got 20 years of superstition behind me.