|
|
Column |
|
|
|
My mother asked me a question the other night that got me to
thinking.
"Do you remember your first kiss?"
We were watching television. I don’t remember what was on,
but whatever it was prompted the question.
"No momma, I don’t believe I do," I answered
without hesitation.
"I do," she said and proceeded to tell me about it
as I continued gazing at the screen.
Her first kiss came from some boy by the name of Tate when
she was about 14. It wasn’t a long story.
All she remembered about it was that she didn’t like it.
It had something to do with too much teeth.
I didn’t press for any further details, but the question
has come back to haunt me.
When was my first kiss? And who gave it to me? It seems like
something a person should remember.
For the life of me I haven’t been able to reconstruct the
event. It’s possible that it was one of those clash by night
experiences similar to my mother’s.
While I couldn’t remember my first kiss, I had no trouble
remembering the first time I was so totally enthralled by the adventure
as to be left in a weak-kneed haze for several days.
It happened in the Boat Chute at Lake Winnepesaukah
Amusement Park, not too far from Lakeview High School during my junior
year in the summer of ‘62.
A group of us were hanging out. There were probably a
half-dozen boys and several girls. We were just standing in a group,
talking and laughing and joking around when suddenly Brenda Ford slipped
and fell down hard on the cement on her rear end.
It may seem hard to believe, but that entire group, just
about, except for Brenda Ford and me, broke into immediate laughter. She
was someone else’s girlfriend, but he was laughing too.
I knew it hurt and I knew it was embarrassing, and I was
Johnny-on-the-Spot, lifting her up quickly to her feet and offering my
sincerest sympathy and apologies for the rudeness of the sidewalk.
I was Mr. Cool even then, no question about it. The incident
passed and we were still hanging out a little while later when Brenda
Ford and her twin sister Glenda asked me if I would ride the Boat Chute
with them.
They were two of the prettiest girls in school. "I’d
love to," I said, and with one on each arm, we headed leisurely for
the Boat Chute.
I had absolutely no idea what was in store until the boat
entered the tunnel. Those two girls – first Brenda, then Glenda,
taking equal turns – kissed me all the way through that Boat Chute.
By the time we got to the end and were plunging down the
chute, all hugged together, with the water splashing over us, I had me a
storehouse of kisses that I would remember all my life, and memories
that would never grow dim or doubtful.
It’s a funny thing, memories. I have certain places that I
never go back to anymore, just because I’m afraid that it might change
the memory just a little bit. That’s why I’ve never gone back
through the Boat Chute. I want to keep that memory just as it was, not
altered by the reality of today and the passing of the years.
I’m an incurable idiot when it comes to things like that.
A true bonehead, in the most romantic sense of the term.
It marked my passage, in a way, from boyhood to manhood, and
was sealed with a kiss.
It may not have been my first kiss, but they were the first
kisses I truly remember. Thank you girls. Wherever you are.
|
