Saturday, November 15, 2008

my first kiss.

His name was Philip Goodew. His hair was bleach blond and he was skinny... like most first graders. I don't think I found him cute. I don't know if "cute" mattered at six. He was a friend and since our last names shared the same first letters we were always put next to each other in school. (I think we must have been in kindergarten together too because I remember for halloween 1985 he was a monkey and the zipper got stuck so he ended up peeing his pants... or monkey suit as it were... while Mrs. Wolfgram was reading us a story.)

He was riding his bike past my house one day and I flagged him down. We swang on the homemade swing my dad had made that hooked onto a beam in the garage. We then went to the backyard and picked the small flowers that grew in the grass. Looking back maybe they were probably weeds... but when you don't mind which plants grow in your grass then a flower is a flower. With all the gumption in the world I leaned over and gave him a peak on the lips. He didn't have a reaction so I assumed it was okay and I leaned in and gave him one more tiny sterile kiss.

For a week we sat next to eachother at lunch. He gave me a big plastic ring that he probably stole from his little sister. We played together on the playground... standing together making up crazy stories they whole recess time.

He moved away sometime later. And I wonder if asked about his first kiss if he remembers the little six year old with a straight red hair kissing him behind the garage or if that's something only girls remember.

I was reminded of this story only because some of my friends now have first graders and before I know it I too will have a first grader... who I will make note to keep out of the backyards of little girls unattended.

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