My first kiss was in elementary school. We were playing boys chase girls at recess. When caught, the boy would kiss his catch. Sean chased me down the grassy hill. The girls around me laughed and screamed. He grabbed me by the back of my shirt. I pulled my long hair over my face as my foot slipped and I landed on the ground. His face touched the hair covering my forehead.
I dreamed of my first boyfriend’s kiss. Joe was tall, blond, and athletic–a tennis player. We walked to my house after the movies, standing in the driveway we talked about everything and nothing. He leaned, casually, against my dad’s brown AMC Hornet. It was getting damp and chilly out, but I didn’t want him to leave yet. The conversation wasn’t as interesting as the looming expectation of a good-night kiss. As the conversation dribbled, the words coming more slowly, he finally said something like, “Well, I guess I should be going now.” Can you feel the awkward passage of the next few seconds?
Joe quickly leaned toward me and without any body parts other than lips touching, his dry, cracked lips touched mine. Briefly. Then he quickly said, “Ok, bye now,” and walked away from me back down the sidewalk. It wasn’t the movie love scene that I had expected.
Perhaps the best kisses, are not from boys, but from your own children. I have three kids who have always been loving and affectionate. Luka shows his affection with a warm smile in his eyes. Kadon wraps me in his arms in the morning before school and leaves the scent of his Abercrombie and Fitch cologne on my hair. And Aubrey lovingly smoothes my hair and kisses my forehead when taking care of me when I’m sick or in bed with a headache.
Yeah, I know that kisses show affection. But I think kissing is overrated. Love is really shown with the heart, by our words, and through our actions.
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