Who Doesn't Remember Their First Kiss?

I don't think I'll ever forget my first kiss. Actually, I don't think I'll ever forget the first kiss I remember as I'm pretty sure there are at least a couple kisses bestowed on girlfriends at an earlier age which I no longer remember.  I know, for instance, that I had a fairly serious girlfriend prior to moving from Waupun and, since I celebrated my fourth birthday down in Bloomington, I must have been two or three.  I also have a vague recollection of Nurse Becky, a fellow four year old from Bloomington.  Given that I was apparently so seriously ill that I needed the ministrations of that precocious nurse, I can only assume that at some point my condition required mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

But, in all truthfulness, I don't actually remember kissing either of those two beauties.  I do however remember being egged on by my buddy Dave to kiss his sister when I was fifth grade.  While some of the details around the event are blurred, I believe their family had come over for dinner.  Sometime later in the evening, the three of us were playing some game in the ping-pong room.  Even though Amy was a year or so younger than I, I found her quite cute.  And, by my own admission, I was pretty suave and debonair.  Plus, we had been making goo-goo eyes at each other for the past month.

Knowing of our mutual fascination with each other, and no doubt bent on using the inevitable combining of our family fortunes for his own benefit, Dave encouraged me to kiss her.  With some embarrassment, I remember that I was the one who required more encouragement that she.  But, eventually, the obligatory connection was made.  Since every fifth grader knows that a proper kiss is given with eyes tight shut, I followed protocol and ended up making a lip landing somewhere between her left nostril and right cheekbone.  I would guess that total elapsed time of actual contact would properly be described in increments of nanoseconds.  In any case, the deed was done.

I instantly felt a lurch in my stomach.  I knew what that kissing stuff was all about.  How I rued the fickle fate of hormones.  I should have known better.  I should have been able to resist the temptations presented to me by the gods.  I knew that kissing was for adults and not just any adults but lovers and not just any lovers but husbands and wives and, as any fifth grade biologist will tell you, husbands and wives are really moms and dads and moms and dads have kids.  Why, why was I so rash?  Why would I throw away my future on such an impetuous deed?

I hardly slept that night.  I knew I had to be honorable.  I knew I had to accept the responsibilities of my decisions.  I knew I had to marry her so that our child would not be born out of wedlock.  I knew I would have to face the embarrassment of being the only fifth grader with wife and child.  My only consolation was that my embarrassment would be short lived as I would obviously have to drop out of school and get a job to support my family.

This crystalline logic brought a new round of terror.  Who in their right mind would hire a fifth grader?  What marketable skill set could I bring to the bargaining table?  What job could I find within bicycling range?  And how would I get paid?  Should I just bring my piggy bank to my boss or was this one of those adult interactions for which I was woefully unprepared?

In the morning I woke up with a sense of dismal but focused purpose.  I had accepted my fate and knew how to find the answers to life's persistent questions.  I got to the bus as quickly as I could and, as soon as the opportunity arose, presented all my questions to Dave.  To my ultimate relief he both knew more about biology than I did and spoke on the matter with enough gravitas that I believed him.  Unfortunately, the stress of this whirlwind romance put a permanent kink in Amy and my relational trajectory.  Some years later however, using this now nearly familial knowledge, I instead made a move on his older sister.  Despite the fact that I now had a full additional two years of maturity and manliness, I still managed to crash and burn.  While the exact details are open to creative interpretation, I remember learning from her that the subtle nuances of age can be detrimental to romance.  Apparently it takes an exceptional high school sophomore girl to appreciate all that a seventh grade boy can offer.