Unless you don’t remember your own name, you know everything about your first kiss. I am no different. I can recall it like it was yesterday.
Now, let’s define what I mean by a first kiss. I’m not talking about a light smack by relations. Pecks on the cheeks don’t count, either. It has to be on the lips and it has to be given in love.
It was a sunny day at Black Creek Pioneer Village. I was old by today’s standards. I was over 18. It must have been during high school exams, because the place was empty. Suzanne and I wandered around looking at what life was like in the 1800s in Canada. After walking around for an hour or so, we went to a hill and lay down in the sun. It was warm and bright, so bright that I shut my eyes.
Suddenly, I felt her warm, soft lips on mine. It felt wonderful. My response was, “That was nice. Do it again.” Suzanne obliged.
You have to understand that my family is not the kissing type. My mother didn’t kiss me. I had an aunt who tried, but I always managed to avoid her. In fact, I never saw my mother ever kiss my father or even hold his hand. This experience of kissing was very new to me.
I would love to tell you that this experience led to passionate lovemaking, but it wouldn’t be true. While I fell in love with Suzanne, I had no idea what that meant. While many would have talked about reaching first base, then second and so on, I was like the kid who hits the ball for the first time. He is so shocked, he doesn’t think about running any bases.
I do know that Suzanne’s mother really liked me – she liked me a lot. I saw this as a sign that Suzanne and I were meant to be together forever. Little did I realize that, for a teenage girl, having your mother liking your boyfriend is the kiss of death.
Later on in life I realized why her mom liked me so much. On my first visit to Suzanne’s home, I was introduced to the family. Then Suzanne mentioned how she was weaving a bag for her best friend Nancy on a loom that was in her bedroom. She asked me if I wanted to help. Eagerly, I said, “Yes!”
The bedroom door opened and inside was this huge loom. Suzanne showed me how it worked and asked if I wanted to try. Oh, I did. I sat down and wove for about an hour, totally immersed in the process. The room was filled with the sound of the shuttle going back and forth. I’m sure that it was loud enough for Suzanne’s mother to hear downstairs. When we emerged from the room about an hour later, her mom wore this broad smile. I felt so happy that her mom liked me. Little did I know that this love was doomed from that moment.
Suzanne went off to university soon after, promptly met someone else and was married within a year. My heart was broken. I remember sending her a letter asking why. I never received a reply.
Yes, I had hit the ball. By the time I figured out that I had to run the bases, I was thrown out before I reached first. Looking back, I imagine Suzanne wished I had understood that only hitting the ball was not enough.
Fortunately, I love baseball and softball. Through the years, my hitting improved and so did my baserunning. I got to touch all the bases eventually. I was always willing to attend practices. I like to think that my understanding of the game is much better, too. And like all great hitters, I can’t wait for my next turn at bat.
Now, let’s define what I mean by a first kiss. I’m not talking about a light smack by relations. Pecks on the cheeks don’t count, either. It has to be on the lips and it has to be given in love.
It was a sunny day at Black Creek Pioneer Village. I was old by today’s standards. I was over 18. It must have been during high school exams, because the place was empty. Suzanne and I wandered around looking at what life was like in the 1800s in Canada. After walking around for an hour or so, we went to a hill and lay down in the sun. It was warm and bright, so bright that I shut my eyes.
Suddenly, I felt her warm, soft lips on mine. It felt wonderful. My response was, “That was nice. Do it again.” Suzanne obliged.
You have to understand that my family is not the kissing type. My mother didn’t kiss me. I had an aunt who tried, but I always managed to avoid her. In fact, I never saw my mother ever kiss my father or even hold his hand. This experience of kissing was very new to me.
I would love to tell you that this experience led to passionate lovemaking, but it wouldn’t be true. While I fell in love with Suzanne, I had no idea what that meant. While many would have talked about reaching first base, then second and so on, I was like the kid who hits the ball for the first time. He is so shocked, he doesn’t think about running any bases.
I do know that Suzanne’s mother really liked me – she liked me a lot. I saw this as a sign that Suzanne and I were meant to be together forever. Little did I realize that, for a teenage girl, having your mother liking your boyfriend is the kiss of death.
Later on in life I realized why her mom liked me so much. On my first visit to Suzanne’s home, I was introduced to the family. Then Suzanne mentioned how she was weaving a bag for her best friend Nancy on a loom that was in her bedroom. She asked me if I wanted to help. Eagerly, I said, “Yes!”
The bedroom door opened and inside was this huge loom. Suzanne showed me how it worked and asked if I wanted to try. Oh, I did. I sat down and wove for about an hour, totally immersed in the process. The room was filled with the sound of the shuttle going back and forth. I’m sure that it was loud enough for Suzanne’s mother to hear downstairs. When we emerged from the room about an hour later, her mom wore this broad smile. I felt so happy that her mom liked me. Little did I know that this love was doomed from that moment.
Suzanne went off to university soon after, promptly met someone else and was married within a year. My heart was broken. I remember sending her a letter asking why. I never received a reply.
Yes, I had hit the ball. By the time I figured out that I had to run the bases, I was thrown out before I reached first. Looking back, I imagine Suzanne wished I had understood that only hitting the ball was not enough.
Fortunately, I love baseball and softball. Through the years, my hitting improved and so did my baserunning. I got to touch all the bases eventually. I was always willing to attend practices. I like to think that my understanding of the game is much better, too. And like all great hitters, I can’t wait for my next turn at bat.
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