Sunday, May 19, 2013



Just the word kissing smacks of sweetness (or of something I can’t quite describe).


We all have done some kissing.

Some kissing was better than other kissing.

Sometimes the taste was good, sometimes bad, and sometimes terrible.

Sometimes when we kissed it felt awkward.


We have to learn to kiss.

Babies don’t automatically start kissing.

Of course, we don’t learn how to kiss in school.

We learn in the school of life.


Sometimes we speak to dogs as though they can kiss.

We say: “Come here rover, give me a kiss.”

But all we get is rover’s slobbery lick.


Eskimos use their noses to kiss.

Do they get fewer colds?


My memories of kissing are quite good.

I remember when I first kissed Kathy Marker.

We were in second grade.

We were inside a little dog house when we kissed.

It felt scary, wonderful, mysterious…and forbidden.


When I was in third grade I remember when large Mrs. Blackman picked me up and gave me a big, slobbery kiss. 

It was gross.

She was wearing some very dark lipstick.

The taste was the grossest part.

I still remember that taste.


My mom wasn’t a big kisser, and I’m grateful for that.

But my aunt Marilyn, boy, did she like to kiss.




Martha Doris and I kissed on a train all the way through the tunnel at Denver’s Lakeside Amusement park.

I think Martha wanted to go one more time, but I said that I was out of breath.


I kissed Mary Ann Meyers one time on Prom night.

The theme for the prom was noli me tangere:

 Touch me not.

Boy was I a puritan back then, and a Catholic to boot.


I wasn’t afraid of germs when I kissed.

The germs would just have to take a back seat, so to speak.

The kissing is what counted.


I kissed my first cousin Linda when we sat in the back seat behind her mom and mine at the outdoor drive-in theater.

The movie took a back seat to our kissing.

I think both moms knew, but they didn’t say anything to us.


Well, I’ll just kiss and say goodbye.









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