I had a fairly normal childhood. Went to a neighborhood school in Chicago, Ravenswood....but it was a long walk. Had friends. Watched a black and white TV in the apartment at 4059 N. Greenview. Played with toys. Like I said, all normal.
Until the day the kindergarten teacher called home.
There was a girl, Barbara Alice. She was adorable. Blond hair with terrific curls. Blue eyes. I was smitten. So every day at nap time, I would unroll a mat by her and after the teacher turned off the lights, I would roll over and kiss Barbara Alice. Every day. Mats out, lights off, kiss Barbara Alice. I was pretty predictable. One day she mentioned it to her mother, who called the teacher, who called my parents, who talked to me and I never kissed Barbara Alice again.
I would unroll my mat and then just watch her, bemoaning the fact my lips would no longer touch her creamy face, or rosy cheeks.
That was my first rejection by a female. I was only 5! Crushed. Destroyed.
But I recovered and by third grade was ready to jump back in the love saddle. I met Thea. She was a dark haired Greek beauty, with luscious brown eyes. I worshipped the ground she walked on. When story time came and we all formed a circle around the teacher, I always worked my way in beside Thea so I could share the story with her, laughing with her, smiling with her. Then one day, the story was extremely interesting, she had an accident and a little puddle formed underneath her dress. She was embarrassed, and somehow she lost a little luster that day. I found myself no longer sitting next to her during story time. I never made fun of her, or teased her, but he romantic bloom wore off.
Which brings me to fifth grade and Linda. She lived two houses away from me, on the second floor of a white stucco apartment that sat next to the alley. We walked to school together, played together. I would go to her house after school and we would watch TV together.
For some reason, maybe watching a romance, or movie, we decided we needed to learn to kiss. So we practiced on our hands. That was ok, but hands generally don't respond. So we practiced on each other. I would dip her halfway to the floor and kiss her. We practiced holding our heads at certain angles and kissing. We were fifth grade kissing fools.
During one kissing session, we heard the door open and heavy steps coming up the front stairs. Now I don't remember much about her father, only that he scared the daylights out of me and somehow I knew this was not good.
So I hid under her bed. The bedroom had a hardwood floor, which was not dusted very often. My nosed itched.... a lot. I know I was sweating, and the fuzz was sticking to my arms.
The door opened, and a voice thundered, "Out of my way, Squirt. I'm in a hurry," and her 17 year old brother stormed through the house.
"I just came by for a snack," he yelled from the kitchen at the back of the house. "And why is goofy Terry hiding under your bed? Dad will kill you if he finds him here again."
He vanished out the back door and down the steps. I took one look at Linda, gave her a farewell kiss, and followed him down the back stairs.
Linda moved shortly after that. Back in the days of telephones and letter writing, it wasn't easy to keep in touch with people who moved.
I never saw her again.
So the fact you may not know about me:
I was a grade school serial kisser!
And all that practice kissing? Well, it was many years before I got the chance to use my newly honed talent.
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