I wrote this for a contest. Mostly putting this here for storage and to answer a question on Tumblr.
I was five.
Is that too young? My dad would probably say yes, but I can’t think of a better time. I think it was perfect.
When I was five, my best friend lived up the street from me. Two doors down from her lived the grandmother of one Clarence Thomas. Clarence went to my school, but was in the other kindergarten class. He was a cute little blonde boy who made me smile, and that day he was playing with Chelsea and me outside.
“Kiss him,” she said. “I dare you.”
I grinned and started towards him. He took off in a run.
And, being five, I went after him.
It didn’t take too long for him to stop and let me catch him. That’s when I kissed him.
I don’t remember much about the actual kiss. It was my first lip to lip contact, and it was short. Very short. But it still made my lips tingle.
I do remember my dad’s reaction vividly. Once I had been home for a few minutes, I complained that my lips were dry.
“Well maybe if you weren’t goin’ around kissin’ boys, your lips wouldn’t be dry.”
I remember being mortified that my dad had seen.
I remember a few other things too, like walking up the hill to give him a Valentine’s Day present and the cute little stuffed bear he gave me. I remember going to his church for Vacation Bible School that summer and tie-dying t-shirts. And I remember being heartbroken when his dad told me they were moving.
I love that story. So far, he’s the only boy I’ve kissed where the memories haven’t been tainted by deception or disappointment in who he really was. Because at five, there are no pretenses, no expectations, and, compared to adulthood, no consequences.
I’m also glad it happened so early because I got to hear my dad’s reaction, something I didn’t get to experience when the other boys broke my heart.
Five years old: when Dad was Superman, people were honest, and the world was small. I can’t think of a better time to have a kiss. The innocence of it was what made it beautiful