First
Kiss
jb
blocker
Do you remember? Your first kiss? Sure you do.
Just give it a minute. It will come back to you.
I was channel surfing the other day and came across a
scene from ‘Meet Joe Black’ a movie starring Brad Pitt, Anthony Hopkins, and a
beautiful young lady named Claire Fiorini who plays Hopkins's daughter.
Joe Black is Death who takes human form. He makes a trade
with Hopkins character, a highly principled and hugely successful
businessman. In exchange for guidance in
the world of the living and a glimpse of life in the human realm, Death extends
Hopkins's life and the Hopkins character lets Death into his.
I didn’t see the movie on the big screen and I
probably wouldn’t have watched it this time if I wasn’t working on a series
I’ve been writing packaged as First Jobs.
I just recently had the pleasure and privilege of
spending several hours with McKinney’s Mayor Pro-Tem Pete Huff. We took a
journey in time through Pete’s eyes beginning in the 1950s that left me
inspired, motivated, and totally captivated.
Something about the Hopkins character resembled Pete
Huff’s own in such a way that I watched the movie and missed my beloved Texas
Rangers game. I’ve got to figure this TeVo thing out!
Innocence
At one point in the movie, Death and the daughter
share a kiss. For Death, it is his first kiss. The two portray an innocence that
was neither clumsy nor forced. It reminded me of something 40 years in my past.
The
Color of Love
For me, that color would be Lavender!
On a Wednesday night in May of ’69, my mother, sister Eri (Sunshine), and I attended the Sunray Church of Christ Bible Study for the first time. We had just moved from Jacksonville, Florida where dad was Chief Personnel Officer at Jax Naval Air Force Base to be near my mom’s mom in Dumas. My dad had just been promoted to Master Chief and was sent to Viet Nam.
We found a house in Sunray, Texas about 18 miles from
Dumas. I remember that we bought it for $80 per month for 10 years. My 5th-grade year was completed in Dumas and Sunray was to become my hometown. This
church would become the home base for most of my development.
I walked into the 5th and 6th
grade Bible class where the dozen or so kids who would become some of my
treasured friends were seated around a long table. The only seat remaining was
at the back and next to Connie Weatherford. She was dressed in a Lavender dress
and had a face like a teenage version of Little Debbie of pastry dessert fame.
I can see her now like it was last night.
I complimented her dress in some probably clumsy way
to be polite and she promptly kicked me under the table. Later, she would drop
her pencil and I would pick it up. This time she kicked me with conviction.
You see, Connie was a tomboy and a farmer’s daughter
who had just come from some other function that had required formal dress and
she was not happy about it.
Our parents became fast friends when my father came on
home on a leave and they remained such close friends that we regularly shared
Sunday lunch at the Leamon Weatherford farm. Mae, her mother was known for her
sourdough dinner rolls, pot roast, and Southern Fried Chicken. She made mashed
potatoes and gravy that was only topped by a cake she would make for me because
I loved it so much. Those Sunday lunches were a double-edged sword to me. Even
though pre-teen Connie disdained the fact that she was stuck with me on those
Sundays, she was still left to show me around and keep me entertained.
Connie had a big gentle horse which she rode bareback.
She would ride to the water tank next to the windmill where we would swim leaving
me to walk. She would ride back to the barn or house while chiding me and she basically
spent her time making me feel unmanned while I was still a boy.
The first time her father told her to let me ride
Connie’s horse she once again kicked my shins with vigor. While we were at the
water tank, she had me sit on her horse. I was barefooted. A big mistake! She
slapped the mare and gave some command that sent us trotting off in the
opposite direction from the house. By the time I fell off, I was barefooted in
the middle of the pasture and Connie was laughing herself sick. Boy did she get
it from her father!
As I write
this, I can still see some faint remnants of what were once the very large
scars that boots can leave on shins. Connie got in trouble a lot for her antics
with me but she couldn’t be stopped. If she was mad at me, she kicked me. My
shins were purple many times from age 12 to 14.
I kinda like these scars now and even though they are
faint, they are scars that have healed and they were worth it.
Mae’s
Sewing Room
Leamon Weatherford passed away a couple of years later
and Mae moved to a small house in Sunray with Connie, Caroline, and Little
Melvin. By then, I had a best friend Coy, and a warm relationship with the Weatherford family.
Connie played piano and I sang. We were both in the
choir and band so our excuses for being together were conspired reasons to
practice or Bible study. I considered Connie to be my girlfriend from
somewhere near day one until around Thanksgiving my senior year.
Somehow my best friend realized that Connie was a
terrific girl about that time and let slip about some innocent dates I had had
with girls from nearby towns Fritch, Gruver, and Stratford. Connie didn’t take the information well and eventually
married Coy but not before they had turned the last half of my Senior year into
misery so deep that I learned to play guitar and began writing songs of love
and heartache.
We were raised in devout families and she managed my
hormones while holding my attention. We never went all the way. But I was still her first and she was mine.
I was in 8th grade a year ahead of Connie
and we were sitting in Mae’s sewing room that faced the street. We were
studying for the Bible Bowl competition when we saw the young couple who lived
across the street. The lady ran from the front door and into the arms of her
returning husband. We knew them from church and they were a loving couple. As
they kissed, we watched. It was a gentle thing that grew into a warm embrace.
Connie looked at me and asked, “Have you ever kissed a
girl?”
Shoot, not only had I not, like most boys my age, I
couldn’t even watch when Bogart or John Wayne kissed their leading ladies.
It was an awkward moment. We were side by side on her
piano stool with our Bible on the music rack of the piano. It was tentative. It
came slowly and gently. If it lasted a second, it felt like a whole movie. It
was heart-pounding. It was the beginning of a thousand kisses!
Other
First
As I reflect on that, I suddenly remember some other
first kisses. The first that I can remember was on the day I was taken home
from the orphanage. My new parents never seemed to be much on kissing, but I
remember that while laying my tired head on the lap of my new big sister Mona
Lea who was 15, in the back of that big yellow Ford Station wagon, she
kissed me on the forehead and then on each cheek and then laughingly hugged and
kissed me all over. I barely spoke English and even though I may have been
kissed by some other adult before or after I was orphaned, I don’t recall. But
I remember my first ride with my new family and I remember feeling more loved
than ever before. I have adored my Mona Lea from that day on. Excuse me while I
wipe a tear.
When my only child Robyn was born, I remember grabbing
her from the doctor’s arms so that I could be the first to kiss her. As I took
inventory of all her perfect parts, I kissed her nose, then her little ears,
her fingers, and toes, and then I realized that it would be me to be the first
to kiss those tiny lips. I kissed her unopened eyes and watched hoping she
would open them to see me first. They had to pry her out of my arms so the rest
of the family could get their chance. I wanted to be the first for anything
good in her life. Although it may not still be there now, she used to have a
faint little beauty mark on the backside of her neck. Her mother said I did
that by kissing her there so much.
I just remember that it always made her laugh so it
was always on my kiss list.
I have three grandchildren now. I should name them.
Justice, Caitlyn, and Lila. I was lucky enough to be around them all their life
and have reacted to them much like my daughter. I have kissed every decent part
of each of them.
I am so pleased that they return the kisses. They run
to me to hug and kiss me hello. Even my adult grandson will get out of
the car and come around to give me my love. We share no shame in greeting with
a kiss.
Don’t know what happened to my daughter. After she
married that intimacy went away as if the grandchildren could make up for it.
Maybe I kissed her so much she has enough in the bank.
Greet
your Brethren with a Holy Kiss
Maybe it’s just me. But I am likely to kiss you on the
forehead if the spirit moves me. Several years ago at a Texas Tech Alumni
Event, I went up to Coach Mike Leach and told him I wanted to lay a blessing on
him and kissed him on the forehead. The next year at the same event, I was
walking through a buffet line with Troy Aikman. It was the end of his 2nd
season and they only won 3 games.
At this mixer, Troy was not the main attraction. I
watched him as he was pondering a spectacular food display from several
prominent Dallas chefs. I introduced him to the chefs as I explained the faux
gras, escargots, and the other dishes that were still new to him. At that time,
the future Hall of Famer was still a country boy from Henrietta. I knew a few
of the Red Raider alumni and introduced Troy around like he was the answer to
the post-Staubach/White dynasties.
It was an event to honor Texas Tech legend, Donny
Anderson. I was there to report for Sports Page Dallas. Troy and I hung out
together. What a polite young man!
When Coach Leach and I met up, he bent over to me and
told me to lay another blessing on him. We had a very good year! Guns Up!
When Troy heard what our little exchange was all
about, he leaned down and said, “I want some of that!” So, I kissed Troy Aikman.
On his head! He did improve every year after I kissed him a blessing.
Don’t be afraid to close the gap and share a bit of an
intimate moment whenever you can. Call it a Blessing.
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