Stories From Under A Bootheel (Rants, Laughs, and Tears)

Chapter 4 First Kiss Part 1 In Demand

 What would a memoir be without the story of one's first kiss?

About two thousand words shorter, much less embarrassing and more my style. I am no teen romance writer. Still, I'll include it because some folks really like this sort of thing.

As early as elementary school I was enamored with the opposite sex. It is an affliction that continues to this day. Unfortunately, the feeling has not always been mutual.

There were many things to which I could attribute my lack of appeal. I was hardly an athlete. I was slightly overweight. I had a large birthmark that covered half my forehead and which I kept hidden under my lengthy bangs of hair. It didn't help that my family was a bit peculiar and certainly not wealthy.

None of the aforementioned shortcomings mattered to the girls I called girlfriend in elementary school. At that age all the girls cared about was having someone they could call a boyfriend. It was a title I had no problem with. I had certainly been called worse. Since most boys at that age were not interested in being anyone's boyfriend, there was not much competition. Which makes sense since there were not many benefits to these short-lived social arrangements. There was no kissing or even hand holding.

All of that changed when we got to junior high (middle school). There were dances and movie dates and boys much more willing to participate in the social arrangement known as boyfriend/girlfriend. I was no longer a scarce commodity. At this point I will have to admit that my obnoxious personality may have also played a role in my lack of a girlfriend, although I am not ruling out my previously mentioned shortcomings over which I had little or no control.

The summer after the seventh grade, I finally got my chance to distance myself from my perceived short comings. My sister and I attended church camp. A chance to start fresh with new people who were unfamiliar with my shortcomings and had yet to be exposed to my personality.

Church camp was at Crowley's Ridge an idyllic retreat several hours from our home where youth from the First Christian Churches from all over Northeastern Arkansas gathered. It was a coed camp where no one had any social advantages over anyone else. We were all on an equal footing – except maybe for once I had a slight advantage. My sister was a counselor at the girls' dorm. So, rather than suffering embarrassment from my parents; I had the status of being the brother of one of the more popular counselors. Through no effort on my part, I was once again in demand.