I remember the strangest things in vivid detail. Those moments that are forever etched in memory, not because they are necessarily important or noteworthy, instead for no other reason than just because.
The consequences of not doing your third grade project on parrots.
Dad, in a very rare fit of anger, attempted to throw me onto my bed; he missed three feet to the right. Being thrown into a wall is an interesting, albeit harrowing experience, it is one of the reasons why I have always respected those little people who choose to be tossed - that and the cute little jumpsuits.
A Sad Song Was Playing
My first dance at Lincoln Middle School. There was a girl I liked, so I asked her to dance. The feeling was not mutual. She said no. My friend, Scotty Culver, badgered until she finally relented and agree to a single dance. It was my turn to say no.
My refusal wasn't due to pride or anger, I never believed she would accept and her turnabout of thought was both suprising and terrifying. I left the gymnasium and wandered the hall where a long necked and pug nosed seventh grader made fun of my acne encrusted face.
She looked like Jennifer Love Hewitt with a Ghetto Booty.
It was my second year participating in the Relay for Life. Linda was there, too. I had known her for two years at Denison, she was the sweetest person I had ever known. We cuddled in a nearby tent. I should have kissed her, but I settled for listening to her harmonious heart beat instead.
She is happily married now to a stand up guy. Everything worked out best for her, but I still wonder what if.
Graduated with Distinction in Religion
A professor apologized to me. He wished it was possible to give me a grade of pass rather than a C. I had skipped two months of classes, I was enrolled in two of his course at the time, and he was the one apologizing to me. I don't regret what I did (or didn't) do in college, but I am so very sorry to have listened to his heartfelt apology.
I bought her dinner, gave the other two cash so why I do feel like the one who was prostituted?
My first real kiss didn't involve tongue, or at least two tongues. I somehow managed to lick her teeth. She laughed in my face. I tried again as it really couldn't go any worse. It really didn't go much better.
Later that night, after a riveting game of midnight bowling, I proffered one hundred dollars of my graduation money as enticement for two girls to make out with four guys (I was reluctantly included.)
These two girls represented kisses two and three. Lesley, magical number two, kissed me and said immediately thereafter, "You did it wrong." That was somehow worse than abject laughter.
Samantha was kiss number three. It involved an alarming amount of saliva and tongue, it came to the point where I had to choose to either: break the embrace and breath or suffocate in pleasant agony. Samantha said I wasn't that bad. I think she was lying but my oxygen deprived brain and broken psyche didn't mind.
My friend Tom, one of the other kissing-in-the-bowling-alley's-parking-lot-at-2:30am participants, ended up dating both girls – though not simultaneously, he was only 4'10" after all.
I eventually bedded the one not named Lesley - you will never know how much that cost.
Lesley ended up with a pager and a summer of having Tom's hands attached to her chest.
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