The Summer of My First Kiss, or Rather, Miss.
The Awkwardness of Mid-Pubescent Luuuuuvvvv
This afternoon I was perusing Facebook when I saw a post that made me sad. A friend from my early teenage years passed away. The sadness was accompanied by a sense of nostalgia too. I’d understand if you find that odd. Death, particularly of someone who hadn’t yet reached 50 isn’t usually something that brings feelings of whimsy. But that's what our teenage memories often are - a mix of sweetness and awkwardness that can make us smile even in sad moments. I am grateful for the small, yet memorable part she played in my life. Perhaps those are the most precious memories to hold onto.
I hadn’t spoken to her in decades. Yet the sadness mixed with the fond memory prompted me to share one story about her. It’s really the only memory of note that I have with her.
This week I’m going to take a break from the series about what husbands might do to save their marriage. I’m also going to take next week off as I’ll be traveling for the holidays. We’ll get back to the series in January.
In addition to the weekly article for Substack, I’m currently working on a memoir. In fact, much of what I’ve written on this Substack will find its way into the book. What I share here is something I wrote a while back. I was doing a rundown of the girlfriends I had during my teenage years, doing my best to protect the innocent.
They were all innocent.
Missy too.
That was her name, Missy. Well, Melissa, but back in the day, we called her Missy.
She was the first girl I attempted to kiss. It didn’t go well.
I met her at summer camp, a church camp I spent a lot of time at as a teen. This is where we’ll pick up the story today.
I considered whether or not it was appropriate to tell this story, but if I were at her funeral, and I had the opportunity to share a meaningful memory, this is the story I’d tell. I’d share it in hopes it would help people smile.
I hope that’s what it does for you.
Missy
I was at the church camp a lot. Much more than just the week reserved for my age group. In some ways it became a summer home away from home, if you will. The camp had a limited budget and to supply the necessary camp staff, they’d take on kids like me to be on the kitchen or maintenance crew. We perform our jobs, and in exchange we’d have room our and board taken care of, loads of free time between meals, and the camp directors waived the fee for the week when I attended camp as a camper. I didn’t get paid, but I also didn’t have to pay. I absolutely loved it, and so did other kids.
As luck would have it, some of the other kids were girls.
It was during one of these camp pots-and-pans-washer weeks when I had my first near-miss of a kiss. My sister was also at the camp working as a lifeguard, and Missy was the younger sister of a guy she was flirting with. So, there was a certain extra allure to this young lady. We flirted with each other quite a bit and decided to give it a go as a couple. I’d wash the pots and pans and she’d work in the dish room. Between meals we’d hang out, play games, go swimming or whatever. Sometimes we’d have contests to see how many deer flies we could catch mid-flight around our heads. You know, camp stuff.
Then, one day after lunch I walked her to the cabin where she was staying, contemplating whether I should kiss her or not. When we arrived at the door to her cabin, we turned to look at each other. She looked up at me, I looked down at her. Two skinny kids with knobby knees adorned in dish-water stained t-shirts. We stared at each other, not sure what was supposed to happen next. I could sense she was thinking the same thing I was thinking.
Um, is this when I’m supposed to kiss her?
And, in that moment, I became unsure about just how much I wanted to be in this relationship. I wasn’t sure she was for me. Then again, I didn’t want to be rude either. I broke the silence.
“See you at dinner?” I asked, trying to play it cool.
“Yeah.” She kept looking up at me, blinking a bit, eyes shifting a little from side to side.
She didn’t say, “bye” and she’s not moving towards the cabin. Now what? I swatted at a deer fly.
“These stupid flies!” I said, trying to ease the tension.
“I know, right? I hate ‘em!” She smiled up at me in agreement, both about the flies and how awkwardly weird things were feeling. We laughed, trying to stifle the clumsiness of our mid-pubescent selves.
“Well, I’ll see you in a bit.” What happened next was quick, and was the beginning of the end of our weeklong relationship.
I was 75% sure she was expecting or wanted a kiss. I wasn’t sure, I just knew a kiss was hanging in the air. I moved my face towards hers, and as I did I decided maybe the most appropriate way to proceed would be for me to give her a kiss on the cheek. It seemed like a logical, toe-deep step into unfamiliar waters.
She and I, as it turns out, were not on the same page. As I leaned closer to give her a nice, sweet peck on the cheek, she went in for the kill.
The moment I made any movement towards her, she’d closed her eyes to reciprocate my action. Thus, she did not see me move away from her mouth to instead peck her on the cheek. My first hint that something was amiss was as her tongue touched the corner of my mouth. It then ran up the side of my cheek to just below my ear as I continued on, planting the complete opposite of a French kiss on her cheek which was covered with a not-so-thin layer of midsummer perspiration.
Missy, god bless her, had licked the side of my face, which was covered with not just midsummer perspiration, but straight-up “middle school boy who was just playing basketball and smacking deer flies on his face” summer sweat.
I’m sure it tasted wonderful.
The awkward moment which preceded the near-miss-kiss now felt trivial and pleasant when compared to the embarrassment we were now experiencing. Without another word, she entered her cabin. I walked on to mine, berating myself. Nice one, IDIOT.
Well done.
We didn’t last much longer after that moment - one we never spoke about - and I’ve never mentioned, until sharing the story here.
Missy, thanks for the memory. I’m sorry I was so awkward, but hey…kids, amIright? In the story of my life, you were a brief but memorable character.