First Crush, First Kiss

Eight-year-old Max drags into his mother’s kitchen, clearly despondent and more than a bit worried.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asks.

Max shakes his head in despair and amazement at the predicament he’s in. 

“Sarah – you know Sarah, right, Mom?”

Mom nods while she stirs something on the stove.

“Sarah says I’m her boyfriend now.”

His handsome face wrinkles in perplexity.  “And now that I’m her boyfriend, tomorrow I have to bring her two packages of silly bands and a white rose.”

A long, silent pause while Mom scouts for an appropriate answer and struggles not to laugh.

“Mom, this is just too much pressure!” Max wails as he storms from the room.


And so it starts – that strange relationship dance between the male and female of the species.  Poor Max, little does he know that it will get much worse before it gets better.


Do you remember your first crush? 

I do.  Paul.  Third grade.  In Berlin, Germany.  I was seven. 

Paul had three missing fingers on his right hand, and somehow that anomaly both fascinated and excited me.  I’d found my first alpha hero.  Paul must’ve done something romantically dangerous to have lost – not one, nor two – but three fingers! 

I never questioned what traumatic event might have caused the loss of his fingers, but I weaved a terrible tale of fantasy around it.  And loved Paul forever.


Flash ahead to my twelfth birthday party.  I’d fallen in love with Tommy and managed to maintain this crush until I was graduated from high school.  I’m faithful if nothing else.  Tommy was every mother’s dream.  He was smart, athletic, and well-mannered. 

We played Spin-the-Bottle at that party and guess what?  I got to kiss Tommy.  My first kiss. 

I think he was too polite to say no.


What about you?  Do you remember your first crush?  Your first kiss?  Who was it with and how did you react?




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