Over the last little while, as the months faded from one to the next until they were all just one big blur, I came to a sudden realization. Looking back, the older I got, the more I began to appreciate just how good life was back as a kid. I go through these periods every now and then where I look back quite fondly as to how easy it was to just live when your biggest concerns were getting your homework in on time and how noticeable the new found crack in your voice would be to all the other kids going through the same hormonal uncertainties as you.
I remember how the small semi-circled block I lived on – one of virtually hundreds in the surprisingly quaint suburbs just on the verge of experiencing a major boom in population, but not quite there yet – seemed to have more kids than adults, thus emitting a bit of a summer camp vibe. Everyday after school the block became alive with youths, as did the countless others in the neighborhood. It's funny how when being nostalgic, the weather always seems just right, the sounds soothing and the trees always had the perfect level of branches for climbing.
I can recollect quite vibrantly just how much even my own backyard offered innumerable outlets for escapism for a young boy, with its miles and miles of woods, culminating with a pond somewhere in the middle that became almost a weekly field trip thanks to our green-enthusiast elementary school teacher – Mr Finnegan. As much as he enjoyed shaping our minds and preparing us for the real world we were inevitably going to enter, his true passion lay in nature. Even as a young kid whose primary concerns involved baseball cards, Transformers and making the most aerodynamic paper planes, it was hard to not see the level of pure joy and excitement in Finnegan's eyes whenever we would bring back our amphibious plunder. And the enthusiasm seemed to be infectious throughout us lot of kids. Boy oh boy, let me tell you, you ain't seen nothin' til you've seen a grown man almost cry at the sight of tadpoles!
Even today I still compare my relationships, including my failed marriage, to my first kiss – Leena. As I got older, the complexity of each romantic affair grew extreme, not like it was back in the day, when things were so damn simple! Leena wasn't anything special, at least not a boy of twelve who, as far as he was concerned, didn't really know the difference between a good lookin' gal and an ugly one, nor did it seem to matter. She was my age, but in the grade below me as she had the misfortune of being born just after the cut-off and had to settle for being the oldest kid in her class.
We didn't get to see each other much in school save for recess and the usual after-school shenanigans you come to expect from kids. She would hang out with her little group of girlfriends doing who-knows-what while I would hang with the boys, playing 'Bums-up' against the side of the gym wall. The game wasn't much of a game at all so much as us whipping tennis balls at each other, but when the coast was clear, we would run to our secret spot where we were able to climb up onto the roof of the gym and hence the whole school and collect all the treasures that somehow managed to make their way up there. The spot wasn't anything fancy, just a cage encasing some electrical equipment attached to one of the lower sections of the school that made it easy to just hop up, but for some reason it made us boys feel like kings of the world. Even when I moved on to High School and more mature endeavors, the thrill of the Beechwood roof climb coursed through my body every time I would let my hand wrap its fingers around the rusty metal of the cage. Sadly, word is that a couple of years after I left, some kid tried to show off to his chums and ultimately fell off the top of the gym, a good 40 feet drop. Miraculously nothing severe happened to the kid save for a broken ankle and a solid month of detention, but the damage was done and soon afterward a grill was placed atop the corner of the roof making it impossible for us to reclaim our glory. I went back a few years ago, and while the feat doesn't seem as impressive as it did then, I still looked back fondly at the dare-devilish things we did to amuse ourselves.
Most of the girls cared little of our childish attempts at being manly, but Leena always seemed impressed at the stupid things we did. One time when she was waiting to be picked up by her mother, she went against the norms of our little gender segregation by wanting to see what it was like up on the roof. All the other boys scoffed at her, laughing at her clumsy attempts.. I always saw myself as the more sympathetic of the bunch so I gave her a hand. When she finally caught her breath and worked up the nerve to look over the edge, boy let me tell you, I don't think I've ever seen anyone that proud. But, what she proceeded to do afterward changed my life forever. She grabbed my hand, leaned over and gave me what could only be described as the most awkward kiss in the history of romance. I remember being completely taken aback, playing off this spontaneous moment of affection as her uncontrollable girlish way of showing gratitude. Afterall, as far as I knew, that's what girls did. What the hell did I know?
Only later in life, when I ran into her many years later at a coffeeshop only a couple of miles away from the school, did I find out that she had a crush on me, something I was completely oblivious to back then. She told me how frustrated she was that despite this one isolated event not once did I even so much as give her the time of day, no matter how hard she tried to compete for my attention. She admitted that she wasn't really interested in climbing and never was able to wrap her head around why us boys were so passionate about it (Truth be told, looking back neither do I), but she figured that this was the best opportunity she was ever going to have to get me alone at a place I really couldn't escape from. This is the second time she managed to completely blindside me, spanning twenty years, leaving me jumbling up my words in a poor attempt at justification. All I could do was apologize for being so blind to what apparently was obvious to everyone in school except for me.
I then thanked her, a gesture that managed to this time catch her off guard. I proceeded to explain that, despite how uncomfortable it may have seemed at the time, it was also one of the most magical moments of my life. Everyone has a million stories, but the one you always seem to be able to recall in pristine detail is your first kiss. I told her that the kiss lingered mentally and taught me perhaps the most important lesson I've ever learned – always be nice to people. Yeah, I know, it sounds quite cliché, but I'll be honest, it's a cliché that has served me well in life.
We promised to keep in touch, but I never spoke to Leena again after that. Truth be told, it was probably better that way as it allowed that memory to remain as perfect as it is. Who knows though? It would have been a great story to tell the grandkids when they ask about our first kiss.
I began writing this as a way to procrastinate from dealing with the everyday adult issues we all must eventually face. My front table has bills scattered across it, my mental scrap book has images of heartache and lost love with a few happy memories scattered in for good measure, and the mirror reminds me everyday that I'm getting older and time never stops.
And then I remember that Corey Feldman still thinks he's cool.
At least I can leave my pastoral memories where they belong, in the past.
Loser.
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