My First Kiss - a Catholic's Schoolgirl's Experience

Like any young girl, my first kiss was something I both dreaded and dreamed of. Movies, teen magazines and daydreams had built the event up into monumental status in my mind. It was supposed to be magical and life-altering. How could any event live up to that hype? More importantly and the cause of my fear...how I could I live up to that for the boy I was to kiss?

I attended a Catholic elementary school in Chicago and had received all sorts of education regarding the proper behavior for young ladies and gentlemen. Billy Joel's Only the Good Die Young was still 2 years away but later, when I heard it, it became a sort of anthem for many of us. At this point in my life, kissing was still something the girls giggled about in the bathroom.

Toward the end of eighth grade, I became involved in a school play which introduced me to Michael. He was in the other eighth grade class and while we knew of each other's existence, we'd never been in the same class and didn't really know anything about each other. We both had lead roles in the play and had lots of after-school- rehearsals. In 1975 he was one of only 2 kids I knew that came from a divorced home, still quite a taboo.

Michael was funny, hard-working and the oldest of 2 boys in his family. He worked after school at a local gas station to help out his family and had a heart of gold. He had eyes the sparkled blue and crinkled up at the corners when he smiled. Though I'd had other crushes, Michael was my first real love.

After the play, we began hanging out together. He was always at my house. And when he wasn't, we were talking on the phone. He had become my new best friend. We hadn't yet turned the corner towards a romantic relationship. That was soon to come.

Being shy of 14, our options for transportation that didn't involve parents was public buses or the preferred method...our bikes. We rode everywhere, all over the north side of Chicago. We'd ride miles and miles to play miniature golf or hang out at parks. We were as close to inseparable as two kids can get and were still operating in this cloud of naïve innocence.

One day, Michael asked me to go to the movies, something we'd never done. We would ride our bikes there and back. T was the Mel Brooks comedy, Young Frankenstein. I agreed to go, thinking nothing more about it.

He picked me up, so to speak and we peddled the miles over to the Lincoln Village Theater for the show.

Everything was fine until I became suddenly aware of a gradual shift as though some sort of space-time consortium has swallowed me whole and I watched the rest of the evening from somewhere outside myself.

Michael didn't resort to the old "yawn and stretch" technique but at some point during the movie, he put his arm around my shoulders. Like the robot from Lost in Space, a voice started shouting "Danger! Danger!" This was definitely new ground and I had no idea where it would lead.

I had thought of Michael as boyfriend material but somehow I wasn't prepared for him to put the moves on me. My heart began racing. He was going to kiss me. At some point tonight, he was going to kiss me! The idea absolutely panicked me! What if... oh my Lord! What if he used tongue? What if he French kissed me? I didn't know how to do that! What if I fumbled around like some inexperienced dork (which I was) and was awful at it? How could I ever face him? What if he laughed at me?

From that moment on, I couldn't focus on the movie. The only part I remembered for years was Teri Garr sing-songily saying "Roll! Roll! Roll in ze hay!" and I nearly lost consciousness. I began planning my escape. Escape was better than abject humiliation.

Thankfully he didn't try to kiss me during the movie. He was saving it for when he took me home. Well I'd take care of that. We unlocked our bikes and began the ride home. I was quiet, not knowing what to say with the prospect of my social demise when he discovered I didn't know how to kiss hanging over my head. He kept asking me what was wrong. True to female nature, even at that tender age, I said "nothing."

I let him get way ahead of me and at the right moment, I turned off the bike trail and started pedaling as fast as I could. My plan was to get home before he could catch up to me and barricade myself in the house. What I would say to him the next day I hadn't worried about. I didn't think that far in advance back then. I just felt compelled to spare myself this utter and total embarrassment.

I huffed and puffed as I pumped my legs up and down on my bike, looking more over my shoulder than ahead to be sure he wasn't following me. With my home in sight, I was rejuvenated. I turned into the yard, threw the fence open, abandoned the bike at the foot of the stairs and took the stairs 2 at a time to our second floor apartment.

Once inside, it took interminable minutes to catch my breath. My mother looked at me and casually wandered over to the window to look down at the gate. When my breathing had slowed, she asked me where Michael was. Stammering, I explained. She shook her head and the slightest little bit of a smile peeked out from the corners of her mouth.

My mother loved Michael. She thought the sun rose and set on him. She couldn't bear that I had probably hurt him terribly because I was afraid of getting my first kiss. She talked to me about it and reassured me that I would know just what to do, if and when Michel ever kissed me. Then she glanced out the window again and said. "Michael's down there. You need to go apologize."

What? She was making me go down there? Now?? After what I had just done??? Oh, this worse by a thousand fold. How could I ever explain this? He would think I hated him or that I didn't want to kiss him or worse. There were no words that could make this awkward moment right. Nothing I could say could adequately explain my behavior for even I didn't fully understand it. There was only one thing to do...lie.

I went down and Michael inquired as to why I had ditched him. "I was playing," I replied. "Just wanted to see if I could lose you and get here before you. And I did!" As if this explanation was plausible at all. He was none too thrilled with my explanation but he accepted it. We talked nervously about the movie or at least the parts I remembered for a few minutes and then, he kissed me.

For the innocent Catholic schoolgirl, it was the stuff of legends. It was gentle, sweet and yes, he used tongue. It was a moment I remember vividly.

Michael and I dated off and on through high school, everyone always thinking we'd marry one day. Life has a way of changing plans and we did not marry. We each took different roads and married others. We lost touch but would occasionally run into each other and it's always like we've been in touch all along. To this day I consider Michael a good friend and will never forget the remarkable first kiss. Do you remember yours?