Received a very thoughtful yet random email in my myspace account (which I never use anymore), from someone who remembers me as his first kiss:
Sitting around the dining room table tonight,
(which was really the other night
cause this is now a few dayze later)
one of my sons asked:
Who was your first kiss?
Can’t remember how old I was.
Young. For sure. 9? 8?
But the name is stuck in my head:
If there’s a blemish to the first kiss story
it is this:
A guy name Scott Edworthy
kissed you before (or after).
Still, it counts as a first kiss
and warrants a random hello
many, many years later.
He went on to write about some other very beautiful memories from our summers spent up in Vancouver, Canada. Apparently, however, I was kissing more than one boy under the pier that summer! Still, that he remembered me at all and then took the time to track me down is touching. While I do vaguely remember him, I have to say that I remember the other boy, Scott Edworthy, much better. Isn’t it always that way though…