Kiss today good-bye

The first time I kissed a boy I was 13.

Well, to be perfectly honest, the first time I almost kissed a boy I was 13.

I had been "going" with Scott for almost three weeks. My father almost had a heart attack when I came home from 7th grade and announced that I was "going" with Scott - a new boy in my school.

I'd met Scott on the first day of the new term after Christmas. He was very nice and very handsome, although about two inches shorter that I was (keeping in mind that I've been my current height of 5'5" since 5th grade!).

I remember thinking he was nice and smart, but being totally surprised when a gal-pal told me that Scott "liked me." Unlike my sisters - and most of my pals, I simply wasn't the sort of girl that boys noticed.

So I was taken totally by surprise, when, one day, in the hall between classes, Scott asked me if I would like to "go" with him.

My reply was instantaneous: "Go where? Music class?"

I missed the nuances completely. Luckily for me, Scott was kind and gently explained that he wanted me to be his girlfriend. I agreed and a 7th grade romance was born.

In 1979, a 7th grade romance consisted mostly of Scott carrying my books to class, sitting next to me at lunch, and the occasional telephone call to my house. To the best of my recollection, we never had what could be considered a date...and he never laid a finger on me (just my books).

The school year was winding to a close, and with it, a big event -- the Junior High Dance. As neither of us drove, we agreed to meet at the dance.

I well remember the event -- in the high school cafeteria...with streamers hanging from the ceiling and a DJ playing songs like "My Sharona" and "MacArthur Park." We danced, and talked and drank Kool-Aid out of a punch bowl.

At the end of the evening, whilst waiting for our parents to pick us up, Scott decided to make his move. I wondered if this would be "the moment" I'd been dreaming of since Donny Osmond first burst through a mylar curtain on ice skates...would this be my first kiss?

I could hear the Village People, in the distance, singing "In the Navy" -- and Scott and I were holding hands and looking into each other's eyes...and looking...and looking...

Finally, it became clear to me that this was not going to be "the moment." And I started to turn away from him - to look for my Mom and the Grand Torino.

But, just as I started to turn away, Scott decided that he was "ready" and leaned in for the big moment.

And actually ended up kissing the collar of my coat.

In front of most of the school...and my Dad -- who decided to come pick me up.

Pop pretty much laughed the entire ride home. Probably mostly relief that his eldest child was not in any danger of "real" romance.

Scott moved away again a few weeks later. And no one attempted to plant one on me again until almost five years later, during my senior year.

Canadian writer Thomas Haliburton once said: “There is the kiss of welcome and of parting, the long, lingering, loving, present one; the stolen, or the mutual one; the kiss of love, of joy, and of sorrow; the seal of promise and receipt of fulfillment.”

I wonder how he would classify the kiss of the coat collar?