This week we're supposed to blog about our first kiss. Mine was in the summer between seventh and eighth grade. Arrowbear Music Camp. What a great experience, kiss aside. Not that the kiss was bad or anything. In truth, I don't remember the actual kiss, but I remember the guy. Chris Doss, a cornet player with silver caps on his two front teeth. He was the first guy to like me back and stole a kiss in some private spot. Afterward, I told my bunk-mate. Lee Edwards, clarinet, who also went to my school. She got upset and said I'd get "the kissing disease," after which I laid awake all night worrying about it. Chris lived in El Centro (funny the things you remember, eh?) and I in Fountain Valley. Both were in California, but might as well have been a million miles away. He sent me a card with a St. Christopher's medal, which, for those who don't know, meant we were "going steady." Never saw him again. Sigh. Thanks for the kiss, Chris Doss, and for not giving me "the kissing disease."
Now, let's just see what author Jeana E. Mann remembers about her first kiss!