Let’s take missed opportunities into perspective. There have been a few occurrences lately that have generated some thought, generating a domino effect of ideas. This week of writing throwback pieces has got my mind going, constantly thinking and thinking way too much, about how I’ve grown up through various experiences and lessons learned.
- Improv workshop this past Tuesday, and recalling my post: This Song is About You?
- Recalling my first kiss in the previous post.
- An update from The Wild and Wiley Ways of a Brunette “Bombshell”
- A scene Stef and I did during improv practice. We had a serious scene with two teenaged kids in a cloud of ambiguity: Do they like each other? Is the truth going to come out? Are they both insecure and nervous, or just one?
I was 17 when my first kiss took place. She was a year younger, and who knows whether it was her first or not. Her name can be recalled, but it won’t be disclosed. I was a late bloomer when it came to this lovey dovey stuff goes, but that came with jealousy. There was this desire on how to woo–yes, woo–the females, but the confidence was never there. At the rate I was going, or so I had thought, my first kiss was projected (by experts, doctors, and scientists) to occur around the age of 20. Some professionals predicted 22.
Of course, we all had our crushes in elementary school. When personally debunking the whole girls have cooties concept, it was in a
kid’s boy’s best interest to pretend that we didn’t didn’t find kissing appalling. I wanted to look cool, and it was my sister-from-another-mister, Laurie, who helped me perfect this game face. We–part of the Sherwood gang–were at a movie, and it’s to my (surprising) recollection it was D2: The Mighty Ducks.
(“Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack! …”)
It was either that or Titanic. But, guys, there were more interesting points to that movie than simply kissing, am I right? Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.
The boat sank, and that one guy lost his grip and fell, hitting the propeller along the way.
Of course, like every quasi coming-of-age Disney movie, there is that blatantly awkward kissing scene between teenagers. It didn’t faze Laurie, who is six months my senior, and she said something to counter the bleh noises made by our brothers. Despite my agreeing with Laurie, my intention was to come across as mature(ing), because girls matured faster than us counterparts. The intention was to come across as if this was cool and hip (yes, I said hip). However, a wave came over me, and it was a realization–we’re going to describe this as: Emilio Estevez slapped some sense into me.
Kissing: it looked fun.
Now, a Paperman interlude:
It’s hard to recall my first childhood crush. I may or may not have kissed a girl on the cheek in third grade. In fourth grade, it was pretty apparent who I had a thing for. Breaking out of my various comfort zones for someone said a lot. Ranging from least severe to mind-blowing (for a timid fourth grader):
Getting on stage
Performing in front of people
- Getting dressed up like a prince
- Dancing/Waltzing with a girl
- Dancing/Waltzing in front of a group of parents and peers
- Dancing/Walzing to “Beauty and the Beast” rendition by Celine Dion and Peabo Bryson
There is still video evidence. Chris Malone: reluctant charmer? We were close friends, Amy and I, staying close friends, but of course life gets in the way. Communication has since ceased, but we’d–on occasion–run into each another once in a long while.
Through the years, interests came and went, and that was primarily due to my hesitating and losing. The interests I had were designated by nicknames, because I didn’t want to say names to either jinx my chances or have someone overhear and tell that person in question. There were a couple interests at church, who I did not know until confirmation, and referred to them as Church Girl 1 and Church Girl 2 even after I found out their names. I figured meeting a girlfriend in church would be satisfactory, especially to my parents. Not so much anymore. Maybe I should?
One of my coworkers at a certain museum, an Italian woman who wanted to see the son-she-never-had fixed up with someone special, harbored on the potential of this other certain individual. She, Pat, was essentially my mother-away-from-home (a role self-designated to coworkers at all of the jobs I’ve held), was certain I would end up with this girl. She asked me weekly if I had asked her out. No, not yet, would be my reply. In response, Pat would say: You two would be perfect for each other!
That museum fix-up that never happened, nor did a date occur, but there is a post in my fiction blog, Sporadic Attic, entitled Pizza Shop Evolution, which is based off of my cowardice. I didn’t have a nickname for her.
But hey, the past is the past. It’s fun to reflect, but it’s good to let it go. The time is now, and it’s not in best interest to be weighted down.
Or is it?
*The original title of this was supposed to be “Blushing, Cowering.” However, this title seemed depressing. But there was a change. The next option was a tough choice, because I was debating between using the name Joshua Jackson or Emilio Estevez Slapped Sense Into Me. However, the idea was scrapped, and I went with “weird.”