First Kiss and a Peppermint Twist By: Ken La Rive
I was taught
to have respect for women. In my day we tipped our hats when they crossed our
path, and said something cordial like “Good evening Ma’am,” or just “Ma’am?”,
like it was a proper question. Usually it would get you a coy hint of a smile
in return, which was thought to be a priceless gift. We opened all doors for
women, with respect bordering on reverence. Never did it cross our minds to
ever swear or cuss in front of one, and with a woman on our arm, a man would be
right to dot the eye of anyone who spoke out of turn. But then, somewhere in
this proverbial tangle of ideas, those that define our human nature and our
place in society, I learned that women were indeed beautiful, made to love,
admire, and an enigmatic and mysterious art object. I was nervously tongue tied
around then, in admiration of their self-control, their practiced poise, their
articulation of language, and their demure and soft strength that proved to be
stronger then steel, and stronger by far then me.
A mother and
child are so beautiful, beyond a poet’s wonder, or understanding. There is a
tie that binds them together that was so amazing to me, so awesome, and so
spiritual. I realized this before I realized myself: that although our physical
bodies are weak, a woman’s will, a mother’s maternal love, is the most
incredible strength of all.
I remember
those CYO dances, and the first time I ever did the “Peppermint Twist” with a
girl. Before air conditioning, the night’s fresh breezes blew from open windows
and mixed by revolving ceiling fans of St. Raphael’s recreation hall. My taps
rang out as I made the long walk across the polished hardwood floor, to the
girl’s side. I had jelly legs, a burning in the pit of my stomach, but I had a
mission, to ask one of these angels to dance. I had scoped her out hours
before, long before I had the nerve to break away from my buddies. What great
fear there was in my heart. Fear that
she would say no, but even more fear that she would say yes! Notwithstanding,
there is a bridge that must be crossed by all of us, one way or the other, as
we realize that both men and women are two halves of the same thing. I got my
first inkling of this powerful thought, as in a dream, and clumsily tried to
guide her between the other dancers, to that perfect and comfortable place.
Those soft and moist cheeks, the smell of spray net on teased hair, and subtle
smells, like fresh baked bread, vanilla extract, and something more, like a
pheromone magnetism radiating from the heat of dancing... I was hooked.
I played the
gambit, the game, by what I knew of love from songs and television. I saw literally what was meant by “Venus in
Blue Jeans” and the whispers of Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry, Bill Haley, The
Shirelles, and Tommy James dictated the words and feelings that came pouring
from my heart. I remember well that fevered first kiss, and I thank you Debbie,
wherever you are. A million miles and years ago, it seems, but really, only
yesterday. I have carried effortlessly, tuns of girl books, while walking home
from school. Those perfectly covered books, without a mark, a scuff, a dent,
…and I tried with boyish wonder to understand the hows and whys of these
bewildering and perplexing creatures that could touch something so deep inside
of me. They were so clean, so fresh, so sparkling…
I have been
lucky with women. Though there have been a few to have broken my heart, mostly,
it was magic. One along the way took up my spirit as her own, and through the
years I can no longer tell where she leaves off and I begin. I guess love is
the cement for such a thing, and as time has a way of teaching us what we
thought we already knew, the joy and pain blend into what we are and have
become, and finally gives a sense of peace.
I can’t
Peppermint Twist like I could in the old days, but in my heart I still feel the
same twinge of magic when I ask Maddy to dance. I guess I’m still in love, and
surely, still in awe…
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