Friday, June 8, 2012

Bad Boys and Good Memories

I found out some bad news today. Through a random search for old friends, I discovered that one of my old boyfriends passed away last year. That just sounds so much better than died. He was the first boy I ever kissed and I can still remember when and where it happened. We had just graduated from eighth grade and were at a back yard party. Back yard parties were popular in those days. Music and dancing and swatting mosquitoes. Cheap and fun entertainment.
I'm surprised at how sad this makes me feel. He moved away in 10th grade, but by that time we were no longer a "couple". Whatever that meant in the 1960's. I remember that he was cute and had curly hair. He was a "bad boy" and my father didn't care much for him, even though his family background was much more impressive than my own. I remember that he always had a cigarette tucked behind his ear, more for effect than anything else. He also had a motor scooter which he would use to visit me but I was forbidden to ride. I actually never did. We had gone to separate K-8 schools, but then went to the same high school. I think we lasted through part of 9th grade, but I was more focused on schoolwork than he, and having a boyfriend who was always in trouble just got to be too much after a while.
I talked to him once many years ago. By that time I was married and living in Los Angeles, he divorced and living in Mobile. It was a pleasant conversation and I remember him asking about many of our former mutual friends. I later saw a photograph of him. He was holding a cigarette and looked like he lived a hard life.
From reading his obituary, I see he left behind a wife, a daughter,  three granddaughters, and a great-granddaughter, as well as a brother and a cadre of nieces, nephews and cousins to mourn his loss. He also left a lot more friends than he realized.
I hope he lived a happy life. I'd like to think that maybe he thought of me once or twice and remembered that kiss.


  1. I was just thinking about my bad-boy boyfriend yesterday. He was called Mafia by everyone because he always wore sunglasses (they were prescription, he'd broken his others) and he drove a '55 Chevy. He gave me my first kiss. He was so sweet to me.
    I wonder if he's still around on this planet.

  2. My first real kiss wasn't until I was going to 9th grade. Teen Conference in San Francisco. Hudson S. planted one on me and from how awkward it was, I feel certain he hadn't kissed many girls before that. I saw him a few summers ago and it's always kind of exhilarating but not in a dangerous way. We used to say we loved each other and everything. It's fun to remember those special moments.

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