Growing up, my younger brother was my
minion and best friend. He is a little less than a year younger than me. He was fun to play with most of the time
because not only was he clever, he was nearly always willing to do anything I
suggested. Some of the time though, I
just had to leave him behind or sneak off without him because he wasn’t a good
liar. He got in trouble much more often
than me or our older brother did.
My little brother fell seriously “in love” for the first time when he was about 13. I had no personal experience with boyfriends at that point, but he oftentimes asked my advice about his girlfriend because he wanted a girl’s point of view. Usually he wanted to know what I thought of his hair, or clothes, or a gift he wanted to give her. He knew I wouldn’t make fun of him for asking or go talk about him to other people. I was about as popular and social as a corpse in those days.
One day, he told me he wanted to kiss his “little honey” but that he was afraid he might not do it right. He wanted to kiss me and have me tell him if it was a good kiss – if it would be acceptable to his girlfriend. “Ewww!” I exclaimed. “You’re not going to kiss me.” He begged. He pleaded. I refused. He promised to do some chores for me, and finally I conceded. It was one short kiss on the mouth, and it was every bit as gross as I expected it to be. He looked at me and I said nothing. “Well?” he demanded. I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? “Well here, let me just try again.” he said. I found my voice and took a step back, “NO! You’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
That was my first kiss. I wonder if he remembers it at all?
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| little brother and me |
My little brother fell seriously “in love” for the first time when he was about 13. I had no personal experience with boyfriends at that point, but he oftentimes asked my advice about his girlfriend because he wanted a girl’s point of view. Usually he wanted to know what I thought of his hair, or clothes, or a gift he wanted to give her. He knew I wouldn’t make fun of him for asking or go talk about him to other people. I was about as popular and social as a corpse in those days.
One day, he told me he wanted to kiss his “little honey” but that he was afraid he might not do it right. He wanted to kiss me and have me tell him if it was a good kiss – if it would be acceptable to his girlfriend. “Ewww!” I exclaimed. “You’re not going to kiss me.” He begged. He pleaded. I refused. He promised to do some chores for me, and finally I conceded. It was one short kiss on the mouth, and it was every bit as gross as I expected it to be. He looked at me and I said nothing. “Well?” he demanded. I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? “Well here, let me just try again.” he said. I found my voice and took a step back, “NO! You’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
That was my first kiss. I wonder if he remembers it at all?
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