When I was in the sixth grade there wasn’t anything much more important than the Friday afternoon sock hop after school. It was not important because I was looking forward to dancing. It was important because I had a brief opportunity to talk to a girl. During Sock Hops, all shoes were left at the School Gymnasium door and stocking feet were order of the day. It was, after all, Indiana, and no chances were to be taken with the care of the basketball court. So, the boys would deposit their shoes in one pile and the girls in another and we would line up based on gender to opposite sides of the gym. The custom of the day was for the boy to initiate the choosing of the dance partner for three songs in a row and the fourth song became the girl’s opportunity to choose. Thus, it became known as “Ladies Choice”. It was also the slow tempo song.
At my school, it was a good thing there was Ladies Choice, because most of my sixth-grade buddies did not know how to dance, therefore when the boys got to choose, they didn’t. We just watched as the girls, with no boy to dance with, danced with each other. But, when the fourth song was played, the girls headed across the dance floor to pick their partner. I must tell you, that there is no greater disappointment than not being chosen to dance when the herd had thinned out and the dancing began. It’s not that a boy wanted to dance, he just wanted to be chosen. The side benefit was that, to slow dance, the partners must touch. And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, was worth all the awkwardness of not knowing how to dance. For a brief 3 minutes all was right with the world. With heart pounding and sweat appearing, sixth grade boys all over America, on Friday afternoons at 3:30, were beginning their march toward puberty.
After several weeks of this heart stopping anticipation, every fourth dance, many guys were getting comfortable with the procedure and began to talk amongst each other about the “next step”. The next step was on every young man’s mind weather he admitted it or not. The next step was dreamt about at night, talked about on the playground at recess and hoped for after the first slow dance materialized. After the third time in a row being chosen by the same girl, the next step was on the minds of most everyone involved, boy or girl.
The next step for boys in the pubescent chain of events was the first kiss. Several stars had to line up in the romantic orbit and it took a while to get there, but it was what every boy in the sixth grade wanted. The boys who had already reached this mountaintop of manhood were revered in the grade school hallways. Their status achieved, pimples magically began to disappear, and chest hair sprouted overnight. The subject of how and where, was legendary in many sixth-grade locker rooms. The truth was, most times, it was accidental and awful. However, that did not slow down youthful ardor for one second. Once kissed, sixth grades boys could only think of one thing. How to do it again.
All sorts of things became obstacles in the pursuit a repeat performance. Generally, the biggest one was the young lady’s father. Somehow, most fathers developed a sixth sense when it came to protecting their daughters. Perhaps it was because they had once been a sixth-grade boy themselves. Most first kisses come on or near the girl’s house or yard. Maybe, because the security of disappearing into the front door, in case of over reaction by the perspective kiss-or, was a few steps away. Front porches were generally the last chance and the safest haven to launch your lips. Most times they were lighted and Pop was on the other side of the door. The hardest part of the first kiss was to find out if the prospective participant was on the same romantic trajectory as the boy was. The boy was always ready, sometime the girl was not. Smiles were always a good sign but not always a green light.
The timing had to be right, the telltale go ahead was most often a brief direct look followed by closed eyes by the girl. Many a girl has been left standing on the front porch, eyes closed tight, head upturned, by a boy who had chickened out and headed for the safety of his bedroom. However, once in a while, the stars are in line, Dad didn’t hear you walk up, and the dog isn’t barking. This is when the most magical thing happens. Lips collide for the first time. and for a long moment, you ain’t even mad at your little brother. That walk home is best experience you have had in a long while. You are alone in your thoughts, and you will never be the same again. The feeling doesn’t last forever, but it does last long enough to make you want to do it again. With any luck, she will smile at you the next time she sees you.
There will only be one first kiss and I still remember mine. Behind the oak tree in her front yard. It was quick and great and has lingered in my memory forever.
Thanks Anne