My furry kiss

When anyone asks me when was my first kiss, I have to stop and think. Not about when, but rather, HOW to explain the story about it. Majority of people envision a romantic scene, conjuring up their own memories of when they were first kissed. And then I hit them with a ton of bricks and they back away--wide-eyed, in disbelief and shock. I don't mean to do it on purpose. Many times I think I should lie and make up a story so that I may mirror THEIR experience. But that is bowing down to peer pressure and following popular culture. In the end, I have to tell it like it is. Innocent, simple and intriguing.

The other day, one of my close friends, upon talking about our youth, ventured in the past and the ultimate question was posed to me.

"Who was your first kiss?" she asked. We were sitting at Starbucks enjoying a hot beverage one brisk, cold evening.

I smiled and rolled my eyes. Here it was. I pondered for a moment, and thought about how to share this story. Should I give her snippets or tell the long drawn out version?

"Do you really want to know?" Now, I really had her. She put down her coffee, leaned forward with intrigue in her expression. It was forced to recount the long version.

I leaned back and wrapped my arms around the back of the chair with a sheepish grin.

"My Grade 4 teacher." I tilted the chair back dangerously, gauging her reaction. My friend sipped her coffee and burnt her tongue.

"WTF!" she exclaimed.

"Its 100% true," I smiled crookedly.

"Of course! I know what you are capable of. Ok, I am interested. Tell me the whole story!"

So....the story goes....

Yes, it was Grade 4 and Mr. McLaren was my teacher. He was fairly young--I guess I could peg him in his mid-thirties. Chestnut brown hair, slim build and wearing the typical style of hair for that time period...I think it was 1979. And ... he had a large moustache.

This was the second year I was stuck in a portable. The atmosphere was never right. Either too cold or too hot. Too humid or too dry. I swear, I used to think my growth had to do with the air in those portables. I had unruly head of hair that never stayed put, no matter how my mother styled it. Of course, at that age, I had to find a reason for all my woes. But Mr. McLaren was the only highlight of my Grade 4 year.

I did extremely well in all my subjects because I had his undivided attention. Unlike Mr. Waller, this teacher got me. When he would start his lesson, I would see a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face. I sat smack-dab right in the front of the classroom and our desks were aligned in rows--thereby not requiring us to be partnered with anyone else. This I liked. On my own, without any distraction, or someone cheating off of me or hearing the taunts I heard in Grade 3. And, I had a great view of my teacher, the blackboard and his desk.

Mr. McLaren was all about "learning should be fun." He would infuse games into his lessons and he stored a treasure chest of goodies in one corner of the portable. Anyone who would score high marks on a test or quiz was allowed to choose a gift from this box. It became a huge competition of who finished their test first to pick their reward. I hated Math but this exercise was made fun for me by Mr. McLaren and I was very happy to participate.

Majority of the time, I was the speed demon of the class and I got my pick the top prizes from the chest. I would fly over to his desk, as he marked my test using his red felt-tipped pen and then reveal my score to the class. A few times I missed the mark, and walked back dejected. But it only motivated me to work harder. As I tell my girls today, work for yourself. You aren't bringing those 'A's home for me. Its your hard work and if it pays off, you should reap the rewards.

But back then, I did it for Mr. McLaren...

"Ok I am getting to the point," I told my exasperated friend, who was checking out a man who walked into Starbucks.

It was the day before Christmas holidays. We were emptying out our desks and packing our work into our school bags. Mr. McLaren had a cassette tape running in the background of Christmas songs. I remember humming along to them all. Who cared if I didn't celebrate Christmas! The songs always uplifted my spirits.

We were told to line up after putting on our winter clothes, ready to exit and embark on our Christmas break.

"I want to congratulate all of you on a successful first half of Grade 4. So I will come down the line and show you my appreciation," he said standing in front of us. "You have been my best class so far and I am so proud of all your accomplishments."
 
I nudged Tara next to me, excited to see what he would do. Tara and I were near the end of the line, closest to the door. I leaned forward and watched as my teacher started from the front of the line. He shook the hands of all the boys and then leaned down to kiss the girls. WAIT A MINUTE. Did I see that right??? At first I thought he was kissing the girls on the cheek, but as I leaned further out, very precariously, I saw otherwise.

I turned to Tara in horror. "Is he kissing all the girls on the lips??" She giggled and nodded her head. I stepped back in my spot and felt my heart flutter in my chest. OH MA GAWD. And he was making his way down the line towards me!!
 
I stood frozen, with a million thoughts racing in my brain. Not about him kissing the girls, but how I was going to kiss him back! Do I pucker? Do I open my mouth? Do I keep it shut? Where do I hide my tongue?

It was excrutiating, waiting for him to come down the line and without knowing it, I had scrunched my eyes closed in sheer terror. When he came to me, I heard a chuckle and felt his hand grab mine. I opened up one eye, ever so slowly. He was looking down at me, expectantly.

"Have a wonderful Christmas my dear," he said. And with that, his moustache met mine and he gave me a peck on the lips.

My friend almost fell off her chair laughing. Everyone in Starbucks turned to look at us while I tried to mask my face from turning red. I lifted a newspaper and pretended to read some article about tax increases..... but she would not let it go.

"Are you telling me that your first kiss was a middle-aged grown teacher perv with a walrus moustache??" she asked incredulously. I sighed and shook my head. Story of my life. Inappropriate occurances in a politically incorrect time period. It had to be me.

"Yes. But he kissed ALL the girls on the lips, not just me!" However, my friend was not impressed.

"If I was your mother, I would have marched down to the school and castrated him for kissing my daughter! How dare he!" she exclaimed, pounding her fist on the table. The good looking man she checked out coming in was now looking in our direction. I slumped behind the newspaper even further.

"You need to watch Mad Men. There was a lot of things that happened back then that should not have happened, like my bullying for instance," I reminded her, trying to change the subject of my kiss but she shook her finger at me.

"You poor thing. Taken advantage of at such a young age, robbed of her innocence, stripped of the one most important event to ever take place in a girl's life--the first kiss!!" My friend was beside herself and looking at the desserts for emotional support. She got up and insisted I eat cake to make me feel better. As she was buying our therapeutic remedies, I caught the eye of the gentlemen sitting across from us, slowly sipping his coffee. He was in complete earshot of our conversation but I did not think he heard everything. My friend came back and shoved cake down my throat while soothing me with her words about not being traumatized by the whole thing. I continued my story.

After he kissed me, I walked home with Tara in stunned silence. She was yapping about all the things she would do during the break and what she wanted for Christmas. The kiss had absolutely no affect on her but it occupied my mind the whole way home. When I entered the house and saw my mother, I could not keep it in.
 
"My teacher kissed me on the lips today to thank me for all my hard work at school."

My friend interjected with a snort. "What happened to just giving you a gold star!?" I ignored her and continued.

My mother stopped brooming and looked at me, expressionless. I walked past her to the fridge. She turned me around and unleashed her fury upon me.

"When are you ever going to stop with your imaginative lies? Tsk Tsk!" she said and threatened to hit me over the head with the broom.

Figures.

I ran upstairs, shut my bedroom door behind me and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I did not look any different. I checked for a mark on my lips but they looked the same, with the peach fuzz still intact above my upper lip. I smiled, took out all the treasures I had accumulated from my school bag and sat back in awe as I reflected over my experience.

My friend was right. Had this happened today, my lovely teacher Mr. McLaren would be locked up in some jail, with someone having their way with him.

But as I look back in the past, he was my first kiss. Innocent, simple and intriguing.

"Nothing wrong rewarding someone with a kiss," I joked to my friend who was now stuffing her face and slowly accepting the fact that I accepted the whole incident.

"And nothing wrong with a moustache," the smiling gentlemen added while passing by our table to leave, much to the astonishment of my friend and I...

...and yes, he had a moustache.