I was thinking to myself, what could I blog about? Here I am, on the eve of a vacation to visit my folks who still live in the same house I was raised in, that they bought in 1952 for $12,000. So I went back to those growing up years and I thought, “What’s the first memory that comes to mind?”
It was Rayleen Crocker.
Forgive me Rayleen, if I spelled your name wrong. You were the cute girl next door that, one day, took me under your uninflated wading pool and locked lips with me.
I was five, you were six.
It was one of those experiences that stay with you. That you remember. That, when you dig deep into your childhood memories, it’s the first one to pop up.
Over time, her parents divorced, she moved away and I have absolutely no clue where she ended up. But I hope she’s happy. I hope she’s as excited about life as I am with my beautiful wife, Victoria, who makes every day, every breath count.
Nice how I worked the wife in there, isn’t it? Crap, I’m writing while I’m thinking again. Ignore this last paragraph.
Now, your turn: So tell me about that first kiss—how old, who and when?
Thanks. Once again, cheaper than therapy.