My First Kiss

I’ve never told anyone about this.

When I was a little girl, so young I don’t remember my age, I kissed a little boy. It was between 8 and 9, I think.

I don’t remember his name. He probably doesn’t remember mine, either, and I sometimes wonder if he remembers me at all.

There’s a reason I never told anyone about this first kiss. He was a little black boy and I was a little white girl with racist parents growing up in the South. I knew even then that if I told my mom I had a black friend I’d be in trouble. Telling her I’d kissed a black boy probably would have gotten me whipped. I’m not kidding. For all I know, his parents would have been angry with him, too. Racial lines were clearly divided in my early childhood.

All this time I’ve kept this secret and I just realized it didn’t need to be a secret anymore.

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About Grimalkin, RN

Trying really hard to be a decent person. Registered Nurse. Intersectional Feminism. Poet. Cat. Political. Original recipes. Original Stories. Occasionally Questionable Judgement. Creator of #cookingwithjoanne and #stopcock. Soulless Unwashed Carrot. This blog is dedicated to my grandmother, my beloved cat Grimalkin, and my patients.

Posted on July 16, 2013, in All the Beds I Rode to Here and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Comments Off on My First Kiss.

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