First Love

One day, I might get the daughter I dream of having. One day, she might ask me about my first love. And I'll giggle a 45 year old womans giggle while I remember being five years old. My daughter and I, we'll lie on our backs on the sweet green grass and watch the clouds and I'll tell her.

It was at this school:

At a playground that looked nothing like this:

I had long, shiny hair. Almost black. Two braids; one coming off each side of my oval head. I remember denim. A skirt. Probably a red top. With a collar. This was 1980, after all. And knee socks. Good grief, there were knee socks. Navy blue shoes that buckled so they could stay on tight as I ran. I ran in circles around that playground chasing Brandon. Brandon Drew. I ran so fast after him I'm surprised my freckles didn't fall off. He was in my class and my idea of the most perfect kindergarten boyfriend ever. He had medium brown hair that was cut just perfect. He could read, he could probably color in the lines. But what grabbed me the most? Oh, the way he could kick a ball. He was the kick ball champ, and I was his five year old love slave. Who he hated. Because he did not want to be chased all around that playground by a dumb girl in a denim skirt with braids flailing out behind her. No. He wanted to play kickball, darn it. And I'll look at the clouds as I tell her my story and I'll smile and be glad I'm not five anymore. I'll be glad those braids are long gone. Be glad the knee socks are history. But I'll miss those freckles, every last one. I'll smile and I'll sigh and I'll roll onto my side and prop myself on my elbow while I look at my daughter and I'll tell her that no matter how many times I thought I was in love, no matter how many times I wanted the boy-of-the-moment to love me back, I'm so thankful none of them panned out. Not one of them could ever come close to comparing to her father. (What? It's not Sunday? No kidding! But it is Thursday afternoon, and both boys are sleeping and the house is quiet. So let's just pretend it's Sunday, m'kay? Thanks.) brought to you by Sunday Scribblings