There’s a first time for everything. But why do first times have to be so darn scary?

I’m… There’s a first time for everything. But why do first times have to be so darn scary?

I’m pretty sure my brother either paid or physically forced his best friend, who happened to be our neighbor across the street, to be my first kiss.

He denies it to this day, of course, but I know better. Come on, I was still in the process of recovering from a jaw surgery that left me with three extra chins and my already chubby cheeks were swollen and bruised a pleasant green color. Because of all of this, combined with the little boy phase I was going through, I know I wasn’t ideal kissing material for my dream-boy neighbor.

Not to mention the fact that several weeks earlier, when I had just arrived home from the hospital and was passed out on the couch, I awoke to find my brother and approximately eight of his friends standing in the living room, staring and snickering at me. Neighbor included.

So, there I was, several weeks later, preparing for my first kiss. Did I mention that a side effect of the surgery was a numb lower lip and chin for about six months following the procedure?

I was terrified. What if I drooled on him during our first kiss? It’s not like I would feel it anyway, but I was certain he would run off and tell everyone that I was a big drooly monster with a funny shaped head.

I actually begged my brother and best friend not to make me go through with the premeditated first kiss. What did they do? They shoved me outside where our neighbor was waiting and locked the door.

Amazingly, I survived. The scariest moment of my life – to that point – had provided me with bragging rights for life – well, at least my middle school existence. I had kissed the hottest guy in school. It was all about getting over the nerves.

Later that year, I was asked out on my first date. A boy from a neighboring school had seen my unforgettable, award-winning performance in my school’s play and asked if I would go out with him. I eagerly accepted, but then had to face my parents.

They allowed me to go out with the slightly older boy, under one condition – my best friend and fellow brace face, Jody, had to go along with us. He arrived to pick us up, and Jody climbed in back while I took shotgun.

She tried to remain a silent observer, but as a romantic connection developed, she felt the need to interject a running commentary. When we were stopped at a red light on our way to the mall, I made a comment about the high price of gas. He looked over at me, placed his hand over mine, looked deep into my eyes and said something about gas never keeping us apart.

“That is the sweetest thing I have ever heard in my entire life,” Jody said dramatically, her head popping in between ours from the back seat. Moment over.

She walked a few feet behind us at the mall and accompanied us to his house to hang out. His bedroom doubled as a recreation room, so we headed downstairs. This is where the eternal gratitude for my mother making Jody chaperone comes into play.

He had a Motley Crue bedspread. I was on a date with Dr. Feelgood himself. Everywhere we looked, there were Motley Crue posters and memorabilia. Imagine his dismay when Jody and I looked at each other and asked who Motley Crue was. No imagination needed. He turned back around and took us right home.

There is a beautiful, redeeming aspect to endings like this. Experience is experience, good or bad. But the best part is that endings bring about the opportunity for another beginning, no matter how scary that first time may be.

Here comes the mushy, feel-good, life lesson quote of the week. This one’s from one of my favorite movies, “Hope Floats”:

“Beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it’s the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up. And it will.”

So first kiss, first date, first job, first love, first apartment – face the music and learn the dance, because life’s a party and everyone’s invited.

E-mail Jessica at [email protected].