There's usually a first time

I can remember my first kiss like it was yesterday. I was a young buck in the 5th grade, playing hide and go seek in Nicole's' basement with her and her brother. She hid under a coffee table that had a white sheet over it. Me, being the smooth dude I was, hid under the same coffee table. She was so pissed that I was under her table, but I leaned forward and kissed her smack dab on the nose. Surprise! She grabbed the collar of my shirt, twisted it up in her fist, and pushed my head into the leg of the table. Let's just say our date didn't work out so well. Later in life, we had the romantic date life that lasted 3 weeks. And in the 6th grade, that's a lifetime. I can remember my last kiss like it was 20 minutes ago. Why is that?? Why do the first things, and last things stick into our minds, while the middle ones, seem to dissolve into one another? Here's a sidenote: My first real kiss was in the 6th grade with a girl named Jessica. We actually made a time and place that we were going to kiss (behind the loading dock at Field school at 3pm). We then decided who was "going to lead". It was the most awesome/awkward experience. Every day after that (for a month), before I walked home and she got on the bus, we met. I heard she's a "dancer" now. And not a very good looking one...dodged that bullet!

The first time I wrote something with the intent of it being good was in the 6th grade with Ryan and David. We passed along a notebook that was supposed to be about us getting with girlies. They would write stuff about them "humping girls all day", and my sections were about me stealing their underwear then putting itching powder in it, then returning it without them knowing. Let's just say Dave and Ryan didn't let me do anymore smut writings when most my stories ended up with me somehow picking up a water tower with my bare hands, and dancing in the streets to Cantaloop.

The last time I wrote something with the intent of being good was a short story about a guy who relates all his life's problems to magnets. "Some people attract me, others repel me, either way, the person and the magnet need that other part to have a reaction". Trust me, it isn't that good, but I wrote it with the intent of being good and clever....But I can't seem to recall any of the thousands of writings I have done in between. All the essays, poems, letters, books, articles, journals or even blogs! I can think of the significant ones, but not the minor ones.

The first time I can remember being really scared was when I was about 8 at this sideshow fair. For those who know about Valleyfair, this place used to be that carnival thing about 3 miles away. Thank god they tore that place down. Any-who, there was this "elevator" that took you through scary scenes. I was with my aunt and really wanted to go on it. So she let me....alone. It started and about 3 seconds into it I started freaking out. I was balling like....like.....like an 8 year old trapped in a horror elevator! Finally the sideshow freak who was running the "ride" stopped it and let me out. I think that's where I get the claustrophobia from...oh the repressed emotions from childhood.

The last time I really freaked out in a bad way, is when I thought I was going to die on my bicycle (the last post in case you missed it). I really thought I was done for. No brakes, no control, no hope. But alas, in both cases I came out unharmed. I'm sure I've been freaked out plenty of times in my life (hanging out on rolling trains, highway sign painting, back of cop cars etc...), but again, it's the first and last times that stick out the most.

I can also remember the first time I got REALLY hurt. I was cruising down a hill on my bicycle (I'm starting to see a trend here) during a wonderful Minnesota summer. So needless to say, I was t-shirtless, and rocking my super awesome muscles (this kid pictured is not me however). As I was cruising down this hill, I came to an un-forseen hazard--road construction. Why don't they put up signs or blinkie orange lights around here!?!? Anyway, I'm speeding away, not paying any attention to what's going around me, and the tires suddenly lose traction and start skidding out underneath me. The bike does a side slide, and I went down-and I slid for a good 40 feet on sand and gravel with no shirt on, shorts, and no shoes. The worst part about the whole thing is that I was about two miles away from my house. So I needed to hobble my bike home all busted up and embarrassed.

And the last time I really got hurt is lame. I was walking around barefoot over the fall, and stubbed my toe on my parents deck. It sounds boring and uneventful, but I was semi-running when I did it. I spun halfway around and knocked into the fence. Next thing I knew I couldn't walk for two days and I'm pretty sure I sprained it.

But alas, I don't really remember my first day of school. I remember short instances of a pre-school Jon being all cool, but I don't remember the day itself. I DO however remember my last day of school, and that was today!

On random notes:

The new Roots album (Rising Down) is actually pretty good. Check it out if you get a minute.

Now that school is done, more time can be spent on the book, reading and taking flicks.

I'm not sure why, but I dig the smell of libraries. Especially really old ones. That's nerdy isn't it?? Oh well.

I should be an advice column writer. Perhaps that is a new blog post in the future......or I'll include it into the book somewhere.

I hate doing the dishes. Above all, doing dishes is the worst of the household chores.

I should hit up the Riverview one of these nights.

I still haven't gotten my tabs for the bike. The roads are prime and weather is good, but I'm not on it.

Teaching 8th graders reminds me of how old I am (in relation to the new generations). But at the same time, how young I still am.

Any-who, I'm outy 5000. Be on the look out for a cool kid who might steal your steeze.