I wonder what kids, when they become adults and recall their youth, will remember? Will they recall the hours spent gazing at smartphones while riding their bikes, waiting for the school bus, dining out with their parents? I can’t imagine spending on a smartphone all the time I spent reading as a kid, playing in the woods, swimming in the pond, fishing the river with a cane pole, spending the night at Alan’s and watching the late, late, late show featuring Doctor Paul Bearer, gazing in wonder at Saturn through Billy’s telescope, watching Saturday afternoon wrestling at Eddie’s house, playing handball with a squashed up aluminum can.

I wonder if what we remember are the best times, or the worst times, moments that stand out for some reason to be recalled later in life when triggered by an emotion, a scent, a song, a kiss? Some of my memories are regrets, most are happy, some are wistful and make my heart ache.

I remember my first kiss. Eighth grade, she was in seventh. Next to the chapel. She was beautiful. I remember her eyes. The feel of her arms. The softness of her waist. Her head on my shoulder. The pounding in my chest. The sensation of the first kiss. The tenderness. The depth of the moment. The feeling of spiritual union. I feel the touch of her lips now.
I’m glad I didn’t have a cellphone in my hand.

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