Good Old Days

 

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Ah yes, the good old days.  What good are they exactly?  Yes, they were good at the time — like the first time a boy kissed me, really kissed me, and there’ve been many kisses since then but none quite like that.  Very good at the time and yet maybe not so good now to have a fourteen-year-old boy kiss me, overdosed with English Leather and not sure where to put his hands.

Those good old days are still with me and could shape everything I do — if I let them.

That first kiss, made for a good day, because I felt special, special enough to kiss, to be that close to a boy I liked. That was just the first step in a long series of kisses, which I grew ever more fond of. The reason to kiss changed, though, from being an end in itself into a beginning, a start, foreplay for even more exciting activities. These became very good old days, too. They also ride along with me today as I continue to look more forward than backward, to see what is happening on the next stretch of road.

After all, we live moment-to-moment. It helps to keep the eyes forward, on the road ahead, so you don’t miss anything. I keep my eyes forward even though I have all those good old days riding along in the back seat calling out instructions. But I don’t pay much attention to their ruckus when they call out a crazy, sideways turn. I decide whether to take that crazy side road or keep going forward — and I never let them have the wheel.

 

About Margaret Graw

At the intersection of writing and yoga
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