“Mom, guess what?” she exclaims as she hops into the front seat. It feels surreal that she’s now old enough for this.
“What?” I reply, turning the key in the ignition.
“I just had my first kiss!”
Wait, what?
Okay, she’s nearly 13. I was that age too when I experienced my first kiss, which took place in the dimly lit basement of my childhood home. The air was filled with the sounds of Loverboy blasting from a yellow boom box while we roller skated across the cool concrete, darting between my dad’s workbench and the worn-out carpet against the wall. Breathless, I collapsed on the rug, giggling. When he sat beside me, his knee brushed against mine, and my heart raced as he leaned in to kiss me. It was a clumsy mess that left me feeling euphoric and, honestly, a bit queasy.
I didn’t tell my mom. In fact, I didn’t even mention it to my best friend for about a week. I was torn between feeling excited about being kissed and wondering if I should be embarrassed. Did this mean I was like those other seventh-grade girls with their feathered hair and Dr. Scholl’s sandals who were always kissing? Should I replace my Lip Smackers with Kissing Potion? I had a lot to process. In the meantime, I cherished the thrill of that kiss as a delicious secret, tucked away in my heart, where I could enjoy it privately.
My daughter, however, operates differently. Before I can respond, she’s already typing away on her phone. It’s probably a group message because why share with just one friend when you can flood the virtual world with your fresh news? I want to tell her to take a moment to savor this experience, but I’m just as hooked on instant sharing as she is. Our motivations for connecting—even if our platforms differ—are surprisingly similar.
The desire to share experiences, especially among peers during teenage years, isn’t a new phenomenon. However, not every moment needs to be broadcasted—not to hundreds of online acquaintances, not even to a close friend or her mom. I wish for my daughter to understand the value of holding some stories close, relishing the way we personally process them. I want her to embrace all the emotions tied to her first kiss—the sweetness, surprise, hint of desire, and if she’s anything like me, a touch of awkwardness—without the distractions of her friends’ opinions or online commentary. It’s essential for her to own her experiences before offering them to the world, both digital and real. Once shared, some stories can’t be taken back.
As I glance at her, with her long caramel hair cascading over one shoulder, her face illuminated by her phone’s glow, I say, “Wow, your first kiss. That’s quite significant.”
“Yeah,” she replies, a small smile breaking through.
I’m eager to ask for the details: Was it a French kiss or a peck? A boy she likes or just someone she knows? Was it a game of Spin the Bottle or a spontaneous moment? I want to take her hands and urge her to spill everything!
Instead, I shift the car into reverse. “You know I’m here whenever you want to chat about anything,” I offer. “Or not.”
“I know, Mom,” she replies, glancing at her screen one last time before shutting it off and gazing out at the darkening sky.
We drive home in a comfortable silence, both wrapped up in our own secret stories.
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Summary: In a heartfelt reflection on her daughter’s first kiss, a mother reminisces about her own experiences at that age, expressing a desire for her daughter to cherish personal moments before sharing them with others. The article highlights the importance of private experiences amidst the digital age’s urge to share, emphasizing emotional ownership and connection.