I dusted this one off cuz I talked to my mother yesterday. We both miss my father.
My parents first kissed in the backseat of a car in Omaha, Nebraska, on a double-date, while the car in which they were passengers was driven east on Curtis Avenue, between 31st Street and 32nd Street.
I was not present at the time, except as a gleam in my father’s eye, so my information did not come from my own memory. I learned this fact in an interesting manner.
As a bright and observant young child, I noticed that every time we drove down Curtis Avenue, Dad would quietly smack his lips with a kissing sound and Mom would do the same in response. Every time. Maybe I did not have to be so precocious to notice after the millionth time.
So I asked, “Why do you two always make a kissing sound on this street?”
The answer is what I wrote in the first paragraph.
“Yuck!” I had not…
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