The reason first love stories are so compelling to read is because there is something so powerful about a young love experience. Is it because it happens when our hearts are still innocent and pure -- before that first inevitable heartbreak? Or is it because once that huge flame dies out, a few warm embers remain to keep the memory aglow?
The email alert popped up with annoying regularity, reminding me that my high school reunion was approaching and I had not yet purchased my ticket. I had already decided months earlier that I was not going, not this time. And time was the operative word, because this reunion marked forty years since my graduation. Attending would force me to face that reality head on and I simply wasn't prepared for it.
I hadn't realized how powerful scent was until I separated it from my other senses. There were clues, though. There's a armoire in the basement of the house my parents still live in where they keep the World Book Encyclopedias. Nothing, and I mean nothing, calls up my childhood faster than opening those doors and taking a breath.
My plea to parents, and this goes to anyone really, don't disappear from the pictures. Who cares if you think your hair is frizzy or you have a "weird" smile or whatever hangup or lie that we tell ourselves, and don't want to be in the pictures? When you have children, forget all that and just get into that picture.