It was 1959, and I was six years old. My memories of that time are vivid and often revisit me in dreams. One such memory was getting out of bed, hearing my mom and dad softly talking and laughing as a Johnny Mathis record played on the phonograph. I opened my door a crack just enough to see them slow dancing, holding each other close, as my mom looked up to Dad's face and they kissed. I held my hand over my mouth so they couldn't hear me giggling as they stopped dancing so dad could put on another record. I can remember the deep red color of the carpet and the smell of cigarettes forming a cloud of smoke, as that was commonplace back then, when nobody knew the dangers of smoking.
The next morning, as I made my way downstairs to the kitchen, where Mom was making breakfast, I heard her humming that Johnny Mathis song, a smile on her face as she stirred the pancake batter a bit too long. She bent down and kissed my cheek, saying good morning, the only way she could say it as dad came in and put his arms around her waist, pulling her to him like the way they danced last night. She brushed him away, laughing and whispering something I wasn't meant to hear.
Dad went off to his job, and Mom got me ready for school, saying we had to hurry so I wouldn't miss the bus that always stopped in front of our house at precisely eight o'clock. So, with my Superman lunch box in hand, I climbed onto the bus and found a window seat where I could look out and see Mom waving and blowing me kisses, like the half-dozen other moms waving and blowing kisses to their kids while wearing housecoats of many colors. I watched as she grew smaller, then disappeared from my sight, and I wondered if she went back inside, put on that Johnny Mathis record, and danced by herself, remembering last night's memories with a smile and a sigh. I was just six years old, but something in my heart told me I had witnessed what true love really was, and it made me feel good, but still made me giggle when I thought about it.
Dad went off to his job, and Mom got me ready for school, saying we had to hurry so I wouldn't miss the bus that always stopped in front of our house at precisely eight o'clock. So, with my Superman lunch box in hand, I climbed onto the bus and found a window seat where I could look out and see Mom waving and blowing me kisses, like the half-dozen other moms waving and blowing kisses to their kids while wearing housecoats of many colors. I watched as she grew smaller, then disappeared from my sight, and I wondered if she went back inside, put on that Johnny Mathis record, and danced by herself, remembering last night's memories with a smile and a sigh. I was just six years old, but something in my heart told me I had witnessed what true love really was, and it made me feel good, but still made me giggle when I thought about it.
Mike 2026 
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