If I should define love, this is how I would: love is respect, love is sharing, love is caring, love is kind, love is giving, love is blind, love understands, love is a passionate affection for someone, love is love.
Back in the day is a prevalent phrase used by my daughters whenever they converse with me about what it was like growing up as a Baby Boomer. From their dialogue I fathomed that they being in the category of Generation X and Y believe Baby Boomers led uninteresting, dull and difficult lives. Or, maybe they are under the notion that Baby boomers were born big. They believe we know nothing about love/romance, lies and mischief just to name a few traits of the rampant raging hormones of adolescence. Sometimes my mind tells me that Generation X and Y believe they invented everything. In plain language to them we are not “hip”. Hello! In our own way, we have been there, done that and are now taking a dim view. After all in this era of modern technology and amenities it would take great influence to change their way of thinking.
In my place of origin, boys and girls had a way of communicating with the one they had a crush on. We had no television, no electricity to rule our world. However, all was not lost because we had battery operated radios, gramophones and lots of books and more interestingly we had the most romantic light of all...kerosene lamp with the home sweet home lamp shade. We had commons to run free and we had some of the most superb creative minds which led us to write some daring love letters. Looking back, we were very naughty maybe much naughtier than Generation X and Y but of course we made sure that we remained discreet and respectful…never flaunted our bad habits before the public’s eyes. Romance, sex or love was not originated in Hollywood. Thus it is on this premise that I have decided to share, through letters, the raunchy side of a female Baby Boomer living in a village far away from the bright lights.
Broken Heart District
Lovers Lane P.O.
June 4, 1960
It is now midnight as I lay in bed amidst the glow of the kerosene lamp, writing this letter about our friendship and wondering when I will see you again. Honey, my heart is aching ever since you have been gone. I cry myself to sleep each night when I remember the way you kissed me tenderly behind my uncle’s kitchen, with the moon above and the shrill sounds in the background from the creepy-crawlies as they made their encore. I never knew what love is and what love could do until I felt your tender lips against mine and the sweet taste of the star-apple you were eating. My stomach was in sweet turmoil. As a result my knees weakened and if you were not holding me in your precious arms, I would have fallen on the bed of tomatoes or against the patch of cow itch (scratch bush).
Harry, my darling, you shouldn’t have kissed me because I am now bonded to you by that kiss. How could you ever leave me? It is not right. It was my maiden kiss. You knew all along that I could never be free to see you as you would have liked. My parents are always watching me like a hawk. They often told me that boys suffer from swelling skin and I should be wary because it could lead to something dangerous if I got in their path. I don’t know what my parents mean nonetheless it scares me. Another of their sayings which always puzzles me is: it only takes one kiss to lie down. Maybe they mean the way I am feeling now, lying in my bed with tears in my eyes.
Darling, I really don’t know what to say. However, I have come to the conclusion that I wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity to perform my first and only tongue bath if my parents weren’t at Uncle Sammy’s home, grieving over his death which resulted from stoppage of water (prostate cancer). My parents didn’t even notice that I had sneaked out of the crowded room to the back of the wattle and daub kitchen to be with you until Cousin Peter caught us and made an alarm. It was an embarrassing moment especially as he cursed and chased you with his cutlass (machete). Adding to that was the commotion from the onlookers and the fiddle my parents played on my rump with the belt, shoes and bucket-pan. Also, my brothers who flung stones at me as I cried and made my escape up and down the yard, behind the fowl coop, around the pig sty and through the coffee-piece (coffee grove). Nonetheless, to be honest with you my sugar plum, the hurt that I am feeling now is of greater depth than all the embarrassment.
Sweetheart, whilst I rumble with my thoughts, I do not know if you still have the same loving feeling towards me. I wish we could have kissed a bit longer before being caught. Regardless of the embarrassment that we both went through, I am begging you to reconsider our friendship and wait for me until I am finished with my schooling. Your wait will not be in vain. I want no other one but you my darling. My love for you is like a steady flow of cool water rushing over rocks and that is why my darling, down by the river in a secret spot, you will find a rock with a little dot which means forget me not.
My precious, as I turn and look at the inscription Home Sweet Home on the glass shade of the kerosene lamp and the little moth hugging it, I would like you to latch on to the memory of our kiss until we can be together in our own home. Baby, I cannot write much longer because I am blinded by my tears. Hence, I must close this letter now. In doing so, I send you all my love and I hope when you receive this letter you will hold it close to your heart.
Your broken-hearted lover,
2 Leg Street
1 Center Cut
Bushy Park P.O.
December 20, 1962
My Ever Loving Darwin,
I hope when this missive arrives in your hand it will find you thinking about me in the same loving way that I am. At this precise moment, I wish you were here holding me tight. Your kisses are like drops of dew…sweet, soft, alluring and saturating. I cannot wait to see the day when we will be together, forever, in a big house with a big backyard and a car. We will also have a family of our own. First we will have a baby boy and when his hair begins to curl we will have a baby girl.
My romantic flame, if you could only see me now lying in bed under my blanket. I am dressed in pink flannel pajamas that my mother made and I am holding and squeezing a pillow, pretending it’s you. Every night before I go to sleep, I read some of your romantic letters that you have written to me. The words are so powerful and precious. I get jolts, almost making me want to pee. Your letters have become my keepsake. I have tucked them in a shoe box and placed the box under the shelter of a huge rock in the hill behind my house, hoping that my parents won’t find them because if they do, my bottom will be on fire from their many licks.
Honey, I know that you are two years older than me which should be the least of our concerns. The most important thing is I am in love with you. Darling, I adore your deep-set eyes and your hue. I hear the older girls saying that the blacker the berry the sweeter the juice. One day, I hope to find out what this means. I also admire your bow-legs. They drive me lovingly crazy. I noticed how pronounced they were as I stood under the guava tree and watched you play cricket with the village boys. Oh, honey, how I wish that you were from my village and not so far away. You are so perfect for me. If I should find a fault in you, it would have to be your accusing me of being shy and afraid. You mostly say this when I brush away your hands in your attempt to touch my tits. I have explained to you before that my older cousin, Mavis, told me not to let any man touch or feel-up my tits because they will grow big, soft and out of shape. I hope you understand this. Furthermore, I do not want my parents to look at my tits and then say something fishy is going on. Dearest, you can do all the feel-up when the time is right. For me it will be the day of our nuptial. On that day you will also pick my cherry. So let’s just kiss for now.
Dearest, before I close this letter, please do not try to kiss anyone besides me. As it is now I am hardly eating because I am thinking about you each time the clock ticks. So can you imagine my condition if I should hear that you have kissed another girl. Please, I beg of you to be true to me. I am saving myself for you. This is the gospel truth. Honey, I find it hard to resist your kisses. Never let them become tasteless so Sugar your coffee, sugar your tea and sugar your lips when kissing me. Before you go to sleep at nights, always remember that I love you once and I love you twice. I love you next to Jesus Christ.
Sweetheart, I end with hugs and kisses and may your dreams be about me.
Your future and darling wife,
You know who
P.S. This missive is for your eyes only. Keep it in a safe place where no one can reach it. I would be very ashamed if the contents are shared with others. Also, continue to give Dexter my letters when he comes to his father’s farm in your village. Don’t send them via Post Office because the Postmistress delivers all the mail to my parents.
Tah-tah! It is said that the pen is mightier than the tongue
Look out for love letters by the boys in Part II
Grace Dunkley-Asphall Copyright © 2009