Remember those cards we once drew for our parents – especially Valentine’s Day ones? Huge red hearts with an arrow through it seemed to symbolize the day. We thought that simply meant “love.” Who knew our parents saved our childhood drawings in their own special place? Then, when dating, the love took on a capital L, and these were saved in a special place.

Dating, for us, was different. World War II was over. Pepsi Cola’s jingle that it “hits the spot” and more ounces for our nickel competed with Coca Cola’s famous hour-glass shaped bottle which was easier to handle and prettier to look at. But Pepsi won out for my pre-teen party.

I decorated the finished basement with cardboard hearts and arrows and cupids, invited both boys and girls to a Spin the Bottle party. It was my mother’s idea. This was certainly going to be less of a mess than the hay party I had for my horseback-riding friends as I brought real bales of hay into the basement that she had to clean up. It smelled, and there were bugs left behind for her to get rid of.

My mother explained the rules to me. It sounded so wicked to my innocent yet partially-in-puberty ears. Boys and girls were to sit in a circle. The Pepsi bottle was spun by a boy and when the narrow neck pointed to a girl, he had to kiss her in front of everyone. Then a girl would spin, and the whole thing repeated.

Suppose he had zits or some pre-shaving coarse hairs on his face? These were going to be first kisses for most of us. My mother said, “so what?” No one should embarrass anybody attending, or make faces, or go “yuk,” or refuse to kiss. Suppose the girl had awful breath, or dabbed too much of her mother’s perfume on? Same thing. Ground rules were called for. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but she explained.

We had no TV yet; most homes didn’t get a 9- or 11-inch screen until 1948, so none of us had seen kissing and hadn’t yet heard of French kissing. Thankfully, no saliva was even entering my thoughts as I hand-wrote invitations. It was awkward. It was exciting. It was a first kiss for most of us, and all courtesy of a glass bottle whose contents had to be removed before using it as a spinner.

Some of you might have also played Post Office. That was too adult to do first, but my mother explained how to play. Good Valentine’s Day game, I thought, and decided to include it after Spin the Bottle. I gave everyone small piece of paper so a letter could be written to one in the room that the writer really, really liked. I just knew who my letter was going to, and I was even nervous writing his name. We each delivered our letters. There was a storage closet in our basement and that became a private room. When the person whose name was on the letter saw the sender’s name, the couple had to go into the closet and kiss in the dark. Of course everyone in the room giggled.

It was one thing to get a peck in front of the crowd, but the closet was just too personal. I was actually more nervous than elated when it was my turn. I liked that boy so much. Was I supposed to put my arms around him? I hadn’t asked my mother this. He barely put his hands on my waist, and I hardly touched his as I tilted my head and puckered my lips. He must have felt just as strange, as his lips just brushed mine, and we opened the door almost at the same time. But the brushing felt different from the kisses exchanged by the bottle’s pointing.

Some memories never leave us – certainly memories of first kisses, or crushes, or even what’s called puppy love. That of my first semi-grownup Valentine’s Day, held in the safety of my own house with my parents just upstairs in the kitchen, still lingers. Does yours? 

Lois Greene Stone, writer and poet, has been syndicated worldwide. Collections of her personal items/ photos/ memorabilia are in major museums including 12 different divisions of The Smithsonian.