We were sitting at the table, where our moms were playing cards. Our brothers were there too. I was ten or 11 and David’s family had been our friends for years. He was a year older than me, the same age as my brother. I was the only girl out of the entire bunch. David was nice and included me more than my brother did, he also didn’t treat me like the pesky little sister. Actually all the boys in David’s family treated me pretty nice. David was a red head, who knows, maybe he started my weakness for redheads. But that day as we sat there blowing Bubble Yum bubbles, watching our moms play cards, David silently reached over and held my hand, right under the table. I remember looking at him, sure he had lost his mind, after all, all the other boys would have teased him if they had seen. He didn’t look at me, he kept talking to the other kids. I didn’t know he even liked me. But there we were, holding hands. For what seemed to be hours, David held my hand.
His family moved shortly after that, but the memory of the first time a boy held my hand is still wonderful!
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