To the Editor:
The song “The Last Time I Saw Paris,” made me think about the last time we do something. We may not know it is the “last” time. No bells and trumpets go off to mark the momentous occasion.
We remember the first time we do something because it is the first time. Its uniqueness makes it memorable.
Losing the first tooth as a child is often heralded with a lot of attention by one’s parents. Putting it under our pillow and finding a coin the next morning makes it rewarding. I don’t want to think about losing the last one.
On my first day of school, I remember crying all the way as my father accompanied me to the schoolhouse door.
I do remember the last day of school, though, because I cried then, too, as I would miss the daily contact with my friends.
I remember my first kiss on our front porch from someone who was not a member of my family. It ended just before my father opened the front door and sent the young lad scurrying away.
I do remember the last kiss from my late husband, but I did not know at the time it was the last.
When my children outgrew the need for diapers and graduated to training pants, I must have washed a diaper for the last time. It was a tremendously carefree thing to switch to training pants. But I don’t remember it.
Who can forget the first time driving solo without an adult sitting beside us?
Sadly, I remember the last time I drove … because I did it of my own accord before I was asked to do so due to my advanced age.
I knew when I smoked my last cigarette, as I had made up my mind to quit. I can even tell you the exact time and date. I remember the first one, too, because I was so dizzy I could hardly walk a straight line.
The first snowfall is usually remembered, but the last one in the season is never a guarantee that Mother Nature won’t zap us once again before spring.
I remember the first piece I wrote that was published. I won’t know when the last one will be because I have not written it yet. I hope.