FIRST THINGS FIRST
                          By Ken Bultman

Even when memory starts too fade with age
the things we don’t forget are the “firsts” in
our lives.  People tend to forget second
place finishers, for example, but come in
first and your name lives on and on and on.
First counts for something.

I can remember my first pair of long pants.
How grown up that made me feel when I
wore them to Sunday School the first time
and all the other boys my age were still in
their little sun suits.  I felt like singing in
the mens’ choir.

I’ll never forget the first time Dad let me
shoot the .22.  I was only six years old and
the event occurred without the approval of
my mother.   Four years later Dad and I would
go rabbit hunting together for the first time–
a rite of passage.

I well remember my first car–a 1946 Ford
six-cylinder two-door…already seven years
old but new enough for a boy celebrating his
sixteenth birthday.  It didn’t last till my next
birthday but its replacement was worth it–
a ‘48 Buick convertible.

Of course, I remember my first steady–a
dark-haired pretty girl from the county seat.
We fumbled around for a year and a half
before I came to realize she was as used
as my first two cars and she only fourteen.
Big disappointment.

As a writer I’ll also remember by first book
of poetry.  Partly because its taking so long
to accomplish and partly because I wonder
if it’s such a great idea in the first place.
At least if it ever gets in print I won’t have
to recall  it from memory.