Contributing Writer

They say that life really starts when you turn 40. Well, I can tell you that it's not true. Life may start at the ripe old age of 40 for some folks, but for me it started much earlier than that.

How early? Looking backward through the sharply focused eyes of a 46-year-old, I can truthfully say that my life started Aug. 26 at 11:45 in the morning on the first day of school, 15 minutes before lunch in Old Miss Crabtree's fifth-grade class.ÊThat's when Candi finally kissed me.

If you asked me then why it happened, I would have told you Candi finally saw the light and wanted to dump Money Bags, a.k.a. Preston Weston III, for yours truly. But if you asked me now why she turned around when the lunch bell rang and kissed me on the cheek, I would have to tell you that I don't have a clue. It's the same answer I gave when The Boy asked me why women nowadays do what they do. "Son, I don't have a clue."

To get the story straight, I guess I really need to start at the beginning with what could have been the real reason for the kiss.ÊIt all started the last Saturday before we were to go