Fifty Years Later
Woodstock 50th Anniversary Celebration
Bethel, New York
Saturday Evening, August 17, 2019
“Why didn’t you just kisshim? That’s what I would have done,” Adelaide says. “I love kissing.”
Hold back, Big Mama,I tell myself.Let her talk. She trusts you.Mustering all my will to simply listen, I just nod with an excited grin.
We are in my Mustang with the top down, headed to hear Santana at the luscious new amphitheater at Bethel Woods.
“You should have kissed him first,” she says.
“I guess girls don’t wait for boys to make the first move anymore, huh?”
“Not always.” She pats the dashboard. “My first kiss was in a convertible. A really cool Corvette.” She crosses her arms in front of her, shifts in her seat to look my way.
“Sounds romantic,” I say, then nudge for a little more. “How old wereyouwhen you had your first kiss?”
Now she’s fumbling with the car radio—stalling, I suppose. She stops on Adele, “Make You Feel My Love,” a perfect song—Adele’svoice, Bob Dylan’s lyrics. There’s a long stretch before she answers. “Fourteen.”
“How old was the lucky boy?”
“Eighteen.”
My heart stops. What else happened in that Corvette?
A pause settles in. “Daddy thinks girls should wait till marriage to, you know,have sex.” Adelaide giggles. In a nervous sort of way. “I don’t talk to him about guys. He doesn’t need to know everything.”
The pounding against my chest accelerates. Instead of pushing her for more, I simply ask, “Are you still dating this fellow?” I didn’t think she’d dated anyone, much less a grown man.
“We never actually went out. He found a prettier girl. My age.” Her voice trails off, and I detect a hint of sadness.
“Well, he goofed.”
“She’s got long blond hair and a perfect face. She thinks she’s the shit.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she thinks she’s all that. All the guys are in love with her.”
“Ahh. The beauty queens. The boys are always chasing after them. There was a time when I was crazy jealous of Livy because she could have any boy she wanted. I finally learned thatrealbeauty comes from right here.” I lean over and tap her heart.
She shrugs.
“Hey. You are plenty beautiful. And your heart”—I touch it again—“is even more so. Beauty is not about having a perfect face. It’s about the way you love others and how you make them feel.”
“I know, Grammy.” She sings along with Adele, and I have to admit she’s got what it takes to make it as a singer. Or an actress. She’s darn good at both.
“Just do me one favor,” I say, patting her leg.
“What’s that?”
“Be careful when you’re kissing. Before you know it, you’re going all the way.”
She cracks up laughing, shakes her head to and fro.
