Back When A Kiss Was Unregulated

“No PDA in the halls” Jennifer giggles as she pokes Brad in the ribs. He releases her from the bearhug he has on her. I am pretending not to see.

PDA (Public Display of Affection) is against school rules. Our student handbook spells it out: “Kissing, hugging or embracing are examples of physical displays of affection. These behaviors and others are not acceptable in school or at school-sponsored activities.”

Aw, shucks. No smacky-mouth in the lunch line?

So when did all this regulation of osculation come about? Have schools always had PDA policies? Has necking in assemblies always been taboo?

Back in the ‘50s when I was roaming the halls of Miami (Fla.) Senior High, I remember no such ban. Kissing and hugging happened. Kind of like an extra-curricular activity without cheerleaders.

We held hands between classes (in class if we could get away with it), kissed each other hello and goodbye and generally publicly displayed our affections. Maybe the difference between then and now is that none of us had ever seen an X-rated movie and television was only a gas bubble in its creator’s digestive tract. Our displays were definitely G-rated.

To us, a stolen smack on the lips or an arm around a waist was pretty risque (but never risky). No one seemed to notice us, and we had some serious PDAers.

For instance, Suzanne and Clifford. They were always kissing in the lunch line. We’d poke one another and point, wondering how they could stomach the meat loaf after such an exchange. “Swapping spit” we used to call it. Gross!

Peggy and Bill were going steady. As a public display of her affection for Bill, Peggy would wobble to school each day on the back of Bill’s Cushman scooter. Starched skirt and crinolines a-flying, she’d clutch her books in one arm and hang onto Bill’s waist with the other. When they pulled up to the side door there was always a lingering smooch.

One morning Peggy limped into homeroom looking like she’d been dragged through a knothole backwards and vowing the romance was over. Her skirt was ripped, one leg and one elbow were scraped and bleeding, and her hair looked as if it had been whomped up in her mom’s Kitchenaid mixer. We crowded around to ask what had happened. Her reply was curt.

“That fool tried to kiss me at the stoplight,” she spat out, obviously seriously unhappy with Bill’s failed attempt to be dashingly romantic, “and lost control of the scooter. I fell off the back and the scooter kept going with Dummy on it.”

Friday morning assemblies in our giant auditorium were wall-to-wall PDs of A. Try as they might, if indeed they did try at all, teachers couldn’t keep an eagle eye on the entire student body(ies), there were too many of us. Smooching was definitely taking place on school time and on school property.

But it beats fighting, right? The only fight I remember from my high school days was when Jimmy hit Ambrose in biology lab. They were arguing over a Bunsen burner when Ambrose got a little personal and made a snide comment about Jimmy’s momma. Jimmy popped him a good one in the mouth.

Heck, we were lovers not fighters. Smooching was the order of the day. No groping, nothing heavy duty, just the usual boy-girl mush stuff. And we were careful where we did it.

Behind an open locker door was okay. Outside of Mrs. Hunter’s Spanish class was okay. She was cool. In the gym where the coaches watched us like we were known sex offenders, and at the bus stop, where our parents might have spotted us, PDA was “not” okay.

But mostly we were careful so as not to shock the old folks with all the “new” hugging and kissing stuff we were sure we had invented. Remembering that, I always try to look the other way so as not to cramp the style of young folks reinventing public displays of affection.

xxxx