His Name was Gene

This song will forever remind me of the man who gave me my first grown-up kiss.  I was thirteen and, as I’ve said before, pretty sheltered from the ways of the world.  My friend and I were at the Jackson County Fair.  How we managed to convince everyone that we would be fine at the fair all day, every day for a week without constant supervision is still a mystery to me—but we did.
 That’s where I met him on the second day of the fair.  He was a carny running the Ferris Wheel, as was the guy my friend hooked up with.  Every break they got we spent with them and spent hours riding the wheel for free so we could grab snatches of conversation.  They even took us off the grounds for dinner one night without any of our family finding out. 
 He and I both knew our being together was just for the fair, but that didn’t make saying good-bye the last night any easier.  He was a real gentleman, and rather shy for all his maturity and reputation with the other carnies.  At last he kissed me and I could feel every emotion he was feeling, which made me even sadder because we really had shared something special in those few days.  But in the end we both knew it was an impossible relationship—I was an immature and naïve thirteen, he was a worldly thirty-three.  Still I have wondered at various times over the years what would have happened if we had met a bit later in life when my age had caught up more to his.  But then again it doesn’t matter because for a moment in time we were together and his memory is with me forever.