From the Omaha Daily Bee, May 2, 1913. By Edgar A. Guest. I watched them playing kissing games And chuckled to myself As I recalled the days before Time put me on the shelf. I watched that roguish lad of mine Salute each pretty miss With all the gusto that I showed When I was wont to kiss. But I am on the sidelines now And he is in the game And he is hugging pretty girls With eyes and cheeks aflame. And there’s no special one to pout Or raise a fuss when he Distributes his affections thus The way there is with me. What though he kiss a dozen maids And give them all a squeeze, Nobody sternly says to him: “What means this conduct, please?” Nobody stamps a pretty foot At him or starts to cry But this will come, when these glad years Of youth have wandered by. “Just like his dad,” I hear her say, And note her gentle smile; And I retort, “This freedom will But last a little while. Perhaps one of these lassies sweet Will some day rule his life And yet I hope, that like his dad He’ll choose as good a wife.”