Because I was out on the road last Friday, I’ll share with you two memories today.
There are two things I adore in life. One is kissing the girl you love and the other is food. The girl I have enjoyed kissing the most was KNJ-P. She was a natural at kissing. There had only been one other guy before me, and he had only kissed her once. She was really good and knew how to anticipate the desires of the guy she was with. She had a level of moisture to her lips that felt just right – not to much like kissing the Sahara yet at the same time not like kissing a camel or Niagara Falls. It was a passionate kiss – one that kept you coming back for more, took your breathe away, and meant something to you every time. Whether it was a “make-out session” or a simple kiss hello, KNJ-P made every moment worth being there to kiss her.
But it wasn’t good enough for her to be a good kisser; she took it one step further.
I am 20 to 30 pounds over weight depending on what scales I’m straddling. I love food. There is one type of food I love more than any other – cinnamon. Cinnamon bread, cinnamon cookies, cinnamon cake, cinnamon pull-a-parts, and, best of all, cinnamon rolls.
About 5 months into my relationship with KNJ-P, John and I moved into the house in Antioch. I loved living there. While we were living there, KNJ-P would come over often. One night I saw her putting on some Chap Stick. I hate the taste of Chap Stick. It’s waxy and tastes like you are licking the inside of a Vaseline container. It’s almost as bad as kissing a girl who smokes.
I saw her slather it on and saw that as a sign that our night was going to be very sterile. A few moments later she beckoned me on to come give her a kiss. I loved her so I obliged despite the taste I knew was coming. Or at least I thought was coming.
Somewhere along the line she had discovered a store that sold lip balm that tasted like Cinnabon Cinnamon Rolls. Her lips were like the taste you get in your mouth as you near the store in the mall. It was every bit as that good.
We kissed plenty that night.
I share this because I think back on that occasionally. Every so often, a freshman return missionary at BYUI would ask me how to tell if a girl loves you. I think I’ve ruined a few boys with my counter question: “What type of lip balm does she wear?”
As a child I spent quite a bit of time in and out of hospitals. One of the reasons for this was because I had tumors growing in my digestive tract. After the tumors were removed, my digestive tract still had problems processing waste. Every week or two my mother had to drive me out to Stanford Medical Facilities. This next memory isn’t a personal memory, as much as it is a story my mother loved telling about me.
My parents were big on talking to me like I was an adult. So if I was having XYZ procedure, they told me I was having XYZ procedure and they did not telling me that I was going to get sleepy and then the magic tumor fairies were going to come and remove my tumors and feed them to their little fairy children to help the tumor fairies grow up nice and strong. I was having XYZ procedure.
My doctors often talked to me in medical terms as well. I knew the ins and outs of most of the procedures being done to me. I knew what the medications were and what they were used for. I knew how much Slobid to take, and at which times and for what reasons.
One day, when I was 5, I was taken to Stanford to have a liquid enema put in to help soften my stool. I was stripped down and put into a hospital gown. My mother used dice to teach me how to count, so I was playing with my dice when in walked a resident.
Immediately he started talking to me like I was 2 (I was 5 for crying out loud!). I was ignoring him for the most part when he said something that caught my attention. I asked him to repeat it.
“I said we are going to put this strawberry milkshake up your butt to help you go poo poo better.” I freaked.
“No you aren’t! You ain’t touchin me with no strawberry milkshake up my butt!” I exclaimed. “Who are you and what did you do with my Doctor? I’m here for me enntena.” And with that I bolted.
My mother says I left behind my gown and I raced down the hallway yelling for my doctor. My mother said I ducked into rooms and yelled for my doctor before ducking out and moving to another. Chasing me was the resident, and a few nurses, but no one could catch the 5 year-old naked boy running down the halls of Stanford away from the bad man with the butt milkshake. Eventually I found my doctor and grasped a hold of him. He brought me back to my room and had the resident watch as the doctor explained to me that the strawberry milkshake was gone and that he had brought a fresh enema for me. I told him that the other man scared me and the doctor went step by step with the resident “teaching” him how to administer an enema to a very medically smart 5 year-old boy.
My mother’s favorite part to tell was the part where I was running naked into various people’s rooms and shouting about the butt milkshake. She said there were some very confused people in that hall that day.