October 26, 2011
It's hard to believe it's been 26 years since I met my first male true love. Not often does one meet their man in preschool, and admittedly at first I was skeptical of you. You ate Play-Doh during playtime and proudly exclaimed that you were "Peter Carl Franklin Carl Franklin" Eichler during our preschool program. You couldn't tie your shoes, so you exclaimed "good grief". I found your use of Charlie Brown's catch-phrase melodramatic and cliche. I thought you, like the other boys, had cooties.
As I grew older, I came to realize you had the best boy cooties of all: the natural, noncontagious kind that are born of love, part of you and, while they can't be prayed away contrary to popular belief, these special cooties make you irresistible to women. My grandmother called you "the hunk" in our teen years. You took me to restaurants and the elders in our community called you my boyfriend. I never corrected them because I knew you would indeed be mine forever and never break my heart like the other cootie-infested boys. You chased away my bullies with your glittery flair and one glimpse of you in that Lycra color guard outfit dancing to Madonna's "Vogue" and I was your groupie forever.
Sixteen years ago today should have been your birthday party. There was cake, ice cream, games of 'spoons', and pizza with buttered crust. Lots of kids were invited, but you rescheduled the party for one guest: me. I had my third major spinal cord surgery six days prior, and you waited until I was better to have your birthday party. While my medical anguish continued through the year, you pushed my wheelchair in the school halls and even over cobbled sidewalks during our school trip to DC, determined not to let me fall behind. How many 14 year old boys do that? That's true love.
So happy BIG 3-0 to you, my man. May this milestone be as special to you as the milestones you marked for me: the first man to send me flowers, the first man to walk me down an aisle...albeit at graduation....and the first man to steal my heart. May all women be as blessed to meet a true love during their tenure at preschool.
It's hard to believe it's been 26 years since I met my first male true love. Not often does one meet their man in preschool, and admittedly at first I was skeptical of you. You ate Play-Doh during playtime and proudly exclaimed that you were "Peter Carl Franklin Carl Franklin" Eichler during our preschool program. You couldn't tie your shoes, so you exclaimed "good grief". I found your use of Charlie Brown's catch-phrase melodramatic and cliche. I thought you, like the other boys, had cooties.
As I grew older, I came to realize you had the best boy cooties of all: the natural, noncontagious kind that are born of love, part of you and, while they can't be prayed away contrary to popular belief, these special cooties make you irresistible to women. My grandmother called you "the hunk" in our teen years. You took me to restaurants and the elders in our community called you my boyfriend. I never corrected them because I knew you would indeed be mine forever and never break my heart like the other cootie-infested boys. You chased away my bullies with your glittery flair and one glimpse of you in that Lycra color guard outfit dancing to Madonna's "Vogue" and I was your groupie forever.
Sixteen years ago today should have been your birthday party. There was cake, ice cream, games of 'spoons', and pizza with buttered crust. Lots of kids were invited, but you rescheduled the party for one guest: me. I had my third major spinal cord surgery six days prior, and you waited until I was better to have your birthday party. While my medical anguish continued through the year, you pushed my wheelchair in the school halls and even over cobbled sidewalks during our school trip to DC, determined not to let me fall behind. How many 14 year old boys do that? That's true love.
So happy BIG 3-0 to you, my man. May this milestone be as special to you as the milestones you marked for me: the first man to send me flowers, the first man to walk me down an aisle...albeit at graduation....and the first man to steal my heart. May all women be as blessed to meet a true love during their tenure at preschool.
(The year was 2003. You said let's brave that hometown bar to get $3 White Russians. Again, I was skeptical, but I learned a valuable lesson. Never doubt a homosexual who says he knows where to find $3 White Russians. We braved the townies and even stomached the beer-and-hockey decor behind us to consume enough White Russians to make you sing R. Kelly to me. Your hair weave, was indeed, lookin' kinda purdy. We had to detour to your parents' farmhouse to empty my bladder because I couldn't wait another four miles to get home. All in all, just another notch in our belt of fun.)
