Crestview Elementary. Sixth Grade. A big day. A Huge day.
I was very excited.
The awesome part about this day was that the after school event had already been planned out. Where, when, what style, length of time. This day was so monumental that it called for bigger mood-setting scenery than the Crestview playground, yep, this called for a secret location which would have to be off-campus.
I was going to kiss my girlfriend and my sixth grade girlfriend was going to kiss me back. My friend was also going to kiss his girlfriend. Whether she was going to kiss him back, I have no idea, but as the four of us walked to the high school football stadium and went under the stadium seats, he and I were both gonna find out.
I felt like a stud. Heather didn’t care that my hair was grown out, over the ears and feathered back, or that my jeans were even lighter colored than stone-wash, and turtlenecks were big, at least for me.
Our lips met and we pressed them together for the entire pre-determined time allotment.
A nice long peck.
Stud.
My friend one-upped me and kissed his girlfriend longer using more than just his lips. Why would he do that? And why would he do that without telling me he was going to do that first so I could match him? I felt like less of a sixth grader compared to him, because I only used lips. It became a test of manhood so I went back in for more, and again, eyes closed, gave the best longest peck on the lips in the history of pecks on the lips. Turns out it wasn't good enough. She dumped me for a popular fifth grader, Mike Drabcek, a few weeks later. He was a good-lookin' kid. I was jealous.
Kissing girls in sixth grade under the high school bleachers was not an event that many other men my age had accomplished so really, Bill and I were leading the way for all of them and representing, big time.
The next year, seventh grade, I would have my first french-kiss. This one was not planned. It was also not at a secret location. It was in the hallway of Oltman Junior High, right next to the library. Matter of fact, Mr. Ullmer saw it and would eventually get me in a little bit of trouble.
I knew we were going to kiss, you didn't raise an total idiot. We’d been kissing at her locker every morning for months. I would look forward to this kiss from the very second that my eyes opened after you would wake me up in the morning to get ready for school.
So this morning was business as usual: My every thought revolved around the morning kiss at her locker, in front of the library, no matter how many people filled the hall and walked by watching us. No difference in butterflies, no difference in greeting, no difference that I would stand next to her at her locker while she chatted with all her friends. No difference in the fact that I stood there because I knew what was coming; our kiss. I was immovable. No teacher or event or fire-drill or tornado drill or student council meeting would have been able to get me to walk away from her locker, ever.
Finally, just before the bell rings, the moment I’ve waited for--I notice her slowly lean into me, but her head was tilted differently? Before my eyes closed I caught a glimpse of her mouth; it was open. I noticed, but I didn’t think anything of it until I felt the kiss -- her mouth remained open while I kept mine shut. She got a mouthful of puckered lips and I got a face full of tongue. That kiss would scare me from her locker starting the very next morning.
I soured on open-mouth kissing for the longest time. I had flashbacks of a wet wagging tongue coming at me, in slow motion, and it stunted my growth. I’m sure her tongue never officially wagged in any way, but-wagging-is how I remember it. I was only 13 years old.
Eventually, I overcame.
Prior to both kisses, I started sweating. My hands would sweat, my upper lip would bubble-up and my armpits were equivalent to yard sprinklers.
During both kisses, it felt like all eyes were on me. Like I had to perform. My choices brought me to this situation and now I had to deliver.
After both kisses, it felt like there was a bright white light shining on me from above and it followed me around for weeks. It felt like everyone knew what I had done and deliberately took some time out of their day to size me up.
Excuse me while I fast forward twenty-five-or-so years. The most loaded question of my life is laid before me on my first day of treatment. If I were sitting on that chair across from Regis and this was the final question to win a million dollars, I don’t know if I’d have a final answer. The question is so loaded that I can’t bare the thought of contemplating the answer.
If I answer yes, it’s like unloading the chamber of the hand-cannon aimed directly between my eyes. Its admission of such consequence that I may never recover. My friends may never recover, our family may never recover and the ripple-effect is too large to imagine. If I answer no, I’m the drunk guy that you see every time you’re at the bar, telling people I’m not drunk. I’m another guy who can’t see the writing on the wall, and sadly or not, I’m willing to be that guy.
As I sit in front of my counselor, there is a very long pause and I begin to feel the same symptoms as my first-kiss experiences - I started sweating all over. My hands sweat, my upper lip bubbles-up, and my armpits were equivalent to slip-n-slides. This is becoming a test of manhood.
The five minute silence isn’t me stubbornly buying time, refusing to answer the question. I’m remembering.
I’m remembering the first alcohol assessment that I ever took. The result, I was told, was no, I wasn’t an alcoholic. I was like any other young kid who made a mistake and my actions seemed normal.
I’m remembering the second alcohol assessment that I ever took. The result, I was told, was no, I wasn’t an alcoholic. I was like any other college kid who had blacked out a time or fifty, and binged on the weekends and my actions seemed normal.
I’m remembering the third and last alcohol assessment that I ever took. The result, I was told, was yes, that chances were good. My actions were normal for a guy who is in his mid-twenties with three DUI’s and a drinking problem.
I can’t sit still and I don’t like all the eyes on me. So what do I say?
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