The Kiss Me Ring

It’s time for another random memory from my past. When I was little my dad would occasionally take my brother and I on long walks on Sunday mornings. I would hold my dad’s hand or ride on his shoulders if I got tired. Whenever I see one of the girls riding on Scott’s shoulders I can feel myself go back to that place where I was safe, secure and on top of the world.

My brother, Danny, would usually walk a few steps ahead of us and scan the streets for money or random other treasures. He would flip open the change door on every pay phone and newspaper stand we passed in hopes of scoring a dime or a quarter left behind. We often would go to this restaurant called Sambos where I always ordered the same thing: pancakes and hot chocolate. The hot chocolate was heavenly because it came piled high with a tower of whipped cream and sometimes the waitress would come around and give you even more whipped cream if you ran out.

On one of our walks we stopped at a store to pick up milk or bread or who knows what and after sufficient begging, my dad gave us money for the candy/toy machines. This was a rare treat, if I’m remembering correctly, so when after agonizing over which machine to choose and then twisting the dial, and holding my breath while I waited to see which treasure dropped, I was CRUSHED when out popped this ugly brown plastic football shaped ring.

To make matters worse it said “NFL”. I was five and learning how to read so I KNEW that wasn’t a real word. It couldn’t be since it didn’t have any vowels. Where was the A-E-I-O-U or sometimes Y? I tried sounding it out but what was it? Niffle? Nuffle? It was the DUMBEST RING EVER, that’s what it was.

My brother put his money in a second later and out popped a hard plastic neon-pink puffy heart-shaped ring with gold embossed lettering that read “KISS ME”. In other words it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. For a brief moment I thought everything had actually worked out fine. I got the boy ring, Danny got the girl ring; we would trade and everything would be right with the world again.

But seeing how desperately I wanted that ring made my brother just as desperately want me not to have it. The tears flowed freely as I imagined how he would torment me with it. Knowing him, he would flaunt it endlessly and when that got boring he would make me watch as he ran it over with his bicycle, crushed it with a rock or lit it on fire. It was a horribly traumatic bad awful tragedy, the kind that only a five-year-old understands. I was devastated and probably proclaiming it loudly enough for all to hear.

Finally my dad stepped in very calmly, as usual, and said, “Son, give your sister the ring.” As I wrote in #13 on my 50 Reasons I Love You list, that’s when my dad achieved hero status in my eyes. He swept in like a superhero and saved the day. I doubt he would have been thrilled to know that the ring would play a big part in my first kiss only a few days later.

I proudly wore my ring to Kindergarten, showing off like I was a movie star or something. And just like a moment right out of the movies, at morning recess Tim Snead walked up to me and asked, “What does your ring say?”

I responded, “Kiss me.”

And he did!