Wasted on His 21st

It’s amazing what a year can do to you.

In a year, I met a boy.

In a year, I kissed a boy.

In a year, I dated a boy.

In a year, I loved a boy.

In a year, that boy found God.

In a year, that boy loved God.

In a year, that boy became a man.

In a year, I respected that man.

In a year, I saw change in that man.

In a year, I loved that man.

In a year, I said yes to that man.

I remember his 20^th birthday fairly well. At that time, I wasn’t keeping as keen of an eye on our memories as I do now, because quite honestly, I didn’t know if our friendship was built to last. Thankfully I was wrong. And because I’m a nerd, my memory of those days remains vivid and clear…

After a semester’s worth of financial aid funding, my bank account was running dry. Sprinting dry might give you a better image. I was broke. Really broke. But justified spending a bit of what I did have on a guy who was beginning to become special to me. I exercised frugal creativity, spending probably 15 bucks. It hurt, but I love birthdays, and apparently I loved the guy too, so I kept my worries buried.  He had practice that day, so I had time to bake a funfetti cake, complete with that “ball” frosting and a “Happy 20^th Birthday Messy” message scribbled somewhat legibly across. I sat at my MacBook and shuffled through country songs, selecting specific lyrics to put onto his CD. There were 19 of them. I ejected his disc and covered it with permanent marker memories. Words that would remind his blurred conscious of our time together. It turned out perfect. He was never the same. When he came over for his presents, I gave him the cake, the CD, the card, and the MGD beer. Yes, I did. My judgment was lacking. But I didn’t choose MGD without reason.  At the time, Adam’s best friend was his longnecks, and I had acquired the given nickname of “MDG,” so I made a joke out of it. I rearranged the letters on the beer box from MGD to MDG, and called it good. He laughed. So did I. It was then that I began my “mission” of stealing beer’s spotlight in his life. And now, a year later, I can say that Beer is still his best friend…Beer being the nickname that comes when you’re in a rush to class and jumble together the words “babe” and “dear.”

Now that he’s 21, Adam is legal in the eyes of the law. Finally. Ironically, he’s not much of a drinker anymore. I guess that’s what Pullman, a girl, and a conviction will do to you. And he has little to complain about. He enjoys his Beer every day. And lives his life love wasted.

And because it’s his birthday, and yet again, I find myself scraping my bank account for extra cash, I thought it might be appropriate to remind him just how much I love him on this epic day.

So, Adam, formerly known as “Messy,” here’s a few reasons explaining just exactly what I love so much about you:

Of most importance, you love God. A lot.

You’re gentleman-ness opens every door for me. Including car doors.

You sleep in your own apartment, in your own bed. Every night.

You wake me up each morning by gently tickling my back, squirming me awake.

You pour the newly opened milk jug milk before me so I don’t spill.

You suck it up and watch The Biggest Loser. 

You reformed for me the perfect glove.

You taught me how to throw sliders and heaters.

You correct my improper lifting techniques in the weight room.

You know how much I love and need chapstick, and buy it when necessary.

You know how much I love when you wear chapstick.

You know “the look.”

You love “the look.”

You bought my ring in San Francisco.

You didn’t kiss me on our first date.

You didn’t kiss me on our second. Or third.

You make me coffee in the morning. Perfectly tan colored. Sometimes with cocoa.

You love country music.

You sing me love songs. Lots and lots of them. (Hopefully someday on the guitar!)

You pray with me every day

You let me stand on your feet. Just because I like to.

You hand over your debit card so that I can buy groceries.

You call me every night before you go to bed, even if I just saw you.

You keep me updated on all the latest MLB facts.

Your favorite movie is Avatar. And dressed up as one for Halloween.

You like to dress up. Ok, you LOVE to dress up.

You stopped chewing. Thank you, sweetheart. You have no idea how much it means.

You made me a baseball book…complete with “How-to Chatter” and pitch locations.

You bought Jackson’s baby shoes for me to hang in my rearview mirror.

You let me snap as many pictures of you as I want. Usually without complaint.

You pull me onto your lap when we need to talk. Or when you need a good hug.

You let me win. Sometimes.

You hold my hand our special way because your hands are too big.

You walk with your arm wrapped around me.

You hold my waist when we sing at church.

You take me to Village, where we learn more about the sermon given on Sunday.

You let me ride shotgun.

You buy me ice cream when I NEED it.

You eat the ice cream too, just so I don’t feel bad about it.

You rub my Planter-fasciitis foot because it hurts so bad.

You remind me that I’m beautiful. Every day.

You wear matching Vans.

You trust me with your style. As you should!

You always put the toilet seat down. Now that’s a good man!

You wash the dishes after I slave over your LAAAAA-GE meals.

You make fun of me after I’ve been drugged, asking me what Jello flavor I am.

You reason with me logically. Redundant? Yes. Necessary? Yes.

You are always honest with me. Even when it hurts my feelings.

You look through wedding magazines because you know it makes me happy.

You’re Sharpie-prepared when we need to leave our handprints at specific locations.

You let me Q-tip your ears, even if you just did it. 

You brush your teeth every night. And every morning. PTL!

You take me to pre-marital counseling.

You take me there to learn the things we don’t know we don’t know. Read it again.

You love the way I look in the kitchen. And my food too.

You want to find new ways of eating healthy for us and the (eventual) kids.

You appreciate, care, and love my whole family of CRAZY PEOPLE!!

You want to give. You love to give.

You are naming our black lab “Heater” and agreed on “Whitacre” as the second pup.

You aren’t willing to treat me normal. Because normal isn’t special.

You call me out when I’m wrong. And that’s a lot.

You distract me from my homework. Because in life, there’s more to be learned.

You take my advice when it comes to directions since you’re not directionally savvy.

You let me push back the white stuff on the base of your fingernails. And hate it.

You give me legitimate nicknames, like “Nerd, Spots, Monster, Mama, MDG, BEER.”

You think The Office is one of the best shows on TV.

You make fun of me when I try to shoot a ping pong ball while brushing my teeth.

You thank me, every time, for bringing you snacks to the field.

You ask, a billion times over, before you get a tattoo.

You take pictures of Melon Sobe and BBM them to me.

You laugh at my stupid attempts at jokes.

You keep me updated on ridiculous Youtube videos.

You bought a Blackberry, just so you could BBM me..Ok, that’s an exaggeration...

You aren’t afraid to buy me “girl stuff” at the store.

You tell me weekly that I’m stuck with you. Well, I’m happily stuck then.

You put my socks and sweats on for me in the morning because I’m always cold.

You let me bite your hand. Just because I like to. I know, I’m a creep.

You accept the fact that I am a creep..

You want a family cell phone plan. And are willing to forgo class to research them.

You have agreed to 60/40. Because “It’s only fair!”

You allow me to ruin your clothes when I cry on them all night.

You want a miniature polar bear. Just like me. Because they’re legit.

You think that living on a farm after baseball is the life to live. I agree.

You want a home to use for God’s Kingdom.

You are ok with Mama being the stay at home teacher, if necessary.

You trust me with the remote control.

You know I’m a nerd, and are therefore ok with me being right sometimes.

You always make sure I’m happy and smiling.

You wait for everyone to have their meal before eating.

You thank the Lord before each of those meals.

You don’t use profanity. And I am so very thankful for that.

You leave baseball, when it goes poorly, on the field.

You never complain. Please, continue to show me your ways?

You teach me optimism, reason, and strength.

You wait patiently as I get ready.

You bought me a hardcover and a typing pad for my Mac because I’m clumsy.

You are the first to speak if there’s an awkward silence.

You are honest enough to admit when you’re wrong.

You taught me how to swing a bat. Well, actually, we’re still in the process.

You want to learn how to pole vault.

You made me a bet. And we’re going to find out who wins soon?!!

You force me to take extra protein shakes from the weight room!

You tickle me.

You actively pursue God.

You keep your hands and body parts to yourself.

You love little kids. And can’t wait to be a daddy.

You buy me cough medicine when I’m suffering in Olympia.

You quote, daily, lines from movies. Like Happy Gilmore. And Austin Powers.

You have really big hands. And Jackson better get them.

You let the music do the talking, when necessary.

You are ornery and sarcastic. Witty and funny.

You Redbox with me once a week.

You tied a string around my finger, just like the movies.

You always drive, unless it’s practice time and I have to drop you off.

You called my parents before you proposed.

You proposed.

You have a unique story and aren’t afraid of it anymore.

You’re ridiculously handsome. So, so handsome.

But most of all, you love me back.

 Happy Birthday, Adam. I hope you’re just as wasted on your 21^st as I am.