An Ode to Sean McKissick on his 28th Birthday

Once upon a time, I went to Brigham Young University. I arrived as a wide-eyed freshman, and quickly fell in love with my life there. The first two semesters at the Brigham were particularly magical-- full of lots great classes, staying up all night doing crazy things with my friends, going out on dates, etc., etc. I got in on all sorts of fun, watching friends burn furniture at Rock Canyon Park, going to the midnight movie and screaming all the way home after "Psycho" and "Wait Until Dark," and would often come home to find little presents like dead goldfish outside my door. I spent most of my time with a group of guys I affectionately refer to as "the mean boys," who all lived on the 2100 floor of May Hall. Those were some great times.
Well, fast forward a couple of years to when I was a junior and working at the Daily Universe as an editor. One of my good friends, Heather, was also an editor, and we spent a lot of time talking about how excited she was for Sean McKissick, a guy from our freshman ward, to come home from his mission to Mexico. He'd be there in a few weeks, and he was all Heather could think about (which is saying a lot because this girl is a hard-core journalist).
And the whole time I said, "Who?" Because Sean was a little quiet and shy. Well, no he wasn't, but we never said a word to one another during our freshman year because he lived on the 3100 floor of May Hall, and I couldn't be bothered to hang out with the nice boys. I just knew him as "that guy who did the WWE wrestling routine for the talent show" and something called "The Butt-Wiggle Dance." But I was happy for Heather.
Actually, I may have run into Sean before Heather even got to see him. He was fresh off the mission and walking around campus, stopping at the Daily Universe Information Booth in the quad. I think I might have even said, "Hey, aren't you Sean McKissick?" and the rest was history.
Sean and Heather dated for a while. He started calling me for advice, and we'd talk for hours. Very early in this calling stage, I remember thinking, "Oh, Heather! If only I could steal this guy away! He's so freakin' awesome and I have a huge crush on him!" But I'm not that girl. And by the time Heather (mistakenly, if you ask me) dumped Sean for Abe Gong (another guy I never knew freshman year), we were already firmly planted in friendship land, and that was that.
For the next several years, Sean was my number-one, tip-top pal. He wrote me sonnets and burned me CDs of the best music ever (oh my gosh! why wasn't he my boyfriend? Just kidding!). We went on a road trip to Disneyland together with some of our other friends. Sean gave me blessings. Sean went to the grocery store with me in preparation for parties. We went to our friend Eddie's concerts together. We watched movies and he even got me to not loathe baseball. Actually, looking back on it, I really don't remember what we even did together, but when I think about college, I think about Sean.
As we got older, Sean got even more popular with the ladies, and I was his number-one cheerleader. Of course, I made fun of some of these girls, like Data (still don't remember what her real name was-- and I'm not sure Sean does either). But then there were the ones I really liked, like Shelly and Rachel #2.
All this time, Sean was moving pianos for me, and coming to my parties, and calling me every other day, listening to me whine about the one-true-love-of-my-life/obsession (Andrew), and being awesome. Then he up and moved to California because he suddenly was going to be a lawyer. And then the beautiful Rachel #2 wrote him a letter from her mission letting him know she was interested in getting together when she got home. I think he called me from the bathroom. His head was swimming, and he couldn't get up. And I knew he was a goner.
Sure enough, Sean came into town right after Christmas. I gave him his "Mystery King" luchador mask, he gave me a Johnny Depp bobblehead, and I saw he was in love. And it was just a couple months later, and Sean was married to sweet Rachel (now Rachel #1). I watched them taking pictures outside the temple, and heard Sean say, "Where's my wife?" and I couldn't have been more proud of and happy for him.
This is a picture from his bachelor party. It was at Golden Corral, his favorite place to eat. Kari and I made the cut and joined up with the boys on this one. Addie was there, too, in Kari's womb. Of course I was there. Someone had to tell him that he needed to get Rachel #1 a wedding gift, and someone had to find out the title of a book he needed to read, recommended to all the members of the Marriage Prep class ("The Act of Marriage" saves the day, apparently). At Sean's wedding reception, I gave in and even stood under the balcony to try to catch Rachel #1's bouquet. Sean's good friend Charlotte (or friend Good Charlotte, for the sake of the story) caught it, but I wrestled away a peony. Sean told me not to worry-- that I was the next to get married because I was the only one left of the group. I don't know what happened to Char, except she'd served a mission. I'm guessing she's married and procreating by now. I put the peony in my hair and later that evening, my boyfriend Chevron told me it was beautiful. I ate delicious cake that night and watched Sean and R#1 dance to Eddie playing Ben Fold's "The Luckiest." I hugged and kissed Sean's grandparents-- the Simi Valley couple we stayed with on our jaunt to SoCal. They loved Ronald Reagan, and because I plan on naming a daughter after him someday, they loved me too. As I watched Sean nervously drive away with his beautiful bride, all I could think was my little boy had grown up.
Of course, we don't talk much anymore-- usually just on our birthdays. I don't call him because I'd never want his gracious wife to think I am inappropriate. He did call to tell me when he passed the bar. I did call him when I thought I was in love.
My little friend is a man of 28 today. I hope he gets to watch some wrestling or baseball. I hope he gets to eat something better than Golden Corral (because the best part of one of trips was watching my roommate Vanessa a) steal rolls and b) get a grease mark all around her mouth from the honey butter), and that he listens to some Young Dubliners or Wilco or Bruce Springsteen. I hope he finds some Combos or potato logs at his local convenience store. I hope he'll write something, because he's one of the most gifted writers I know. I hope he'll say a little prayer of thanks, like I did, that we had Heather to bring us together, and that she dumped him. If not for trading him in for weird Abe, he might not have ever married beautiful Rachel #1, or been the best friend in the world to Rachel #2.