Why I Still Hate The K-i-s-s-i-n-g Song

• February 11, 2019
• On Love

We’ve all heard the song. For many, it’s the soundtrack of our nightmares.

(name) and (name) sitting in the tree
K-i-s-s-i-n-g 
First comes love.
Then comes marriage.
Then comes baby in the baby carriage.

We hear the words in a high-pitched taunting tone. We see fingers pointing. We hear the laughter. We feel our face blush. The tune has power to snap our consciousness back to playgrounds of our youth where even the slightest hint of affection—a smile or exchange of a pudding cup for Fruit Roll-Up—incited a subpoena by peers to go kiss in a tree. Then, you were to fall in love, marry, and bear children; all presumably before middle school.

Not even Hester Prynne lived under such austere Puritan rule.

The unabridged lyrics are even more disturbing. They involve sucking thumbs, wetting pants, and doing a hula-hula dance; the latter with a sardonic circular hip motion that would sicken Hawaii purists.

I hate The Kissing Song. I always have and always will.

I don’t know who wrote it. Perhaps a buzzed-cut striped shirt kid named Titus, who after years of bullying, grew-up alone eking a living selling vacuums door to door. Whoever it was, they’re a dirty liar. A liar-liar pants on fire.

First of all, Titus, kissing in trees is dangerous. Even the strongest branches can weaken under make-out conditions and some of us, mind you, have no business being one-step closer to the sun. As a teen, I once ignored an acne prescription label warning against prolonged sun exposure, and after 8-hours at the beach, ended up in the ER with voracious swelling of the face.

So I’ll leave elevated necking to geckos.

Second, and most importantly, love does not come first. You missed a crucial step in the love-marriage-carriage continuum: that of excruciating heartbreak.

I’ve never met anyone who shares their life with the very first person they were interested in. If so, I’d have proposed to my first crush Alyssa Milano, because after all, she would’ve only needed to change the first letter of her last name.

Even my grandparents, who celebrated 70-years of marriage last August, had relationships prior to meeting that didn’t work out.

And thank God it didn’t!

Heartbreak has to be part of the equation, otherwise, how do you know when you’ve found the real deal?

But, Anthony, you found love. You’re married, have a baby and an overpriced all-terrain stroller with cup holders. What are you even talking about, silly goose?

Ah, yes. The Facebook post lives we live where it all looks so seamless and heart-eyed emojied. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely grateful. I love my wife more than the day we married, and when I come home and my daughter blows a kiss and says, “Da-da,” my heart melts a million times over.

But one thing I refuse to forget is this: the only reason I met my wife in the first-place is because of an ex-girlfriend.

Let me explain.

Soon after college, I began dating a girl in Chicago. She was fun to be with, had a sweet job, was strong in her faith and convictions, and for two years we were inseparable. We explored the city, traveled together, spent time with each other’s families, and were seriously talking marriage. The first year was awesome; the second year we started growing apart; the third, it tanked. My hopes of getting back together were dashed when she moved away.

Enter the pain of heartbreak.

It was depressing, frustrating, lonely and it didn’t help that most of my friends were married and having children.

Most, but not all.

Almost a year passes and I start spending more time with mutual friends I met through my ex-girlfriend. One night, I’m invited by a friend who used to work with her to a birthday dinner. Seated at the other end of the table is a beautiful brunette. She asked me if I liked my enchiladas, and I asked her to marry me….two years later.

I wouldn’t have been at the restaurant had it not been for my previous relationship. Not only would I not have been physically present, but emotionally ready to meet the woman who would become my wife. As difficult as it was, that break-up helped me become a better version of myself and refined what I needed in a partner.

I keep that night close. It helps me not take what I have now for granted, to remember in a city of millions our two paths collided.

First comes heartbreak, then comes love. There’s no way around it, no matter how many rhymes or songs try to simplify it.

Whether you’re celebrating Valentines, hating this week for all it stands for, or somewhere in between: have hope.

And whatever you do, don’t kiss anyone in a tree.

• Babies
• Break Ups
• Chicago
• Love
• Valentines
• Valentines Day