My dad always kept a chapstick in the driver’s side door of any vehicle he ever owned. And he must have kept one in a pocket somewhere, because I can vividly remember him being able to pass me a chapstick whenever I asked him for one. No matter where we were, my dad was able to pull a chapstick out of a pocket like a magician. I thought it was his thing.
It was always the same Chapstick. I mean, the same brand. Not the same stick. The original black ChapStick brand with the white cap. No real taste to it, but it made your lips feel so nice and smooth afterwards. Especially in those early season days when your skin would dry up and all the lotion in the world couldn’t save you from dry nail beds and unchapped lips.
But I was in ski school a lot, skiing without my dad, and starting around maybe third grade I would get a huge chapped line above my lips. With my dad not around, I started to lick my upper lip and made everything worse. I looked like I had three lips and it hurt. I could feel my skin cracking every time I tried to smile.
And so the moment came where my dad gifted me my first chapstick. It was an original, straight from his collection. He told me to keep it in my jacket pocket and use it whenever. Well, I probably used it in between every class. It was like my little tube of lipstick and when a teacher would make a comment, I would get to be like, “oh, it’s just chapstick.” But my third lip went away and I was an adult with my own chapstick. It was glorious.
Our Christmas stockings became the chapstick handoff. My dad would compulsivelywrap each individual tube and place around10 in each of our stockings. And they wouldn’t just be black either. We would get the medicated blue one and as lip balm caught on to my dad’s enthusiasm there was the red cherry that really would give your lips a red tint with each application. Then all kinds of flavors, like Christmas Cookie or whatever else the marketing department could think of. We had them all. Even the teal Blistex medicated one that would burn into your lips. That was a rush.
I know you all think I have way too many jackets and coats, but what I really have are too many chapsticks. Right now, I probably have about 30 of them in a bowl and another 10 scattered around in every crevice of my existence. Where could one possibly need a chapstick? Of course, there is one in my driver side door, as well as one in the armrest and an emergency one in the glove box. Then each jacket has one in what is supposed to be the season-pass pocket.
There is one by my bed and another on my dresser. There is one in my toiletry bag and another in my goggle case. There is one in my first aid kit and another in my eyeglass case. There is one in each purse I own (you know, that little clutch from the Greenbriar we all have?). And, of course, there is a melted one on the top of the dryer. I tend to leave it there for a while, perhaps to mourn its melted death or to serve as a reminder to check the pockets for money and chapsticks.
I have never actually gotten to the bottom of a tube, and I am sure the oceans are filled with lost tubes. But I cannot seem to live without that tiny little tube of greatness. Every time I use one, I feel a connection with my dad. That we put our chapstick on the same way. I’ve even used it on my nose and cheeks as emergency Dermatone on a cold and windy day when I can’t find my tin. Because I always have a chapstick.
There was a meme this week I found that talked about how their car chapstick was now their jacket chapstick and their jacket chapstick was in their room and how screwed up their life was now. I shared it in my story and it was probably one of the most commented on posts I’ve made in a while. I honestly thought chapstick hoarding was a family thing, but I have recently learned that it’s simply a part of winter life. So here is to chapsticks — may yours never melt and may you always have one handy!
Merisa Sherman is a long time Killington resident, local realtor, bartender, KMS coach and ski designer. She can be reached at Merisa.Sherman@FourSeasonsSIR.com.
