"Love Like A Cancer" by Courtney LeMay

Cancer is a very serious thing to me. I lost my stepdad (hereby referred to as “Dad.” My real father is “Daddy”) my senior year of high school after a nine-month fight with esophageal cancer, so I’ve seen first-hand what it can do to a person. I’ve not only watched it consume a person’s body, but I’ve felt its cold, cruel hand reach into its victim’s family to eat away at their lives as well. So when posters about donating hair to Pantene’s Beautiful Lengths program started to line the walls of Glide-Crawford my freshman year, I began to entertain the idea. The only problem was, I had never let my hair grow out enough to cut a substantial amount off and not become instantly bald.

Me and Dad on a family vacation

When the appointed haircutting time arrived that spring, my hair was still too far away from the necessary “Eight Inches from the Neck Down” length to be cut, so I waited. And waited. And waited. Long hair wasn’t so bad, I decided, but I never forgot my ultimate goal, tucked away in the back of my mind as my hair grew its monthly half an inch. By April, I couldn’t wait to cut it all off. When school was out, I made my appointment—it helps to have a step-sister who happens to be a fabulous hair dresser—and counted down the days.

With a few snips, it was all over. Four precisely brown (don’t even try to tell me it’s “mahogany” or “russet” or any of those colors boys don’t know exist) ponytails filled a quart-sized Ziploc, and my hair suddenly looked a lot more like post-“Tangled” Rapunzel for a change. It was a different sense of accomplishment than usual, because there was a feeling of being a part of something bigger than myself or personal appearances. I knew that somewhere across the U.S., five other women were making the same sacrifice in order provide a wig (and hope, if you ask me) for a complete stranger, and this was a beautiful thing.

Little did I know how soon my family would be relying on the kindness of strangers. Less than a month later, I received a frightening call. I should have known something was up when Daddy tried so hard to reach me while I was out of the country on vacation with my mom. Surgery. Cancer in his liver. The words flowed over me as my thoughts sunk farther and farther away from the sandy beaches of St. Maarten. It didn’t sound too serious, but any surgery came with risks. And that was the most surreal part—the surgery was scheduled the day after my return to the States. Daddy and I had been to Europe that month and he was fine; how did things change so quickly?

To cut a long story short, the surgery was a success and the doctors cannot find a trace of any more cancer. My daddy is undergoing some chemotherapy just to be safe, but there is no denying that his healing was nothing short of a miracle. (It is quite a rarity that the cancer is caught early enough for complete removal. In fact, there are so few people in this situation that there have not been any studies on them). God has blessed me in so many ways, especially in this amazing healing, and I will never be able to thank Him enough for keeping my daddy in my life.

"Shakespeare in the Park" with Daddy

But the blessings haven’t ended there. Besides seeing my daddy have a renewed passion for God (and for life in general), I too have found a new perspective, a different way of looking at things. Instead of holding onto my mistakes and the shortcomings of others, I want to let go. There are so many more important issues than fighting over a boy or holding petty grudges, and I don’t want to let that hold me back any longer. I want to love like a cancer, to see God’s love spread through me to His body, the Church, and out into the world. I want to really feel for the people around me, and I’ve been challenging myself to let God have His way in my life. Really, I just reached the point where I felt so helpless, that there was absolutely nothing I could do but turn to the one who can do all things. A coworker of mine last summer shared his testimony with me, affirming the absolute power of prayer in bringing about change; if I wanted to see a change, I knew it had to start with God.

So that’s my goal for the year, to be open to God’s calling on my life and to be sincerely involved in the lives of my fellow students (not the nosy, Facebook-stalking kind of involved, though, so don’t worry). I’m not sure what that will look like just yet, but I know who to ask (Hint, it’s God). I guess I just don’t want to waste what little time I have in this life on stupid things that won’t matter in a week, let alone at the end of my life. And I wish I could tell all of you that I’ll stick to this 100 percent of the time, but I know I won’t. All I can promise is to keep trying, because as awful as actual death may be, dying long before you stop breathing is far worse a fate.

Today, August 16, 2011, would be my dad's 57th birthday. Not a day goes by that I don't miss his smile, the way he made my mom and I feel safe, his awfully corny jokes. But I know deep-down this is how things are supposed to be, how God wanted them to be somehow. God has His own sense of timing. Just a few days ago the "thank you" letter came in the mail from Pantene; my donation had been sent off at the end of May. Even so, I started crying reading that simple form letter. Sure, they had printed it off along with probably hundreds of this same letter to send to hundreds of other donors, but that doesn’t mean my gift had any less value to the sick woman who received that wig, or that her family didn’t feel any less comfort in that donation because I wasn’t thanked in some extravagant way. Recognition has never been what sacrifice is about—it’s about the positive impact in others’ lives.

Asphyxiating on glitter: the tale of a parent dragged to a Ke$ha concert

I was in high school when the obnoxious and ubiquitous "TiK ToK" invaded the ear canal of everyone with... well, ears with canals. "This is garbage," I thought. "I am above such nonsense. As a 17-year-old, educated male, I do not endorse such silly music." My first impression was only reinforced the more it was heard. It was instantly antiquicated by silly white girl rap slang and bratty vocals and--for God's sake--she has a dollar sign in her name!

It got to the point to where I would listen to "TiK ToK" for the sole purpose of making fun of it. (This same phenomenon presented itself with Lady Gaga's "Poker Face", as well.) This was not a good course of action, my friends. I began listening to it more and more, in a decreasingly ironic fashion. After weeks and weeks of this masochism, my guard came crumbling down and my mind was opened by this sleazy girl from L.A.

I love you, Ke$ha

My adoration grew exponentially upon the release of "Your Love is My Drug" and "We R Who We R"--two songs that I will unabashedly belt out at any time if you're not careful. I was enamored; so much so that I began talking myself into buying concert tickets to see her in Columbus. Then I saw that she tweeted this:

@keshasuxx: I wish I could give every single one of u a tiny truck stop figurine of a dragon.

"Welp, that's it. Ke$ha owns. I'm buying tickets."

Stockings ripped all up the sides, too

This was my very first concert, and was it was glorious. There was glitter and lights and dinosaurs and American flags and for some reason there was a guy in a Santa Claus costume who sang at the very end. I don't even know what the heck. It was both exactly what I expected and about a hundred times better.

I wore tights and neon blue short shorts, because if you're going to go to a Ke$ha concert, you have to go all out. Right? But not everyone did. Not surprisingly, I was the self-proclaimed "Best Dressed Male" there, and looked down upon anyone who apparently couldn't even be bothered to put on a little eye-liner--except for the parents.

Lots of parents were dragged to this thing. Like, LOTS. A good 10% of the audience were moms on their BlackBerries, chaperoning their pre-adolescent daughters. I don't think they wanted to be there very much. They're the real stars of the show here. They're the ones who drove hours and hours to watch a girl half their age get paid in solid gold to push a few buttons on a keyboard and sing. They're the ones who, for the love of their child, are listening to a song about literally eating a person alive.

["Cannibal" is an amazing song, but Ke$ha seems like the type of person who would have legitimately tried human liver, which makes it a bit unsettling. It doesn't help that she has tweeted a request for her fans' teeth, with which she would use to make a necklace: "So. What I'm getting at is please send me your teeth. I'm dead serious. I need your teeth."]

Ke$ha: NOT a cannibal

I imagine this is how that beautiful July day went for one of those loving mothers:

[9:30 AM] Dear God, that stupid Keisha concert is today.

[9:32 AM] Hey, honey, time to wake up. Do you... still want to go to the concert tonight? Mommy doesn't feel very good a-... okay, no that's fine. We're going. I was just making sure you still wanted to. It *is* a long drive, though, and I know you don't like long drives--no, no, we're going!

[9:40 AM] Mark? Can you take Brittany to the Keisha concert tonight? No, it's just I really don't want to go. I *know* I said I would, but-... ugh, okay, okay.

[10:02 AM] So, what do you want to do at the state fair? No, the fair is *before* the concert. No, we won't miss Keisha, I promise! Brittany. Listen. We are going to both. They have chickens and pigs and lots of games and stuff. You like petting zoos, right? What do you mean they're too dirty? Have you even SEEN this girl who's gonna be singing?

[10:58 AM] Sweety, I know you want make-up, but how about we put it on you when we get to the fair? If you don't wait, it might rub off.

[11:09 AM] Hold still. No, stop. Hold still. I'm almost done.

[11:11 AM] There we go. You look... well, you look like you just crawled out of a glittery trash bag, but that's what we were going for, right?

[11:42 AM] No, we are not going in McDonald's! Not with you looking like that! I'll go through the drive-thru, okay? You want a Happy Meal?

[12:01 PM] No, I'd rather not listen to Keisha on the way there, sweetie. Why? Well, because... it's like waiting until you're older to start dating--it's better that way. Please don't cry.

[12:58 PM] Look, sweetie! Only 166 more miles til we get there. Are you excited yet? Uh, yea, I'm excited, too, I guess.

[3:03 PM] Brittany, wake up. Could you do Mommy a favor and tell her which exit to get off on? Just hit the "next" button. Thank you.

[3:28 PM] Look! We're here! Yaaaaay. Now let's go see some pigs! Want a deep-fried Oreo? Me, too!

[3:50 PM] This is the biggest pig I have ever seen. Oh, Brittany! Be careful around those--Oh my gosh! BRITTANY!

[4:12 PM] Hey, Mark. Yea, we got here a little while ago. Well, um, I'm calling because Brittany was just kicked by a goat. No, no, no, she's fine. EMTs came and checked her out and I think she just had the wind knocked out of her. Well, she said that some glitter got in her eye and she tripped onto it or something. No, I'm serious.

[4:42 PM] Brit, you can't seriously be wanting me to put more make-up on you. No, I'm not gonna do it. No.

[4:53 PM] Hold still. No, stop. Hold still. I'm almost done.

[5:21 PM] Mommy's going to get another Oreo and then we'll go get our seats, okay? Wait, Brittany, turn around, is that a donut burger? It is, isn't it?

[5:23 PM] Sooo good.

[5:32 PM] Let's see... Section L... 22 and 23... here we go!

[6:07 PM] Wait, this starts at seven? Brit, come with me. I'm getting something else to eat.

[7:04 PM] Look, Brittany, it's Keisha! Ooh, you're right. This is a warm-up band, then? And that's a boy? Not Keisha? A boy?

[7:05 PM] Kill me.

[7:06 PM] Brit, did you see if they sold Mommy-Drinks in the concession stand? They did? Okay, come with me.

[7:11 PM] That's better. Brit, did you want to get a t-shirt or something while we're up?

[7:12 PM] Thirty-five dollars for a shirt. Thirty. Five. Dollars. THIRTY-FIVE DOLLARS.

[7:14 PM] Twenty, thirty, thirty-five. There ya go. Thank you. Well, Brittany, you got your first concert t-shirt. It's pretty, huh? I like how Keisha looks just like The Joker. That's cool.

[8:02 PM] So, that's definitely her, right? It is? Whoa, wait, I've been calling her the wrong name this whole time? And she has a dollar sign in her name? You've got to be kidding me.

[8:07 PM] Okay, that was kind of awesome.

[8:20 PM] You having fun yet, Brittany? Yea, me, too.

[8:44 PM] Did I hear that right? Is she singing about cannibalism? Is she--... IS SHE EATING A HUMAN HEART. This is amazing...

[9:04 PM] Ooh! I know this song! "I wake up every morning feeling like Puff Diddy--grab my glasses, I'm out the door, I'm gonna go to the city."

[9:10 PM] Kesha! Kesha! Kesha! Kesha!

[9:12 PM] It's so good to see young, influential artists professing their faith by wearing Jesus necklaces.

[9:16 PM] Heh, look at this idiot beside of us. Wait, that's a boy, and not some weird lesbian? Hahaha! I gotta get a picture of this!

[9:17 PM] To: Mark Johnson
Subject: "guy at kesha concert LOL!"
Attachments:

The gang goes to the beach!

Myrtle Beach, South Carolina was a frequent family destination for summer vacations in my younger years. It would always be me, my sister, and parents off on a whirlwind adventure to some ocean-view hotel. We haven't had one of these in a while (probably due to the fact that my parents are divorced; talk about an awkward drive), but when we did, they always followed a concrete, 10-step template:

1) Everyone fights on nine hour car ride, hates each other upon arrival
2) Check into hotel whose lobby smells faintly of damp laundry
3) Buy two boogie boards and maybe, like, a shark-tooth necklace
4) Go into ocean with Dad
5) Get sunburned
6) Blister, pick off blisters
7) Lose boogie board
8) Almost drown
9) Dry off
10) Go home, yell at family again

That trend was bucked this year, however; the gang was a little bit less conventional. No parents in sight, and, one year ago, I knew none of my fellow vacationers.

So, let's meet the other players!

Fellow writer and best friend, Courtney; has a thing with facial hair

My Mom's boyfriend, James; likes polos and cars

James' son, Micah; is nine years old and acts his age

One of my favorite things about vacationing is getting to try exotic flavors and ingredients. My palette hasn't quite grown immune to the delicious and affordable siren call of Taco Bell, but fast food has become increasingly less appetizing as the years have gone by. My hometown isn't exactly known for its local cuisine, either. So, it was with great pleasure I got to try swordfish at a little place by the sea called "The Captain's House". Now, I don't love eating fish. It's always a little too, well, fishy-tasting for my liking. That being said... uh, well, my dinner didn't really do very much to change my mind. The Caesar salad was delicious, though--ooh, and we got a kid's menu, too, so it definitely wasn't a total loss.

O Captain! My Captain!

I believe it was the following day that we all went for a walk and decided to get some tattoos. We're fickle and impulsive like that. (Spoiler: they were henna.) A nice Italian man, straight out of a future iteration of The Jersey Shore, talked us all into paying our hard-earned dollars in exchange for some paint on our arms. Worth it!

Cooler than you

Let's break down the what and the why of these sick tats...

Feels good, man

Micah
-Tattoo: dragon
-Reason: likes dragons

I just feel like it's missing something

James
-Tattoo: sadly nippleless mermaid
-Reason: likes fish, girls; not a huge fan of nipples, I guess

Watch close; I can make him dance

Zack
-Tattoo: Yipes, the Fruit Stripe Gum zebra
-Reason: wanted a fake tattoo of a fake tattoo; likes zebras

Is it a mustache or an upside-down seagull? NOBODY KNOWS

Courtney
-Tattoo: mustache on index finger
-Reason: so she can fulfill her primal need to have facial hair (instead of simply waiting until she's old)

After the ink had been carved into our sensitive flesh, we set back out upon our original quest: to find the mythical Gay Dolphin. We stumbled upon this oddly named "gift cove" in a directory given to us at the hotel, and there was no way I wasn't going. Upon locating the exact position of said flamboyant mammal, our pace quickened; the thought of visiting such a joyous and wonderful place fed fuel to our steps. Then we got there and...! Wait, this place isn't fun or colorful or anything. "Boo!" I yelled at no one in particular. Micah was especially disappointed, as he, for reasons unknown, had really been hoping to see a genuine homosexual bottlenose.

The most exciting part of the store:

Not pictured: antagonistic "Homophobic Shark" gift shop across street

"I just want to sit in the sand; please sit with me," I pleaded to Courtney. We were walking along the beach fairly late at night, and I wanted to sit back and enjoy the beautiful moonlight. Naturally, being a girl, she didn't want icky sand all over her, however. And, naturally, me being a petulant child, I sat in the sand and pouted until she obliged and joined me in the rising tide. There are few things more beautiful than the ocean at night, and I was enjoying my time with my best friend. Finally, we decided our stay in the sand was over, and I made a move to stand up. And then I promptly tipped into the ocean.

There had to be 20 pounds of sand in my swimming trunks. And I mean in the lining, too; this stuff wasn't coming out without a fight. I stand up in the surf and try to no avail to remove the mud from my shorts. The waves hit me hard and knock me over repeatedly. "Help! I'm going to drown because I have so much freakin' sand in my pants!" I may have yelled to Courtney. She assisted in removing the obstruction over the course of a 15-minute wringing session that almost definitely looked sexual to any by-standers on the dark beach. But it wasn't, I swear. I didn't enjoy it at all.

The sea was angry that day, my friends

On our last day, we journeyed to the NASCAR Speedpark--something James had been looking forward to for his entire adult life. As you can imagine, there was lots of racing memorabilia, names I didn't recognize, and stuff about cars. But forget that boring crap; we did fun things!

Like golf...

"James lines up for the putt. He appears to be using the
Meineke, AMP Energy Drink, Goodyear putter today."

... and dominating carnival games...

Courtney is way fatter than she looks

... and getting astronomical wedgies...

I am now a tenor

... and racing...

The only competitor over the age of 10

... and losing.

NO BUMPING!

NEXT TIME: With glitter on my eyes and stockings ripped all up the sides, I go-oh-oh to a Ke$ha concert; promptly die of glitter inhalation

Tales of Summer: I need a vacation

College summers are the best. Three months straight of doing whatever you want to do; vacations, concerts, roadtrips, sleeping in, not putting effort into anything, etc. It's all fun and games--unless your parents have anything to say about it.

Actor/comedian/musician/smiling man Will Smith once offered this profound observation: "Parents just don't understand." They don't understand why I wouldn't want to be a cashier at Walmart. They don't understand why I would drive all the way to Columbus to see Kesha in concert. They don't understand how to send private messages on Facebook.

Luckily, however, I am understanding. I humored them by working for the world's largest private employer for six weeks before quitting and taking advantage of the rest of my time off... But not before the monotony of retail took its toll on my mind, body, and soul.

Guess which month I worked at Walmart

Seriously, though, it's been a great few months. This has definitely been one of the most enriching, fun, profitable, and exciting summers of my life. And all jokes aside, I was the one who decided to take the job, and it certainly wasn't as bad as I make it out to be. (More about my adventures and spiritual revelations as a cashier in The Collegian.)

So, let this be a celebration of a summer well spent; my first college summer.

I always enjoyed going to VBS (Vacation Bible School for you heathens out there) when I was younger. It was always a fun week where I got to hang out with friends and eat peanut brittle and make glittery doorknob hangers with the phrase "JESUS LOVES ME" plastered across it. It was fun, and I got to learn about God, too. But helping set everything up and being part of it later on? No, no, no. Hated it. Way too frustrating and way too much work.

So much time and effort is required for any VBS to flourish and have results--and this past summer, my church's was especially elaborate (especially for a church our size). It involved a 20-page scripted play and an entire set to be built in our sanctuary. I was asked to be a part of said production and decided it was high-time to get involved and show off my acting chops, too.

A friend and I prepare for the performance of a lifetime

Name: Theodore Tweedle
Occupation: Sheriff of Discovery City, CA
Purpose: Comic relief

That's pretty much all you need to know about my character. It was so much fun getting to act and make little kids laugh, and, when I wasn't on stage, get to tell them about Jesus. (These kids would literally laugh at anything. Did you forget your line? Just trip over something!) I really couldn't be more proud of our production, but, more than that, how receiving the kids were to the message.

Something like seven kids were saved by the end of that week. Now, I don't pretend to think that it was me or anyone at the church that saved them, but what we did mattered. We planted seeds of scripture and love and watched them in just a few days sprout and maybe even grow a few leaves. And it was such a blessing to see the fruits of our labor.

NEXT TIME: Tattoos, gay dolphins, and twenty pounds of sand in my pants. It's Myrtle Beach, baby.