Chapstick. Classic flavor Chapstick.
It's one of those things that transports me back to an exact moment in life. When I smell it, I am a wide-eyed child, uneasy and excited — curious about the man giving it to me, comforted because he was my father. It was the flavor I always remember him carrying in his pocket.
I had some in my pocket last weekend as we made the long drive to Sequoia National Park, where we were taking Thing 1 and Thing 2 for their first camping trip. When I applied that waxy moisturizing protection to my lips, I was a 10-year-old sitting in the passenger seat as my father drove us on one of our camping trips — Simon and Garfunkel softly singing in the background of a bygone time as we made our way up steep mountainous grades in his heavily laden truck.