My youngest children like to kiss on the lips. I don’t know why. From the time they were born, I kissed their foreheads. I kissed their noses. I kissed their cheeks and their toes and their ticklish bellies. As soon as they started kissing back, it was on the lips. I think it’s sweet, but when it’s someone else’s child kissing you on the lips, it just seems wrong. Amy has regular kisses and she has “movie kisses” which are just like regular kisses, only longer. She puckers up and holds it on your lips beyond the point at which even family feels uncomfortable and awkward. One of my brothers comes to town about every other year. Because he is tolerant of even the most obnoxious behaviors, the children find him fascinating and love to test him out for reactions. On his most recent visit, Amy gave him a movie kiss. His deer in headlights expression hadn’t even faded when Evan approached him. My brother was understandably nervous and tense at the approach of the feral child. Evan looked at my brother. My brother looked back at him cautiously. Evan made that quirky smile that those who know him recognize as the signal that a plan has been formed. Evan leaned in and my brother tensed, his arms clearly prepared to block off any future movie kisses. Evan paused, grinned and licked my brother’s arm. When we saw my brother the next day, a typically hot southern summer day, he was wearing long sleeves.