Some people have called me shy.
Of course, those people don’t actually know me.
My friends – family – know otherwise.
Sometimes they know me too well.
They understand that I don’t talk just to talk. I don’t speak just to fill the air.
But I speak up if I have something to say.
They are okay with me participating through observation. They know I am still fully engaged. And that when I have something to say, I’ll say it.
They know me.
They have seen me do stupid, crazy, silly things. They were there the times I made a totally fool of myself.
Asking a guy I liked to dance, when the song that was starting to play was dedicated to him – by someone else… I was so focused on asking that I never heard the dedication.
Saying yes to Prom when I didn’t even want to go with the guy. But I hadn’t learned how to say no, yet. I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. My friend wasn’t into her date either, so she and I said goodbye to our dates and took off together.
Walking up to Hugh Hefner when we saw him at Disneyland. I wasn’t sure what to say, even. Something about our Psychology class studying him and his personality… Didn’t matter because his bodyguard stopped me way before I got close.
Getting a friend’s car stuck – at her wedding. Having to ask her drunk brother to help get it out.
Singing a U2 song at a coffee house night. (Why my friends didn’t stop me then is still a question.)
We have had the hard
deep
intense conversations too.
Lies. Cheating. Breakups. Divorce. Custody. Dad’s stroke. Moving. Abandonment. Daughter’s stubbornness. Rape. Abortion. Molested. Suicidal. Daughter’s abuse. Crazy parents. Broke. Dad’s death. Son’s death. Mom’s murder. Drugs. Anorexia. Overeating. Infertility. Unexpected pregnancy. Single. Step-son’s tenacity. Anxiety. Depression. Incarceration. Unrequited love. Surgery. Therapy. Bad memories. Nightmares.
One side or the other, I have been there with –
for – my friends.
Through it all.
Always will be. And they know that. I think. (I hope.)
My friends challenge me
love me
come alongside me.
I love them. And I know them. (Mostly.) I think.
They know me – mostly.
I love each one of them for who they are.
And they don’t try to make me be someone else.