I'm writing this post because a friend of mine posed this question on her Facebook page.
This is what I wrote as my response
"A
best friend is someone you have when you're young and in school...the
person you sit with at lunch and talk on the phone with after school to
do a post mortem of the days' events. When you're young your best
friend is like your other half...you get jealous
when they hang out with other kids, you expect them to have your back
no matter what. When you get older your best friend becomes your oldest
friend who's more like family because they know the history of your
life better than anyone else. But instead of a best friend, I think as
adults we have a circle of close friends...each one shares a different
aspect of ourselves. Like our Mommy friends that we discuss our children
with, or our work friends that we discuss our jobs with, or our school
friends that we reminisce with. Instead of only having one best friend,
we have many. And when you're older you realize the value of good
honest people much more and you start collecting them and your circle of
friends keeps growing and growing."
But in reality, I really could have written a lot more about it, but I didn't want to flood her wall with my ramblings. That's what a blog is for!
The friend who posed the question is my oldest friend. I've known her since I was six years old and in that thirty years of friendship, we've had a bit of a rollercoaster ride (primarily in the adolescent years), but as our hormones settled down and came into our own, we've realized that we are like family. I have two brothers and she is the closest thing I will ever have to a sister. We've laughed together, cried together, cried because of each other, fought and fought, had periods of silence, and in the end, it was always ok, because we are like family.
The funny thing, is that when I was a teenager, I did believe that you had to have a best friend, a kindred spirit who understood everything about you and would defend you not matter what etc etc. I was an angry kid who didn't see a lot of good in the world, and having friends meant having people to commiserate with about how crappy things were, and who validated my view of things and told me what I wanted to hear. Now that I'm all grown up, I don't need a best friend to validate me, or tell me what I'm doing is right or wrong. I can do that for myself now.
And the longer I'm alive, the more aware I am of how many amazing people there are in the world.
Through friends, through school, and through work, I meet amazing people every day. People who are forthright, honest, funny, open, caring and the list goes on and on. I never imagined in my tormented childhood that I would have the good fortune to be friends with so many wonderful people.
So I fancy myself a collector, but of people. When I meet someone who I connect with, I add them to my collection. I count myself lucky everyday to have the circle of friends that I do. Instead of one best friend, I have many close friends and even though we're all busy adults and can rarely see each other, I take every opportunity I can to keep in touch and let them know how awesome I think they are just for being themselves.
Thursday, 3 January 2013
Tuesday, 1 January 2013
The Butterfly Effect
We've all heard about the Butterfly Effect. It's the theory that if you were to travel back in time and change some minute detail in the timeline, it could change the whole world. But consider this idea in terms of our present timeline.
Today I went for lunch with my younger brother and his girlfriend. He asked me if I remembered the time that he sang The Little Drummer Boy when he was younger. Honestly I had no idea what he was talking about. He was the youngest of my three siblings with ten years separating him from my oldest brother and six years separating the two of us.
Apparently the question was asked because my brother explained to his girlfriend that the reason he never sings is because of the time he sang the Little Drummer Boy. The story goes that he had his Walkman on (this detail totally dates the events) and he was singing along to the music. He must have been really little, although he doesn't remember his exact age. So, while he was singing the Little Drummer Boy, my older brother and I saw him and started laughing. My guess is that we were laughing because it must have looked funny for a little boy to be sitting by himself singing the Little Drummer Boy and not because he sounded heinous, but this little incident that I don't even remember is the reason that for the rest of his life, my younger brother never sang.
It made me sad because as a child myself, how was I to know that would be so traumatizing? What if that had not happened? Maybe he would be on Broadway or singing in a rock band. Maybe he has an awesome voice and could have been an opera star. The world and I will never know.
I just find it so interesting how we can influence people in ways that we don't even realize. By laughing, or not, by small words and gestures...I never really considered it because it seems so self-centered and vain, but we can really affect the people around us.
So I thought about how this may have happened for me and I remember what my older brother did for me and may not even know it.
When I was eleven and he was fourteen, he had a friend name James who was eighteen that had an uncle in our neighborhood. James took an interest in me that I, as a naive child, didn't know was inappropriate. He asked me to go with him to the local amusement park and I agreed. I thought it was awesome to get to go somewhere without my parents and not have to pay for it. So we went and he took me on some scary rides that I was too young for and cried. When we got back to my house, my older brother was angry. He asked why I was back home so late and told me my mom would be really mad, and as my mother was a physically abusive psychopath, I was deathly afraid of what would happen. James still wanted to hang out with me after the park and tried to get me to ride around with him on his bike, but out of fear of my mother, I refused. He was angry, but I didn't care because I didn't want the crap beaten out of me.
It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized what was happening. James was a pedophile and he was trying to groom me. I was eleven, and he was eighteen, but he wanted to take me on dates. He made inappropriate comments about my body, but I didn't know what those words meant at the time, so it didn't make me uncomfortable. He was using his friendship with my brother to get to me. How much do a 14 year old and an 18 year old have in common anyway? How could an 18 year old have an interest in an 11 year old girl?
But the small act of my brother saying that I was in trouble with my mom stopped whatever was happening and what could have happened if I kept hanging out with James. It was a lie, of course. My mom had no idea I went out with an 18 year old guy and cried on the Zipper, then refused to ride the handlebars of his bike. I wonder if my brother even remembers what he did to protect me...I'm guessing he doesn't, but that is my butterfly story. Because as tough as my life is, with my past of physical and emotional abuse, or my present of my chronic illness, the pain of being the victim of a pedophile is unimaginable.
It's crazy to think of the different paths our lives may have taken, but for one small butterfly.
Today I went for lunch with my younger brother and his girlfriend. He asked me if I remembered the time that he sang The Little Drummer Boy when he was younger. Honestly I had no idea what he was talking about. He was the youngest of my three siblings with ten years separating him from my oldest brother and six years separating the two of us.
Apparently the question was asked because my brother explained to his girlfriend that the reason he never sings is because of the time he sang the Little Drummer Boy. The story goes that he had his Walkman on (this detail totally dates the events) and he was singing along to the music. He must have been really little, although he doesn't remember his exact age. So, while he was singing the Little Drummer Boy, my older brother and I saw him and started laughing. My guess is that we were laughing because it must have looked funny for a little boy to be sitting by himself singing the Little Drummer Boy and not because he sounded heinous, but this little incident that I don't even remember is the reason that for the rest of his life, my younger brother never sang.
It made me sad because as a child myself, how was I to know that would be so traumatizing? What if that had not happened? Maybe he would be on Broadway or singing in a rock band. Maybe he has an awesome voice and could have been an opera star. The world and I will never know.
I just find it so interesting how we can influence people in ways that we don't even realize. By laughing, or not, by small words and gestures...I never really considered it because it seems so self-centered and vain, but we can really affect the people around us.
So I thought about how this may have happened for me and I remember what my older brother did for me and may not even know it.
When I was eleven and he was fourteen, he had a friend name James who was eighteen that had an uncle in our neighborhood. James took an interest in me that I, as a naive child, didn't know was inappropriate. He asked me to go with him to the local amusement park and I agreed. I thought it was awesome to get to go somewhere without my parents and not have to pay for it. So we went and he took me on some scary rides that I was too young for and cried. When we got back to my house, my older brother was angry. He asked why I was back home so late and told me my mom would be really mad, and as my mother was a physically abusive psychopath, I was deathly afraid of what would happen. James still wanted to hang out with me after the park and tried to get me to ride around with him on his bike, but out of fear of my mother, I refused. He was angry, but I didn't care because I didn't want the crap beaten out of me.
It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized what was happening. James was a pedophile and he was trying to groom me. I was eleven, and he was eighteen, but he wanted to take me on dates. He made inappropriate comments about my body, but I didn't know what those words meant at the time, so it didn't make me uncomfortable. He was using his friendship with my brother to get to me. How much do a 14 year old and an 18 year old have in common anyway? How could an 18 year old have an interest in an 11 year old girl?
But the small act of my brother saying that I was in trouble with my mom stopped whatever was happening and what could have happened if I kept hanging out with James. It was a lie, of course. My mom had no idea I went out with an 18 year old guy and cried on the Zipper, then refused to ride the handlebars of his bike. I wonder if my brother even remembers what he did to protect me...I'm guessing he doesn't, but that is my butterfly story. Because as tough as my life is, with my past of physical and emotional abuse, or my present of my chronic illness, the pain of being the victim of a pedophile is unimaginable.
It's crazy to think of the different paths our lives may have taken, but for one small butterfly.
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