2007/07/04 18:27
Ten
My elementary school friendships were always such fiascos. Jenny had done her part to take care of business on the day care front -- through her, I'd befriended a good number of the other girls there, inciting jealousy in the bullies who were now starting to notice girls for the first time but also staving off further ass-kickings at the hands of said same as they realized flat-out physical dominance didn't do it for most lady types. But I wasn't having the same kind of luck at school.
But finally, halfway through fifth grade, I met Matt Wilson. Matt was another imaginative, passionate eccentric, someone who finally got me, and he was able to guide me to the group of kids where I'd be accepted. (This group would later be forever stymied as "the Nerd Herd," but I was so happy to belong I didn't care.) Though I don't know what happened to most of those guys, and have largely fallen out of touch with the others, one relationship has lasted through the years. And it's not with who you think; Matt moved away the summer before middle school without a forwarding address. His one-time best friend had to take up the slack.
Chris was the weird kid in our group. And when I say he was weird, you have to know that means something. He leaped from play equipment, hit himself in class, dove headlong into immobile objects. And he was fiercely loyal, in his own sort of Columbine way. Chris was the kind of kid who, if a bully was staring you down, would go harvest rocks to pelt at him in a blind ambush, aiming for the head because of course that does the most damage.
We'd learn a few years later about his ADHD. Chris cycled on and off medications -- Ritalin, Dexadrine, whatever it-drug was supposed to work the best this year. Without them, he was manic; tackling shadows, drumming on his own head, spinning down school hallways with arms extended and shouting "WHIZZ" at the top of his lungs. With them, he was lethargic, his desire for anything other than video games and high-sugar beverages sapped.
I probably wasn't the greatest influence on him as far as taking his meds, to be honest. After all, I'd befriended crazy Chris, and far preferred him to cadaver Chris. But when his doctor finally found something that worked, the transformation of my formerly frenetic friend into a paragon of youth responsibility was nothing short of remarkable.
Chris moved away right after high school graduation. Literally -- we walked across the stage, and the next morning he was driving to the Pacific Northwest with his dad. Ostensibly it was to attend Oregon State, but he got sidetracked by employment and relationships -- neither worse than education, necessarily, and both of which helped him re-evaluate his goals and motivations, including getting out of Corvallis.
He finally managed it this month. Chris now has a bachelor's degree, an apartment in Las Vegas, and a loving fiancee with whom I get to see him tie the knot this weekend. I can't say how delighted I am that for my friend who once had such a hard time focusing on anything, his goals are suddenly within his grasp.
But finally, halfway through fifth grade, I met Matt Wilson. Matt was another imaginative, passionate eccentric, someone who finally got me, and he was able to guide me to the group of kids where I'd be accepted. (This group would later be forever stymied as "the Nerd Herd," but I was so happy to belong I didn't care.) Though I don't know what happened to most of those guys, and have largely fallen out of touch with the others, one relationship has lasted through the years. And it's not with who you think; Matt moved away the summer before middle school without a forwarding address. His one-time best friend had to take up the slack.
Chris was the weird kid in our group. And when I say he was weird, you have to know that means something. He leaped from play equipment, hit himself in class, dove headlong into immobile objects. And he was fiercely loyal, in his own sort of Columbine way. Chris was the kind of kid who, if a bully was staring you down, would go harvest rocks to pelt at him in a blind ambush, aiming for the head because of course that does the most damage.
We'd learn a few years later about his ADHD. Chris cycled on and off medications -- Ritalin, Dexadrine, whatever it-drug was supposed to work the best this year. Without them, he was manic; tackling shadows, drumming on his own head, spinning down school hallways with arms extended and shouting "WHIZZ" at the top of his lungs. With them, he was lethargic, his desire for anything other than video games and high-sugar beverages sapped.
I probably wasn't the greatest influence on him as far as taking his meds, to be honest. After all, I'd befriended crazy Chris, and far preferred him to cadaver Chris. But when his doctor finally found something that worked, the transformation of my formerly frenetic friend into a paragon of youth responsibility was nothing short of remarkable.
Chris moved away right after high school graduation. Literally -- we walked across the stage, and the next morning he was driving to the Pacific Northwest with his dad. Ostensibly it was to attend Oregon State, but he got sidetracked by employment and relationships -- neither worse than education, necessarily, and both of which helped him re-evaluate his goals and motivations, including getting out of Corvallis.
He finally managed it this month. Chris now has a bachelor's degree, an apartment in Las Vegas, and a loving fiancee with whom I get to see him tie the knot this weekend. I can't say how delighted I am that for my friend who once had such a hard time focusing on anything, his goals are suddenly within his grasp.
