![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A true friend.
Mar. 22nd, 2007 12:29 amWhen I was eight years old, my "best friend" was a next door neighbor in her sixties. Her husband was a financier and together they were philanthropists, very active in fighting racism -- even before it was fashionable. They visited Africa many times, and I believe her husband (who had fought in WWII) probably served in North Africa, although that may be a fanciful notion of mine. While we lived year round at the lake, her house was their "summer cottage." The rugs inside were so thick you felt like you sank to your ankles, and it was filled with African tribal art.
She herself always had her hair done and wore pearls, June Cleaver style, with her housedress. Under the 1950s mom exterior she had the fire and personality of Katherine Hepburn. She was very outspoken, if dignified and polite.
I went to her with all my kid-problems, and she humored me, in between lectures that made a much deeper impression on me than I realized at the time.
One day I was very upset about something. The moment I came by, I launched into my problem. She tried to switch the conversation away from me, me, me. I kept switching it back.
She told me, with great dignity, "You know. If you want me to be interested in your life, you should at least pretend to be interested in mine."
Gulp.
I asked her, "Um. So...." I had no idea where to begin.
She prompted me. "You can ask how I am."
Okay. "So, uh, um... h-how are you?"
Then we talked about things so dry and uninteresting to an eight-year-old my eyes practically watered. (No doubt she did that on purpose.) But I listened patiently.
She said, setting down her tea, "Now. What was it you wanted to ask me?"
I said, "Um. Nothing."
"It's okay. You can ask. I didn't mean to imply you couldn't ask me about anything you wanted," she reassured me.
I looked her straight in the face. "It's not important."
Frankly, while I was talking to her about her daughter, the weather, and her dog, the big deal problem of mine had shrunk and didn't seem so important. It seemed to me that underneath her message was the point that you don't use people. Not even mutually. Even if she was willing. That was not friendship. The motive was all wrong.
She did me a very big favor.
I had the opportunity to pass this along tonight. Probably someone is now very upset with me. But... I've noticed we're not always given our lines and too often we're expected to flounder and figure these things out for ourselves. It's easier to be given our scripts.
She herself always had her hair done and wore pearls, June Cleaver style, with her housedress. Under the 1950s mom exterior she had the fire and personality of Katherine Hepburn. She was very outspoken, if dignified and polite.
I went to her with all my kid-problems, and she humored me, in between lectures that made a much deeper impression on me than I realized at the time.
One day I was very upset about something. The moment I came by, I launched into my problem. She tried to switch the conversation away from me, me, me. I kept switching it back.
She told me, with great dignity, "You know. If you want me to be interested in your life, you should at least pretend to be interested in mine."
Gulp.
I asked her, "Um. So...." I had no idea where to begin.
She prompted me. "You can ask how I am."
Okay. "So, uh, um... h-how are you?"
Then we talked about things so dry and uninteresting to an eight-year-old my eyes practically watered. (No doubt she did that on purpose.) But I listened patiently.
She said, setting down her tea, "Now. What was it you wanted to ask me?"
I said, "Um. Nothing."
"It's okay. You can ask. I didn't mean to imply you couldn't ask me about anything you wanted," she reassured me.
I looked her straight in the face. "It's not important."
Frankly, while I was talking to her about her daughter, the weather, and her dog, the big deal problem of mine had shrunk and didn't seem so important. It seemed to me that underneath her message was the point that you don't use people. Not even mutually. Even if she was willing. That was not friendship. The motive was all wrong.
She did me a very big favor.
I had the opportunity to pass this along tonight. Probably someone is now very upset with me. But... I've noticed we're not always given our lines and too often we're expected to flounder and figure these things out for ourselves. It's easier to be given our scripts.
