Tejas

I am not a very good friend. I have friends, but I think I do not excel in being one. Now, when I talk about friends, I’m using the classic definition, not the modern, social media version. In fact, even on Facebook, when I add a “friend” I have a rule that we know each other well enough that either they have had dinner at my house, or I at theirs. Ironically, my next-door neighbors, whom I have known for 14 years, do not qualify in this regard. This rule helps keep my contact list on social media limited, and that’s fine with me. How many friends does one really need?

I make casual acquaintances very easily. I have many work “friends”, those who I get along with very well. But I don’t really know them, and they don’t know me. One or two work friends have become my best friends over the years. They had Thanksgiving dinner at my house. We’ve gone camping together. We trust one another, and we will be friends for the rest of our lives. But when I look around, I realize I’m not that good at being a friend. I don’t know why I feel this way since the only framework I have for this is within my own experience and the little I have picked up from what I’ve read. I mean, what do we have as a guide to how to be a better friend?

Anyone who has grown up in Texas, and who attended public schools here, may remember taking Texas History in about 7th or 8th grade. Having lived my entire life in this state, it’s hard for me to see things objectively; but, I have many friends from abroad, and that gives you a bit of perspective. As such, I clearly see how unique Texas culture is. People here seem to have a dash of nationalistic fervor from time to time. How is it that being south of the Red River, and west of the Sabine River can make such a difference? One of those things that they taught in Texas History was the origin of the name of this state. The Caddo word “tejas”, meaning friends, eventually became Texas.

Friends are what, just the people you know, the people in your village? I don’t live in a village. I live in a major metropolitan area of about 6 million people. Sadly, as I mentioned before, I barely know the people in my neighborhood. My best friends live on the other side of town, several kilometers from my home. We met through church, and through mutual acquaintances. It’s strange who we consider friends. Sometimes we make friends with people who are unlike ourselves. Maybe it’s easier that way. I don’t think I’d want to hang around with another “me”.

As I said, I have no idea what kind of friend I’ve been. I’m often clueless whether I’ve offended someone. I am distracted, and I can be a bit obsessive. Of course, all my friends are perfect in every way. Seriously, I don’t know why people consider me their friend. It’s a mystery to me. They tell me their deepest secrets and worst fears. They confide in me. They ask me for life-altering advice. And they reach out to me earnestly seeking companionship. And what have I done? For one, I’ve wasted my life on social media. My real friends are not there. True friendship cannot be maintained in such a way.

If I want to be a better friend I know what I must do. I will have lunch with them. I’ll visit them when they’re sick. I’ll help them with a project or when they move house. I’ll attend their performance. I will accept invitation to dinner. And I won’t look for any excuse to get out of it, because friends are better than that. Friends do what’s right. Friends are trustworthy and reliable. Friends help you when you’re down.

Recently, a friend of mine passed away. She was sick for a long time, and it was difficult and sad to see her wasting away. I visited her before she died; she had asked for me. Later, her daughter asked me to be a pallbearer at her mother’s funeral. I never realized how much I had meant to her. I didn’t consider myself to be one of her closest friends, and yet, here I was, transporting her remains to their final resting place. It was devastating, but it was my obligation to do this last thing for her, and for her family. I’ve served in this capacity three times now, and yet this one was more significant. This was the first time I helped to bury a friend.

And what kind of friend was I in her life? Naturally, we go to this place after losing someone, doubting ourselves and becoming self-critical. (Maybe it’s just something I do). I imagine what she would be saying to me. She might say I was a better friend than I realized. Perhaps I would be a better friend if I told them what they meant to me. I think I’m going to schedule lunch with one of my oldest friends this week. I like visiting with him, and he and I will have some interesting stories to share. I need to do this more often. I think this is the answer I needed. What is my guide to being a good friend? It is my conscience.

 

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I Know You’re Out There

I’d been wanting a telescope for a while. I had one when I was a kid. Later, my parents bought one for me and my brother, a reflector. It was small, but we were able to see the rings of Saturn and some of Jupiter’s moons. It was so cool to be able to see such things with my own eyes, that is, not in photographs, but looking at the actual planets and nebulae. We spent many hours in the back yard, late at night, looking to the skies.

I’ve read a lot of science fiction, and I’ve seen every episode of Star Trek TNG and Voyager. So, I’ve given the idea of extraterrestrial intelligence a lot of thought. I suppose most people don’t think about this much, and many don’t believe E.T. even exists. That might be true, but the universe is huge, and there’s bound to be at least one more world like ours out there. And scientists are discovering new planets every day. It’s a very exciting time to be alive. Within my lifetime, I believe we will send humans to Mars and further. I’m certain there is no limit to what we can accomplish.

If there are intelligent forms of life elsewhere in the universe, I wonder what they must think of us. We as a species make a lot of noise. We have been sending out radio and television transmissions for decades, now, and anyone with the most basic radio equipment could surely have picked up something by now. But do we really want Jerry Springer or Honey Boo-boo representing us to the galaxy. When some alien race does intercept our signals, they will see that we worship money, are highly fixated on the ideal human body; and we say we want to eat healthier food, and yet we continue to fill our bodies with poison.

If I were watching, I would seriously question the wisdom of visiting earth. The Arthur C. Clarke novel, Childhood’s End, portrayed this notion. Extra-terrestrial visitors were justifiably cautious about showing themselves (for good reason, as you will learn about halfway in). And human beings are, even to this day, decidedly superstitious and xenophobic. We hardly trust someone who doesn’t speak our language. In my country I am an outcast for promoting the metric system. Why do we believe we would not demonstrate our worst behaviour the moment first contact is initiated? Some of us will probably launch missiles. Others will panic and destroy themselves. Actually, we’re on our way to self-destruction without anyone’s help.

Well, this got depressing very quickly. My apologies. But while I appear to have absolutely no faith in humanity at this point in time, it should be noted that there is a lot of good in this world. Just listen to the works of Thomas Tallis, or contemplate the paintings of Van Gogh. I like to people watch. It’s a strange little game I play. I did it the other day, watching humans coming and going in a busy shopping area. It was fascinating to see people of all types, different shapes and sizes, clothing and hairstyle choices, the distinguished and the ludicrous, the ostentatious and the mundane. Oh, the humanity! But there were all are. We’re not easily dismissed, and you can’t put anyone into a single classification. Some of us are joyful, while others are contemplative and melancholy. Some are left-handed. Some of us are more creative than others. Some cannot discern red or green. Some of us are anxious. All of us are mortal.

If you are out there, here we are. We’re special, but we’re not remarkable, just like the stars in the sky. Some of them really shine. But there are so many that don’t even get a name. They have a number. But they’re all unique, like every human being. But I hope someday we will make contact. I hope we will be worthy of it. I hope that whoever represents the human race will not be a total embarrassment.

 

Blessed are Those Who Mourn

In my life, I think I have never really mourned. I have lost people, and I felt those losses in varying degrees, but mourning as an act is a bit of a mystery to me. Maybe I mean grieving. Are grief and mourning the same? Are both equated to sadness? I remember when my grandfather died. I was 13. My dad kind of burst into my room one Saturday morning, waking me as the sun came up. He announced the news about my mom’s dad’s passing rather like a trumpet playing reveille, lacking both subtlety and delicacy. I’m okay.

To be fair, my sister was also not terribly saddened by Grandpa’s sudden and unexpected death. There was a military funeral, and we kids stayed clear of any adult for the duration, and we were slightly – no, totally – oblivious to anyone’s grief, and, yes, I do feel bad about that, so sue my 13-year-old self.

I haven’t experienced much loss. On my dad’s side of the family, people live about 100 years or so. But my mom is the longest-surviving person in her immediate family. Both her brothers had all-too-brief lives, and both her parents were gone before she was in her forties. The younger brother was very close to me, inasmuch as he was 12 years older. But we connected and were what you would call kindred spirits. And when he died I was very sad, and I cried. But he wasn’t much on ceremony, and we didn’t have much in the way of a ritualized memorial. His friends and coworkers all came to pay their respects, and it made me feel like an alien. I miss him, and I think about him all the time. But I don’t know if I mourned for him. And I don’t recognize grief like I see in others in their loss.

I have over the years become this kind of funeral singer. I have been a semi-professional singer for many years, and one would assume that might include weddings. But for reasons I can’t quite explain, since about 1999, I have sung at more than a few funerals for friends and relatives. I sang at my father-in-law’s funeral, and years later, my mother-in-law’s. I sang for the mother of my closest friend. And I have sung at my own grandfather’s funeral, that of my dad’s dad.

It seems I have experienced more loss than I thought. But that only reminds me of my apparent disorder. Maybe I have no soul. Maybe I’m a sociopath. I don’t know. I’ve watched my parents getting older, and I can’t ignore the fact that they will pass someday, likely before I do. In my mind I’ve rehearsed eulogies. I admit it’s morbid, but I have also been thinking I need a will, and this is a product of getting older. You will get there. My wife and I talked openly about burial wishes on the return trip from her dad’s funeral. It’s on your mind at the time, and you do naturally go there.

Last year when Prince died, a lot of people grieved. They made pilgrimages to his home. They erected shrines and memorials. People wept and wailed. And most of them didn’t know him. I think the same happens with other celebrities, where fans mourn that loss as someone in their families. Recently, there have been a number of notable celebrities who passed, but I didn’t grieve for any of them like some might have. This doesn’t surprise me, but I worry than I might be somewhat cold. (I did check, and I have a pulse.)

I think I would react differently if I lost one of my parents or my best friend. I don’t like to think about losing people, and so maybe I am human afterall. I don’t look forward to experiencing real loss. I guess mourning is different for everyone. It’s a step in the process. Grief takes its course like a river flowing to the sea. Mourning is the canoe or kayak, or for some people, the speedboat. It depends on the individual. Does it matter how close we were to that person? It’s clear that my wife has grieved more over her mother’s passing than I did. But as I said, I am not sure I have ever really mourned.