Something to Cry About

Things didn't get any better over the next couple of years at school.  Even after my favorite troublemaker got kicked out of the school, things were still rough, now that certain patterns had been established.  I continued to do well academically but decline socially.  Recess times had basically devolved into a routine of going outside, picking teams, and then fighting.  I guess the supervision just figured "boys will be boys."  Being small for my age, I probably appeared to be an easy target, and probably absorbed more than my fair share of abuse.

In fourth grade, I managed to become close friends with one particular individual.  I have no recollection how that happened, since we had both been in class together for years and rarely talked.  It likely started because we were the two smallest kids in the class, and got picked on the most.  Having a common adversity builds strong relationships; I have definitely seen that happen at camp.  That relationship must have developed very quickly, which is uncharacteristic for me, but I remember becoming quite close, definitely by November that year.  And then at Thanksgiving break, his family moved to Southern California.

That was a multi-dimensional problem, in that not only was my closest friend leaving, but really my only friend.  And I would become the only one that the rest of the guys in the class routinely singled out.  The Wednesday before Thanksgiving was his last day at school, and we got out at noon for the holiday weekend.  I remember crying about it for hours in the after school day-care, until I was picked up around four that evening.  That was in November of 1993, and I have never "really" cried again since then.

I used to consciously suppress the urge to cry, which served me well for the rest of that year, alone at school.  But over the years that builds up wall that are hard to topple, from either side.  I have thought a lot about that fact, especially in light of events over the last few months.  In C.S. Lewis's "The Last Battle" there is a line: "I have seen my mother's death...It were no virtue, but great discourtesy, if we did not mourn."  Can one mourn without crying?