Ramblings of Silver Blue

22 Mar

A post of substance

Most of what you read on the Ramblings is my life — at arms length. I keep it that way simply because I don’t let too many people get close to me, as I’ve been burned too many times. Between that, the walls I’ve built around me, and the barbed wire, I think I’m pretty safe most of the time.

There’s one part of my life that I don’t think many people realize, and so I figured I’d share it with you here.

If I consider you a friend, it matters not to me who your friends are. I’ve seen so many times the added drama of “Oh, if you’re going to invite {someone} to a party, I’m not going to be there.” or “Oh, what are THEY doing here? If I’d known THEY were going to be here, I’d have made plans to be elsewhere.”

Theoretically, we are all adults. I ask very little of my friends, and even if I don’t like someone they are friends with, that does not phase me. The world is large enough to hold everyone at this moment in space.

I almost never attempt to pit friend against friend (you know the old routine… “well, if you’re MY friend, you wouldn’t/shouldn’t… whatever”). I’m mature enough to say I’ve done it, and on almost every occasion that I can think of, have ended up regretting it, in spades.

Only YOU can decide what is best for you, at that point and time in your life.

My words of wisdom to you are simple: “Let no one have such control over your life that you lose your own dreams, desires, and identity.” Don’t join the herd just to be accepted. I’ve lived my life that way.

I remember a painful experience (and I’m going to use a real name here, so don’t be shocked). In 10th grade, Mrs. Marilyn Tucker (R.I.P.) assigned a scrapbook activity to the English class. She had certain parameters of what had to be included. Favourite foods, activities, best friends, etc. Of course, she also included “Person I like the least.” You can imagine where this is headed. Bradley Phillips was in my English class (yes, that’s his real name — I’ve lost touch with him in the 20 years since graduation) created his scrapbook, and put a photo of me on that page. Mrs. Tucker chose his scrapbook as one to be displayed on the bulletin board (Brad was very talented as an artist, I will admit). I remember the other students flipping through the ones selected for display, and pointing at me and laughing when they came to that page.

I don’t lay the blame on Bradley for putting my photo in the book — in sixth grade we had been good friends. Then I became an “undesirable” and a personna non grata. I was ostracized to the realm of “outsider”.

At the same time, I may find fault with Mrs. Tucker for putting a negative spin on the assignment, but I don’t blame her for selecting Brad’s scrapbook — as I stated, he was talented.

So, even though it was hurtful, I didn’t succumb to depression, thoughts of suicide, or revenge. I didn’t file a grievance with the school, or even so much as complain. Hey, if he didn’t like me as a friend, his loss. I knew I had a purpose in life, I knew I had a place in the sun.

I often wonder what would have happened had I been one of the “in” crowd when I was in high school; how would my life be different today? What dreams, goals, and ambitions would be different? How would I react to situations, successes and failures?

Maybe I’m more tolerant than most of my generation; maybe I’m a fool.

But at least I am me.

For that, I offer no apologies, and feel no remorse.

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