2005.08.27 A Glimpse Of Friendship
f r i e n d · s h i p
What do I know about friendship? You may well ask, especially if you've met me. But just because I don't count many people as my friends does not really mean I don't know about friendship. No, that's just because I'm a fundamentally unlikable jerk with a borderline-psychotic hatred of humanity. Despite that, I am, in fact, a pretty good friend to have.
My personal philosophy about friendship shares many similarities with my definition of love, which I think makes perfect sense. It's all about being a friend, and accepting that you don't have any control over any possible reciprocation. Because a good friend will still be your friend regardless of what you may do. All you have to do to understand what kind of friend you want to be is to invert that statement.
In fact, the main difference between love and friendship for me is that love is an involuntary circumstance to be recognized, whereas friendship is the intentional culmination of deliberate acts. It is at this point that I would like to heartily recommend being friends with those you love.
But this rant isn't just about philosophy. No, it's also about revealing and possibly entertaining vignettes.
Age 10-ish
My "best bud" was an earnest fellow named Robbie Stewart. The actual term "best bud" was one used by Robbie, including such extrapolations as "bud's honour", which still makes me smile to think of. You see, Robbie was a fiercely loyal friend. Unfortunately his zealously religious parents might have wished their son to have a less questionable comrade, and this is why I guess that Robbie was not permitted to spend one summer with me. At the end of the summer, just before school resumed, Robbie explained to me that he had spent the summer with a mutual acquaintance named Brendan, and that they had become "best buds". Looking back, I can finally understand the sad expression he wore then. At the time, I merely thought, "Great! Let's all play!", and was confused at how things developed after that. I know now that he fully believed that a person could only have one "best bud" at a time, and that all other alliances were voided.
It all became rather moot anyway, as Robbie's parents pulled him out of public school so that he could instead attend a more religiously wholesome Christian academy, where he promptly was exposed to sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll in one of the earliest examples of religious irony I can remember experiencing. Still, I do have fond memories of being Rob's best bud.
Age 12-ish
You know, speaking of Brendan Heard, I feel like he deserves some mention here. What a total dickhead he was. I mean, I liked him, because he was capable of being incredibly hilarious. But his nature was almost unbelievable in the degree he managed to be utterly narcissistic, and his complete disregard for any values like honour or integrity. He was like some sort of vampiric social moth. You could immediately tell what Brendan's impression of a social strata was, because he compulsively used his scalding wit to denigrate the lower echelon and to appease those of the upper echelon. What's kind of funny about this is that you have to realize that Brendan himself usually occupied the lower echelon, so you could hang out with him pretty much as a peer enjoying him make fun of others out of earshot, but as soon as someone of higher social ranking was present you'd find yourself being turned into one of his jokes. He practically screamed, "don't be my friend". And I wasn't.
I still use Brendan as an example of exactly what not to do in almost every situation I find myself in. I recently had contact with Brendan, and discovered that he hadn't changed whatsoever. It did my black little malicious heart good to know that no matter how much I am ashamed by my capacity for pettiness, it is dwarfed by his.
Age 14-ish
And then there was Dave Littley. I can still recall the exact moment my philosophy of friendship really crystallized for me: I was walking with Dave to join up with our buddies Lou Machado and Jason Keillor. I was being a snide jerk, as usual, and was cracking jokes at Dave's expense. Dave cast me one of his patented Unimpressed Looks, and asked something akin to, "Why are you always picking on me?"
It stopped me cold, and I struggled with an explanation. I'm not sure of the exact phrasing, but it came out essentially as, "I'm just trying to be funny. If it ever actually bugs you, just let me know and I'll stop, because your friendship is really important to me."
It wasn't silken utterings of spun gold, but then not much of what I mumble out loud ever is. I was quite struck with the resonating understanding of how very true it was though, and from that moment on I vowed to make my friendship with Dave be the most important thing in any interaction that I had that involved him in any way. At the time he seemed suitably satisfied with the answer. Considering what an amazingly good friend he has been over the years - decades, actually - I feel that it has worked out pretty well.
Age 16-ish
The Third Stooge/Musketeer was Lou Machado. Lou was the front-man for our little social cell, because he had more social skills and understanding in one of his adolescent phalanges than the rest of us were to ever develop cumulatively. For example, I never really knew why one member of the local boys hockey league hated my guts. Not that the why mattered too particularly much when the whole damn hockey team, plus groupies, cornered me one night while I was walking with Dave and Lou.
The three of us were almost to Dave's house when the group of about 20 goons surrounded me on Dave's lawn. You've probably seen the circle in all sorts of documentaries about wolves and wild dogs - you know what I'm talking about. The particular Clayton-hating individual was abusing me verbally and demanding that I fight him, while his friends stopped me from escaping by means of shoving me towards him (whatever his name was). Things looked quite grim.
Right when I was certain that I was going to imminently be hospitalized, because these guys all outweighed me by a good 20 to 40 kilograms of muscle, Lou stepped up to the Clayton-hating individual from the side and threw one of his arms around the guy's throat and flung him to the ground in a crushing choke. The goons went nuts, punching and kicking Lou with furious abandon. One of them remembered to punch me in the face, but I hardly noticed at the time because I was too busy kicking people in the kidneys to get them off Lou.
Right when I was certain that Lou was going to be hospitalized and I was going to be merely just pulped, the lights came on at Dave's house and all the goons bolted. Lou and I were left dazed on the lawn, as Dave ran out from the house. Mind you, when Dave ran for help the only person likely to be at the house was his elderly grandmother, though the skunk he vaulted to get in the back door might have been sympathetic. I was saved by dumb luck, by the goon's collective cowardice, and by having Lou as a friend.
I asked Lou afterwards, as he inspected his contusions, cuts, and ripped clothing, why he had done it. He just said that it made him angry to see me picked on like that. I've never questioned his friendship since.
Age 6-ish
It just occurred to me to mention that my best friend when I was in elementary school was an imaginary squirrel named Scooter. He would ride around on my shoulder, occasionally scurrying about to do my bidding - or at least it entertained me to think so. I think Scooter might have been a retreat of simplified connection for me as I struggled in the newfound social complexities of public school, which I never really mastered. I think I was a pretty quiet little kid, generally spending my time amusing myself by myself, even to the point of avoiding or ignoring others. So I'm not entirely sure where or how I developed my ideas about friendship, but I do know that Scooter was one well cared for imaginary rodent. For what that's worth.
Age 20-ish
I moved to Victoria from the safe bosom of the relatively unpopulated mountains of interior British Columbia in order to go to university. At first I lived in one of the residences on campus, and made a couple of life-long friendships with some floor-mates. It's hard not to strive to have Mike Palano as a friend - he's just so disgustingly cool. Smart and talented as well as pukesomely nice, the only other option than to be Mikey's friend is to be a hollow shell of a person slowly poisoning yourself with envy. Then there's Erin Dalzell, or as I refer to him - weasel boy. If you had seen him when we first met on residence, with his hair perfectly slicked back, his silk shirts, and his big predatory grin, you'd know exactly why I think of him that way. Our very first encounter involved us exchanging insults and laughing uproariously at ourselves. Because, really, liking Erin is really all about me liking things about myself that I see exemplified in him.
And, although you can't pick your friends, let me say that knowing these two gentlemen has demonstrated to me the value of picking who you try to be a friend to.
Age 21-ish
My heart was messily ripped in half by Christina Hamer via that bane of relationships: betrayal. I walked up Mount Doug, broken and in pain, fortunate to be supported by Dave's quiet company while I cried. It was a miserable transformation, and certainly not one that I would have ever chosen for myself, but I lived through it. I didn't become better, or wiser, or stronger; all I did was discover that being really sad wasn't lethal for me. I also discovered, to my astonishment and horror, that I actually still loved her. (Damn that personal definition of love, sneaking up on me like that!)
So there I was, not trusting this girl, and not liking her at all for a while, and yet still stuck with this knowledge that she felt more important to me than myself. To make matters more difficult, I also knew that the situation was painfully hard for her as well. Somehow, amidst the fog of misery, I realized that the only thing I could do that felt acceptable to me was to try to be as good a friend to her as I could. I'm not saying that I succeeded all that well, but I tried. While it certainly did not accomplish anything of unquestionable benefit for anyone, I feel like I did manage to stay true to who and what I am - and to what I aspire to be. And I'm actually pretty proud of that.
Age 22-ish
While working for an industrial research facility during a university engineering work term, I met the enigmatic Ulrich Hissen. In a manner entirely appropriate for Ulrich, the introduction involved him trying to behead me with an angle grinder. OK, so it wasn't quite as bad as all that. He said, "Here. Hold this." and handed me a piece of steel braid reinforced hose, which I held up as requested. He then plopped a face shield on me, tugged down his goggles, and produced an angle grinder from somewhere. It wasn't until the angle grinder was pressing the fraying hose towards my face with accompanying showers of sparks that it occurred to me that this was a non-ideal configuration. Ulrich dismisses this version of the tale with teutonic disdain, but you'll note that his left hand which also is often used to hold things while he employs tools bears a considerable array of scars.
Later in that same work term, Ulrich demonstrated that he's an engineering genius. I mean, really, the parallel filter pump solution he helped me with wasn't just a vastly superior design, it was freaking applied art. It was shortly after establishing this credential that he did something really stupid. He opened the big plate at the bottom of the vacuum receiver tank to empty it, expecting just a splash of water. So it was that the 20-litre pail he had stationed beneath the opening to catch the drizzle was full in under 3 seconds - after the force of the spray had blown away the hatch and drenched Ulrich. He clamped the plate approximately in place with his bare hands to stem the flooding and cried out a pathetic, "heeeeeeEEEEEEELP!!!". I was just heading up to the changing room, 10 minutes late leaving my 12-hour shift when I heard him and came running. "Get buckets!" He pleaded. So I grabbed some empty buckets and crawled under an intervening table to pass them to him. BOOMsplashCLAMP! The first one I brought was full, and he shoved it aside with his foot while I fed him the next one. BOOMsplashCLAMP! Full. "Need more buckets!" I got more buckets. In the end, it took about thirty of them, each filled with BOOMsplashCLAMP! The strain of effort to manipulate the buckets and holding the plate to stop the flow between buckets looked like it nearly killed Ulrich. It was in these interactions that I think I perceived what was to be the underlying thread of our friendship.
Clearly, Ulrich and I have many things in common. Still, I think that the fundamental reason for our friendship is something that we have in common that is less clear. Perhaps it is a product of our similarly introverted natures and our mostly solitary social histories, but we both seem to have developed a keen appreciation for simplicity in our interactions. When one of us needs help, the other helps if he can. It's just as simple as that. No bartering, or qualifying, and no excuses. If we can't help, the other doesn't even bother to question it. I don't know if I can quite convey to the rest of you social butterfly humans just how liberating it is to be free of petty negotiations. Well, I'm pretty sure that Dave understands, because he's like this too. And, well, most of my current friends, actually. Assuming that you fully appreciate how I've trained you.
Age 25-ish
Then there's the dark tale of Don Kranz. He was a fun guy to spend time with, and it was easy to like talking with him about all sorts of craziness. As with any friendship, a big portion of it was the mutual ability to overlook each others faults. It turns out that dating a girl your friend has a deep and fearsome crush on, no matter how he might deny it and have absolutely no hope with, is one of those things that's really hard to overlook for some people. Or, at least that's my best guess about the genesis of the friendship fragmentation, based on what little I do know. All I could see at the time was that Don's quirky worldview was starting to include some really blindingly obvious fabrications, none of which made much sense individually. After I started hearing about the twisted versions of events that he was talking about to mutual friends and acquaintances I gradually realized that he was alternately lashing out and trying to avoid me, both of which I wish he was better at so that I didn't feel like such an unsportsmanlike brute.
In the end, I had to concede that I was achieving nothing constructive by trying to wrestle some sort of accord or understanding with Don. All I was really doing was pissing him off more, and giving myself excuses to not overlook his faults. With what remaining shreds of friendship I could muster, I left him alone. He has been kind enough to do the same. Still, there is no denying that there was a failure of friendly communication and understanding, and that I was part of it.
Age 28-ish
While working at Western Star Trucks in Kelowna BC, I started going mountain biking with a fellow named Karl Nordstrom. Karl is what I'd classify as a paradigm-ignoring goodie-goodie. By all the measures that matter, he's a hard core goodie-goodie, complete with all the nauseating kindness and affability that goes with it. It's not that I don't respect goodie-goodies, especially ones that can flat-out outride me uphill and down. It's just that they usually suffer from some sort of philosophical myopia that allows them to either ignore or neglect much of the world as I see it. But not Karl, though. I actually watched him go through a crisis of faith wherein he carefully discarded a lifetime of Christian beliefs and set his mind searching elsewhere. It was a feat of spiritual maturity unlike any other I have personally witnessed. The most impressive part, however, was seeing how the feelings of those he loved were much more important than his own. What's more is that he eventually decided to try to trust them and be honest with them about his thoughts and feelings - a sign of true friendship if ever there was one. They were almost certainly hurt and upset by his revelation. I only hope that they could also appreciate how his actions demonstrated how he honoured them as friends.
Age 32-ish
Which just so happens to be just a little while ago at the time of this ranting. It was while hiking up in some mountains near southern Wyoming with the lovely S that I actually came up with the idea for this rant. S and I have been very close friends for a few years now, based largely on our ability and willingness to communicate with each other. Our very first date was a marathon conversation where we learned more about each other than I know about most of my own family.
OK, I admit that this part doesn't include a kernel of friendship philosophy as an example like the others, and is in fact mostly just a gratuitous S mention. Either just deal with the fact that my infatuations get all the wordcount they want here, or try to soothe yourself with the idea that this is just a segue into a reiteration of my actual philosophy about friendship.
Friendship is not a zero sum game. Just because you're a friend to one person does not mean that you can't be a friend to someone else too. Nor do I see it merely as a form of behavioural barter. When people only value being a friend in relation to what they get out of a friendship, it tends to devalue the whole process. Instead, friendship is an achievement. It is achieved by having the participants each being as good a friend as they can be.
WhaAATCHOOO!!!
Sorry, I have an allergic reaction to warm fuzzies. Where was I? Oh, yeah. I was about to point out again that I don't really have all that many friends. So, what you might be asking yourself is: If he's such a great friend, why doesn't he have more friends? Well, part of the reason is that I hate humans in general. I could mention that I value quality over quantity, but that doesn't have anything to do with it. No, like I said at the beginning, I'm a jerk and that's why I don't have many friends - and rightly so. However, I'd say that I'm a pretty good friend to a fairly large array of people who are not my friends. Tricky, that. And, if you've been paying attention, you should see how that's possible.
Actually, that's a good point to press on with. Someone not being your friend should not automatically be seen as any sort of slight from them or failure on your part. If someone is not your friend, that's their choice. That's it, and nothing more. People are whimsical beings, and have a right to be themselves. If you want them to be your friend, that's nice, but it doesn't mean diddley squat. All you get to decide is whether you are their friend, and again I recommend you make this choice based on whether you want to be their friend regardless of any reciprocation. Because, honestly, sometimes the only friendly thing a person can do is abide by someone's wishes to leave them alone. Meanwhile, you be you, and do what you feel gives you self-respect, like being a good friend to those people you wish to bestow it upon.
Don't fool yourself, and don't be fooled. A person is only a good friend of yours if you can count on them. It doesn't matter if they say they "want to be friends", or even if you are trying to be their friend. Keep distinct at all times the difference between you being their friend and them being your friend. When someone is your friend, they'll do what they can for you, even if you don't like them. Do not take lightly those people you can count on, for even though you might not like them, you never know when you might need them. Likewise, being a friend to someone else doesn't mean being an idiot, and letting them abuse you.
The worst thing anyone can do is to start painting the world in black and white. Friends and not friends. People are shifting shades of grey, even your friends, and those to whom you are a friend. People aren't benevolent just because you like them, and people aren't bad just because they don't like you. Know people for who they really are, if you can, so that you can better decide whether you want to be their friend. And think about it carefully, because valuable friendship is not something that can be bestowed or revoked lightly.