I can’t remember (and am WAY too lazy to do the research to
check) if I’ve ever mentioned this before, but one of the things I most adore
about my Dad is the way that he always makes it feel like my arrival is a
wonderful occasion. No matter how
recently we talked or saw each other or how mundane the occasion my Dad is
always and sincerely thrilled to see or hear from me. Like I’m saying he and I could talk on the
phone for an hour and then sign off, and then I could realize I forgot to ask
him what size shoe he wears or how many ounces in a gallon and call him right
back to cover that super-important detail and even though we were just talking
only minutes before when my Dad hears my voice he still honestly sounds
thrilled to hear that its me. This is about
the best quality a person could have and my Dad has it in gallons. (or a BUNCH of ounces, because apparently
there are 128 of those in a gallon!)
When T.E. and I first met this was a quality that I
recognized in him: that he was so eager
for my time and attention. That he
seemed like he, too, couldn’t get enough of me; wanted to hear all about me and
my days and my stuff. He would even be
bold-faced in his interest to the point he’d ask incredibly personal questions
or to read my emails or listen in on phone calls. He knew that it was pretty danged nosey but
he was unapologetic about it because it all came from wanting to know
everything about me. He was that
enthusiastic and I will admit that I loved it.
I joked that it was just “new toy syndrome” – that thing that so many
people do when they find a new person and are fascinated by the coolness and
the differentness and the just plain newness
of the new person. But I was the Buzz
Lightyear of his world right then and I would take every bit of it.
Now look, I know that everybody talks about how
relationships can’t keep up the level of intensity with which they start – this
has been repeated over and over, and I’m sure that just about everybody out
there believes this to be the sad fact:
eventually things have to become boring and average and plain and you
just can’t keep feeling so
over-the-moon about a person. You just
can’t. Honestly I’ve had some people
explain it to me with such fervor and certainty that it almost seemed like they
wanted it to be true; wanted to know that nobody could possibly maintain that
level of intensity. It’s just not
possible.
Is it?
This spring I read this book written by the last woman to
love the great comedian George Carlin.
Here’s this book about one of the crustiest, surliest, most
curmudgionesque icons of this or the last century and it’s all about how he
never, ever stopped courting this woman that he loved. He, contrary to popular and very depressing
belief, felt like it was totally up to him when he should stop doing the things
that make us fall in love with each other in the beginning – notes, gifts,
gestures, lovely words and amazing acts – and he decided that the time to stop
doing that stuff was never. And when the
man is right, he’s just plain right. So this became my rule too -- never stop courting.
The enthusiasm that T.E. had for me in the beginning was
intoxicating and made me feel fascinating and amazing and just possibly worth
all this attention. I ate it up with a spoon
shovel industrial grade forklift.
I also made very sure to lavish him with the same level of fascination,
which was easy because I felt it just as strongly. And to this day I still do. Every morning, no matter what time I have to
drag my sad, old bones out of my super-snuggly bed, the thing I’m most eager to
do as soon as possible is get online and see if T.E. is around to talk to. There’s this tiny little whisper noise that
our main chat application uses to indicate someone has logged on and when I
hear that noise my heart skips a beat every. Single.
Time. I adore every minute
with him, and I’m really excited and proud that my level of adoration has
maintained even after years and distance and age difference and even a little
heartache.
When T.E. and I first connected there was another big
difference in his world as compared to now:
his social life was pretty quiet.
He was just finishing up his equivalent of high school and, as is often
the case the end of the summer after graduating from high school, most of his
chums were heading off to new adventures.
As a result he had a lot of time available to chat with me, his newest
toy. But as the years have gone on and
he’s started his University experience and built an amazing new social group of
bright, funny, cool people his “new toy” attentions have waned. Given our time differences I’m often that
thing he can do for a while at the end of his day before he goes to sleep. The more social fun he has with his chums the
later the end of his day is, and the less time before sleep needs to
happen.
Recently I’ve realized that gradually I’ve become his “if
there’s nothing else to do” option. If
he doesn’t have fun social things to do with his group there’s always me to
chat with, waiting eagerly on the other end of the skype line because I’m still
that excited to make our connection whenever I can get it. For a while it seemed romantic, but now I
have to admit I’m starting to feel like the classic old toy: that old, beat-up, dog-eared teddy bear that
you’ve had since forever but you really only cuddle up to when the world has
treated you roughly and you need the kind of hug that only your old toy can
give you. I love being here for him, but
sometimes this dusty, lonely old shelf can seem a little sad.
If I were a better, person – closer to the person I thought
I was before I actually fell in love with someone – I’d decide to walk away
from this and show my independence and my ‘stand on my own two feet’-etedness
and all. But one of the rules that T.E.
and I have been very clear about is 100% honesty between us, and if I’m being
100% honest all of this doesn’t change the fact that I think about him
constantly and clamor for the chance to connect. So for now you’ll find me where he does: between the Rock ‘Em, Sock ‘Em Robots and
that damned Jack in the Box.
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