My family loves to recount this story from my childhood. I always tend to get the exact details wrong, but it goes a little something like this:
I was 4-5 years old and sleeping over at my aunt's house. She let me play outside with the neighborhood kids while she was most likely doing chores inside the house. When she went outside to check on me, she found that the little girls had surrounded me, pushing me down on the ground, while I just looked up at them pleading, "Friends?!? Friends?!?" What happens after this I don't remember, nor does it get mentioned when the family retells the story because the story is usually interrupted with laughter and my family talking about how dorky and cute I was. So young, so naive, so in need to be accepted.
This constant need to make friends, even with those individuals I knew where not good for me, stayed with me well into life. Some might even argue that it is still with me, but whatevs. I'm one of those people that likes to talk to new people, or to those individuals standing alone in a crowd. If they look like they are in need for company, I will awkwardly find a way to make my way over and talk to them. I think I like to do this because whenever I'm in a new situation, standing by myself, I always wish someone would approach me to start a conversation. Especially if they are weird, because those usually end up being the best stories.
While in middle and high school, I had this habit of befriending the new kids in school. I would take the time to get to know them. Let them know how one survived in the Sheboygan school system. And then after a few months, they would cut me out of their circle to go and hangout with cooler kids. My family thought it was kind of funny, dubbing me the "Stepping Stone" friend. People needed first to be friends with me, before moving on to the cooler crowd. Luckily for me, I never really cared that I was essentially "dumped" because I always had a loyal core group of friends, some that I still call my friends to this day.
Yes, it's almost like a plot to some horrible Dane Cook romantic comedy, except it is about friendships and not relationships.
2 comments:
I thought this happened in the Alexander Court neighborhood and one of the culprits was a Hertel girl...or am I completely off base here?
Probably. I tend to get stories mixed up. But isn't that a trait of great storyteller? Elaborating the truth? That is what I will tell myself.
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