Lonely Boy

 

Lately, there's been a stray cat showing up on our back deck, presumably looking for a hand-out. The cat is fluffy, timid and with an annoying meow. We already have two other cats living on the premises but I'm kind of taken with this mangy stray, and want to keep it. There's something about the way it looks at me.

 

The disheveled feline seems so starved, not just for food, but attention; so much so I can't walk away from him. The very audible purr I hear when I pick him up or stroke his matted fur is a clear signal the cat is merely living to be held and loved. I've even given it a name, "Jake", even though I don't know if it’s a boy or girl cat. And I hate to admit it, and hate re-examining my life, but there've been lots of times when I've felt just like this lonely stray.

 

Though I wasn't neglected and often told I was loved, I never actually felt or believed it. One friend familiar with my story even suggested this poisonous seed of self-doubt was planted right at the beginning, when my meter had barely begun running. I was a “blue baby"- born with lungs full of fluid and unable to breathe on my own- so I spent the first week and a half of life inside an incubator. Hooked up to tubes and monitors, I wasn’t held or picked up until ten days old. My friend said all my insecurities started then. However I've usually dismissed this theory as hooey.

Then a few years ago, a medical professional suggested this striving for unconditional love may have started around the age of three, when my older brother, Larry, got sick. Very sick. And from what I can gather, I think that's when my little world got turned upside down. Passed from relative to relative, as Mom and Dad fought the good fight with Larry during his numerous hospital stays, I kind of got lost in the shuffle. Not on purpose of course. But sadly, the outcome for childhood leukemia was even worse in 1958 than it is now, and after six months Larry lost his battle to survive.

 

But for the kid left behind, at a very vulnerable time in any child's development, this could’ve been a pretty traumatic setback. Who really knows, though? Too young to figure it out or understand it then, and too ‘wise and sophisticated’ now, this notion is easy to reject as well.

However something happened. Why else would I come all this way through life and so often still not feel of value? Not even by my Creator. All I know is, somewhere in my early years I quit seeking approval and valued attention at home and turned to getting it from friends. 

I was 7 and on an outing with the Tait's, our neighbors across the street. We went to the State Capital in downtown Sacramento. After touring the building, the Mom’s spread out a picnic lunch on the grass outside in Capital Park. When everybody was done eating, the grown-ups chatted and cleaned up and the older kids ran off. But instead of following our siblings, my closest chum in the neighborhood, Mary Tait, looped her arm around my neck and steered me in the direction of a big garden area and walked with me side by side enjoying the spring flowers. 

 

Of course, I had no interest in flowers and girls still had cooties then but, suddenly, that botanical patch of ground was the most beautiful spot on earth and I didn’t want Mary to ever turn me loose. She made me feel warm and good inside and though we only strolled that way together for about ten minutes, for a little 7-year old, it was the best ten minutes of my life. Somebody liked me.

So it was like that all through grammar, middle and high school; goofing off and hanging out with best friends that came and went over the years; Gary McKenzie, Steve Dunnigan, Mark Johnson, Jeff Barth, Phil Alexander. Always the runt of the group, these guys and others took me under their wing, protected me, valued me and made me feel valued.

I had best buddies in college too, and - since Mary- finally not all of them were guys! I remember the night I took my first real girlfriend, Kelly Adams, to the Spokane County Fair one warm September evening. After a spring of mild flirtation and a summer break of exchanging letters, it was our first actual date. Of course, most guys had a real girlfriend well before turning 20. But as with most things in life, this rite-of-passage took me a little longer. And as we wandered the midway that starry evening, Kelly asked me to buy her some cotton candy. I was feeling generous, and kind of wrapped around her finger by that point, too, so gallantly forked over 50 cents to the candy man.

He handed over the mass of spun pink confection and I watched her gleefully dig in.  Kelly swallowed some of the stuff, took a breath, and then stuck the fluffy mass in my face. "Want some?" she asked with her mouth still half full. I obliged by taking a small nibble from one side of the wispy glob. But she didn't pull it away; instead she moved a step closer, forcing me to keep chewing too. A couple bites later we'd eaten our way through and shared a gooey sticky kiss.

Then before resuming our directionless walk, I took the picked-clean cotton candy stick and flung it in a nearby garbage can. But when I turned back around, I walked right into a giant hug. Kelly didn't warn me it was coming, either; she just hugged me. Tightly. But we were right out there in the middle of everything, and I briefly considered whether I should be embarrassed. However, the deliberation lasted less than a heartbeat, overridden by the sudden joy of finding myself enveloped in Kelly's genuine act of simple affection. And as her arms gripped python-like around my neck, I bowed my head on her shoulder, inhaled her hair and closed my eyes in gratefulness.

 

Kelly held me even snugger, and feeling like I'd just awakened from a long coma, my mind flashed on visions of blissful butterflies and beautiful birds. Inside I felt the welcoming warmth of the sun (even though it was after dark) and heard scenic music. And I wasn't even high; but imagined this must be how good it feels when you glimpse heaven for the first time.

People and clutter and din were everywhere.  I ignored the surroundings, though, and encased Kelly in my arms in response, like we were alone in a private place. We weren't, but held on to each other as a small quiet island unto ourselves amidst the noisy fray on the arcade's ocean of asphalt.  Yet all this transpired without a word, and in less than 10 seconds, it was over. But when it was, this may have been the warmest and most precious few seconds I’d ever had; at least in my first 20 years.

But back to reality, and back to the present.

 

I’ve decided that these little golden moments, and other similar ones I’ve been blessed with though life become so much more prized and cherished over any experience I’ve had with family, is not because I dislike my family. I like them fine. But family has to like you. Friends don't. They choose to. That’s a big difference. Kelly chose to like me. Mary chose to like me. My buddies in school chose to like me. So I guess when I've been lucky enough to receive any kind of care or affection, no matter what or how much, it's always seemed to mean more coming from a friend than a relation. 

Of course, days like that at the Fair with Kelly, and at the park with Mary, and with my friends in school don't happen anymore. Though the joy was always real, I always knew it wouldn’t last, either. Troublesome or inadequate people don’t deserve it; that’s what I used to tell myself, anyway. And I was both. Besides, you grow up, mature and you're just not supposed to have warm, fuzzy feelings anymore- about anything. You’re not supposed to get too close to people. At least, not put it out there on display. You’re supposed to be stoic, take things in stride for what they are, don’t get too high or too low. Frankly, I think that sucks. Who wants to live like that? Who made those rules, anyway?

However life's too short to dwell on how good or bad the past made me feel anyway. Would I like another night at the Fair again? Another day in the park? A day in the sun? Sure. I might, too. You never know. But I know it’ll never be like it was when I was young. Those days are gone. I'm here, now. And if I stay stuck back there or wish whatever happened back there, good or bad, will happen again, I won't get anywhere.

Still, when life hands you something special, you don't want to lose it. Happiness is addictive. And when I was younger, the drive to hang onto it sometimes made me get too clingy. Sometimes I nearly smothered it to death; or the dear ones I derived it from. And I came close to driving some of them off. Eventually I learned, and usually the hard way, that in order to preserve these relationships- and my own sanity- I’d have to take a step back. A few I had to let go. Happily, most of the friendships survived and though some are now long gone, I remember them all- the good times, the good feelings, the special moments. They’ll each remain here in my heart forever.

But time moves on and, to my everlasting surprise and gratefulness, God has blessed me with tons of friends and now a great wife, too. From early childhood and through middle aged adulthood, I have not had to travel the roads of life alone.  Yet in the depths of a dark and sleepless night, it doesn't mean I don’t sometimes still feel like that stray cat, keeping solitary vigil out on the back deck; his lonely cry for attention, hoping to be held, hoping to be wanted, hoping to be loved. Meow.

After all this time, though, and for a grown man, don’t you think that’s pretty dorky to admit? So call me a dork. Meow.