Entry #29: FRIENDS

Not to be all whiny or anything, but it's hard to make friends when your mom is a drunk. 

First of all, you are probably somewhat warped if you have an unpredictable alcoholic parent. You never know when you might be in trouble, because there is no rhyme or reason to whether you have been naughty or nice. So you either become a bully yourself, which puts you in the driver’s seat, or you walk around on eggshells all the time, with your little kid antennae finely-tuned to pick up the slightest change in emotional atmosphere. Confident, self-assured girls make friends easily. Nervous girls, not so much.

I think I was born fairly good-natured, but by the time my parents were done with me I was watchful, guarded, distrustful, cynical, angry, and hyper-vigilant. They told me for years that I was fat, stupid, and had a nasty personality, so that is what I believed. This is not a great mindset for making friends.

Fortunately my mother was a social butterfly (and little else), so SHE had friends who had babies at around the same time she did. She would visit the mothers, and I would play alongside the daughters. As I grew up, I became a fixture in their homes, and felt I could be myself around their families. My two baby comrades added immeasurably to my life, and I am eternally grateful to their mothers for accepting me as an extra daughter. Now, at this advanced age, I know there is NOTHING the same as a lifelong pal. As one of mine said, "We've known each other so long, we HAVE to be friends!" 

These old - I mean, long-term! - friends mean the world to me today, but years ago neither one lived within school distance. Our lives often went in different directions, so they did not count as day-to-day friends. I spent a lot of time alone in my room, reading, drawing, and making houses out of cardboard for those little trolls with the round glass eyes and the neon hair that stuck straight up.

I knew the neighborhood kids from waiting at the bus stop 180 days a year. I remember once being dropped off for a playdate with little Scott down the road. I don’t remember why we ended up laughing and jumping up and down on the twin beds in his room, totally naked. This was entirely innocent - there was no "playing doctor" involved - but when Scott's mother came to investigate all the noise, I think she thought I was the spawn of Satan. I honestly had no idea why I was immediately sent home. My mother often walked around naked, and I had never been told it was important to keep on one's clothes. I’m sure the other mothers were put on notice about me after that – even if the whole debacle was Scott’s idea.

I had a few other friends within bicycling distance of home. I always went to their houses, not the reverse. I was absolutely in awe of Tina's family. Their house was modern and spotlessly clean. They had a black Thunderbird with fins in the driveway. Tina had twin brothers, Benjamin and Franklin, who were freckle-faced mischief-makers, and I was fascinated by them. But her mother was the most amazing of all. She had a blonde beehive hairdo, a perfect figure, and wore groovy 1960s dresses with high heels. To me she was like the mother from the Jetsons. When I skidded on my bike and bloodied my leg, she produced a can of spray Bactine that was like a cooling miracle. Why did MY mother have to use that burning, orange Mercurochrome? (In case you’re wondering, that stuff disappeared because it contained high levels of poisonous mercury.)

In elementary school, I felt out of place and had anxiety stomachaches every day. I could not explain why when the teacher took me out in the hall and asked, but I still remember the feeling of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The fluorescent lights were eerie, the classroom looked foreign, and I felt scared. I was smart enough, but I came from Planet Drunk Mom and had little in common with the normal little girls. I was like a weed that had grown up in an alternate universe, foraging for food and protecting myself from reality by constantly reading.

By fourth grade I acquired a couple of friends, but it was a Toxic Triangle. The dominant Mean Girl would alternately be friendly to one and then the other of us. We craved her approval and attention. When I was in her good graces, I was thrilled. I was liked! I wasn't a weirdo! I belonged! But when she turned cruel, I was shut out and completely isolated. She once tossed a message on the floor for me to "accidentally" pick up which read: "Nellie weighs 500 pounds." I was not a cruel person myself, so this shocked me. I was mortified, and told no one.

When I switched to private school, my neighborhood friends faded away - although when I was 13 and my brother killed himself, one of them found me and told me with great satisfaction that he was going to Hell. It dawned on me that my family might not have the greatest reputation.

At private school, many of the other girls had been together for years, and they were tight as ticks. They had already learned the special Shipley School handwriting, which instantly set them apart from the ordinary masses, as well as all the Shipley songs, cheers, and traditions that were new and strange to me.

I was completely unprepared for any if it. If you have read the other entries in this blog, you already know that my mother never believed a civilized appearance was important, so I had no socially acceptable clothing. She prided herself on being above anything to do with popular culture, so – other than my two beloved trolls - I was forbidden to own any of the usual toys or dolls. I saw no movies, and was not allowed to watch anything by Walt Disney. The only magazines in our house were the New Yorker and the National Geographic. Of course, popular paperbacks were out, so I read library books, or heavy hardcovers from home that were at least ten or twenty years over my head. 

When I went off to Shipley, the first year was the worst. I was like a lamb to the slaughter. I had the wrong clothes, did not understand any of the "in" jokes or rituals, and culturally had practically nothing in common with the other girls. I did not even realize what I was missing. (I never really caught up. A friend was so aghast that she bought me "The Sound of Music" for my fortieth birthday!) In public school, the adults had not given a shit what I looked like, or why I carried all my books to school and home every day in a liquor box. At the Misses Shipley School, there were standards to maintain.

Despite my mother’s privileged background, she could be quite rude and uncouth. I was oblivious to the social niceties that everyone else at Shipley already understood. After several years of watching the other girls and their mothers, I began to catch on. I found out about things like good shampoo, nice stationery, scented soaps, ironed clothes, and how to do a proper air kiss. My mother did not believe in wearing deodorant, or shaving legs, or wearing stockings, so I learned about Jean Naté spray antiperspirant, Nair hair remover, and pantyhose. By high school, I put it all together fairly well and could pass for a Shipley girl, albeit a Grade B one. 

Making friends is tough for ANY teenage girl, but I had two special problems: 

1.  I was embarrassed to have anyone over to my house. My mother was a disturbed alcoholic and my family was a wreck.

2.  If I DID invite friends over to my house, they often were forbidden by their mothers to come.

One school friend I liked very much was NEVER allowed to come over. Invariably she would say, "I have to ask my mother," and then she would get back on the phone and tell me that her cousins were visiting. Every. Single. Time. Eventually I realized that that cousins would always be visiting, forever. I suppose the mother did not want her daughter going to a house with a strange drunk woman in it, but to me, the message was that I was not good enough.

Gradually I discovered other school friends who had family secrets, too. One told me she used to think it was hilarious when her father crawled around on all fours, barking like a dog. She used to laugh and ride on his back - until she got old enough to realize he was drunk off his ass, and the game lost its charm. We became best friends. She was (and still is) absolutely beautiful and brilliant, and I could not believe she thought I was good enough – AND she was not afraid to come over to my house. I now realize her maturity level was astounding. I regard her as a dear friend to this day.

Another school friend had a mother who, like mine, drank too much, but, unlike mine, always looked terrific and was socially irreproachable. Fortunately that friend did not have imaginary cousins, and we were allowed to talk on the phone constantly and even hang out occasionally. What a difference that made!

A third friend had a mother who drank as much as mine. We didn’t really talk about it at the time, but there was an understanding that her life was as disrupted by alcoholism as mine. Her childhood closed over her head like dark waters after her beloved father died, and she needed all her energy just to make it through senior year. Happily she went on to become an amazing mother and accomplished professional, and today I am so happy that we have reconnected through the miracle of Facebook. (Can’t live with it, can’t live without it!)

My kids are better at holding onto their friendships because of the technology with which they grew up. Using Facebook and Instagram and smart phones etc. etc., they are constantly in touch with friends from every stage of their lives. They don’t lose touch like us old fogeys.

However, even with the best intentions and the most modern technology, people go in and out of each other’s lives - and that’s OK. I once read some Internet wisdom that said: life is like a long train trip. Some friends are there for the whole ride. Some people will get on board for only a brief moment, yet make a tremendous difference over the long haul. Friends will get on and then get off. Maybe they will get back on later; maybe they won’t. Letting go is not a crime.

I have Facebook friends who understand me better than my neighbors, and new friends who like me better – and I like better! – than some old friends. I’ve learned that some friends will exceed your expectations, while others will disappoint you, or even turn on you. Some will be there when you need them, while others - to your surprise - will not. To mix metaphors, I’ve found that some friendships burn brightly and then flame out. Others are more like the embers in the fireplace: they can rekindle a blaze when you speak, but then go months or years just patiently emitting warmth.

I feel strongly that every single friend I have – you know who you are! – is a blessing to me. I am so grateful. We put up with each other’s quirks, laugh at each other’s jokes, share each other’s joys, and help bear each other’s burdens. But in order to be a worthy friend, you need to believe that you have worth yourself. The children of alcoholics take longer to reach that point – but it can be done, and the rewards are priceless.