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Monday, Jun. 07, 2004 - 9:49 p.m. WHAT STANDS SILENT Almost twenty years ago, when I was a Cub Scout, I would attend pack meetings led by a very charismatic, energetic adult leader. He would tell jokes all the boys would laugh at, hand out awards in an entertaining fashion, lead inspiring cheers, and instill in them with the dreams of adventure and fun only a eight-year old boy can understand. The world seemed so simple back then, as he revealed it, so idealistic and hopeful. However, as our inspiring cub master led the meetings in front of the room, standing strong and erect to the far right of him, with the solemn face of a wood-carved Indian, was this other man, dressed also in an adult scout leader’s uniform, that just distantly stared at the audience as they were entertained. He stood there stolidly and mysteriously, as though he were a Secret Service agent along side the president, never laughing at a joke, or cracking a smile. As a young boy, I never really asked myself who he was; I simply accepted him as a man that stood there. Little did I know that this same blank-faced man was the leader of the Boy Scout troop, a man that would welcome me into its ranks as I approached my teenage years. And as I got to know him, he was far from blank-faced. He had a wry personality, one marked by a wisdom and irony, with a sense of humor far too complex for any eight-year old boy to appreciate--a perfect combatant for any know-it-all teenager. In fact, as I look back, I realize that as my mind entered adolescence and began to mature, he could predict every foolish mistake I would make. It was not until later on, when my mind was fully developed, I realized that the mysterious man at the pack meetings said more by his silent stance than the cub master could ever say in his longest speech. The man’s silent stance represented the complexity of life that has yet to fall upon the mind of a young boy. He stood as a solemn and ominous reminder of the cruelties of life that would not be apparent to him until he enters adulthood. At that point in my life, I was deaf and dumb to such things. When I tried to think up ways to describe my current situation in my social life, for some odd reason the story of my old scout leader came to mind. Socially, I can only liken myself to the way I was as a boy as I went from the cub scouts into the boy scouts. In all my attempts to grow socially, I have been completely naïve when it comes to understanding the complexities of relationships and my ability to handle them. However, that naivety has nothing to do with my intelligence and what logical facts I already know about relationships. That naivety comes from something completely silent, invisible, and intangible--my emotions. I have already written in previous entries about my emotional hypersensitivity, the biological impacts it has on my behavior, and its role as the final obstacle in my social maturation. In many ways, it is both a blessing and a curse. From one standpoint, my sensitivity enables to me identify with other’s emotions and understand what drives them like few can. On the other hand, this same sensitivity paralyzes me, generating so much fear of being hurt, or better yet, generating so much intense pleasure from emotional attachment, that I simply cannot function socially. Such is the case with my quickly developing social network of college students at that campus church. I am now being invited to apartments for get-togethers, I am being asked to sit with them at church, and I have been invited to my first party. At the same time, though, I sense that these students know my discomfort. They are realizing that I am that same shy guy they knew that would sit at church alone, and they are now wondering why I had always been that way, all the while extending their hands toward me. All of a sudden , I find myself drawn into their circle. Intellectually, I am delighted at the opportunity. Emotionally, my hypersensitivity is beginning to rear its ugly head. Any attachment, friendship or otherwise, involves emotion. Now that others are reaching toward me, I feel like I am being emotionally overloaded. I am scared. I am turning into that beautiful baby that refused to be held by his mother. Each one of my instincts have always been programmed to push away, and pushing away is what I have learned do best. But I can no longer afford to push away any more. In fact, I must figure out how to pull others toward me. I have to walk into that dark tunnel of social unknown no matter what is in there and make a build a new home. While that stone-faced scoutmaster represents the true realities of life, the cub master, with his charismatic childish quips and follies, represents the naivety of my youth. In my current situation, I can only compare him to one the thing that I had for several days mired upon with such childish hope and disillusionment. That thing, that concept, that symbol-was Angel. Angel apparently has an interest in someone else, though I did approach her showing a definite interest in her. However, this time I cannot help but notice something far more complex and mysterious standing silently nearby that broken pedestal she once stood upon. I do not understand what it is, but I am definitely going venture into that dark tunnel to find out. |