Lost Boy

We were connected at some level from our first encounter.  He needed to be heard, desperately -- I needed to listen and understand.  I remember the power of his personality from those first encounters in the playground and the classrooms in our elementary school.  His oddity stood out, but somehow became acceptable because he had the power to make us laugh.  His clown-like behaviour was accentuated by the bowl hair cut he sported.  His deep red hair fell perfectly straight and was clipped to frame his face.  As he goofed and clowned around in that active way only boys can accomplish -- locks of hair would flip, fly and move out of place -- only to fall back into position.  Even as a child he had a booming and chaotic laugh, almost like a cackle.  It wasn't until later when I met his father that I realized this mannerism was carefully concocted to match his father's idiosyncracies.

Our school experiences were intertwined and we shared the same discomfort with the social environment of our small town school.  He coped in a loud and quirky way, I was coping with it in my own quiet and private way -- both of us wearing a facade that covered the person we were scared to reveal underneath.  Through junior high and into high school we navigated the demands from family, school and our peers by each choosing our own path -- both working hard to fit in, express our talents and be the people everyone wanted us to be.  He was a gifted athlete and academic with a strange charisma that drew people in.  I was a true 'tom boy', relishing in active life, curiosity and learning.  Only in retrospect do I really understand this -- we didn't talk about the personal pain we experienced.  We talked about our dreams -- the worlds we considered, navigated, mused upon and got lost in.  Worlds that were far removed from reality where we contemplated our own understanding of life's meaning and our personal destinies.  Together we would contemplate life's esoteric and ethereal qualities, each choosing our own explanations of reality and working hard to influence each other.

Friends in our circle misunderstood our connection.  They seemed to think we were meant to be together.  I can't say for sure, but I believe we both knew differently.  What we shared was the fact that we were both intent on making a leap.  We knew we were headed in our own directions, destinations that we couldn't even be sure of, but we were both looking to remove the constraints of expectation that felt like binding shackles to each of us.

It has been a lifetime since those days.  I flirted with life outside of the social constraints prevalent in my small town.  I relished in the freedom but was torn apart by the pain and fear being judged.  I soon returned to my own center line.  He stepped into the darkness and I lost sight of him.  I worry about the path that his life choices created for him.  I remember his gentle and misunderstood soul and pray that he found the life opportunities we dreamed of.

Some day I will have the strength to reveal that misfit dreamer and rekindle my love for being who I am.  God has blessed me with an opportunity to influence the next generation of dreamers -- I am uncertain about how to help him avoid the pain.