When my friend and I hug, our bellies touch. I enjoy my comfort with him that we don’t have to tuck in, square our shoulders, or be whom we’re not with each other. Through his glasses I see his eyes, and through his eyes I see the mirror that is his soul. I know him. He is just like me.
Today my friend asked if he could share a withhold. In my community, a withhold is an opportunity to listen to someone and simply respond, “Thank you.” He told me that when he heard I was giving a workshop he’d said to himself, “Who does Eric think he is?” Then my friend said, “Wait a minute, it isn’t really about that. It’s about last year when you were picked for that facilitation program and I wasn’t.” He looked into my eyes. “You know, it isn’t about that either. It’s really about not being picked. When I was a kid and they were choosing up sides, I was always the one who got left on the sidelines.” My friend looked away, the pain of distant memories glistening in his eyes.
I saw the school yard where we played after school. I saw myself chosen, sometimes the chooser. I saw the kid we didn’t pick, the one who was too small, too chubby, too new, too strangely dressed, the one with four eyes, a crooked nose, the one who didn’t fit. I saw myself running out to second base and leaving him behind to watch and feel left out, or walk home alone. And my eyes too, glistened.
“I’m sorry,” I said to my friend. “I’m sorry I left you there.” I wanted to say I didn’t know what I was doing, that I had my own problems, that it wasn’t my fault. But instead I just said, “forgive me.” And my friend said, “I forgive you.”
I grew up in New York and my friend grew up in Chicago. But school yards are the same, and so is rejection, and the thoughtlessness of youth. I realize now that growing up I left little IOU’s to cover my thoughtlessness. IOU some caring. IOU an apology. When I ran onto the field and left that kid behind, I dropped an IOU at his feet, a little piece of my heart. And today, fifty years later, the loan was called in. I asked for forgiveness and got a little piece of my heart back.
Sweet piece, Eric
sometimes I am the victim, sometimes the perpetrator. I don't remember being taught empathy, but eventually I started to notice the impact of unkindness. I love the idea that we are all following up on IOUs as we get older and wiser. Thanks for giving me this opportunity to reflect.