That's What Friends are For? By Jim Rosenberg I am in the kitchen talking to a friend on the phone. We have known each other since Junior High School. We are speaking in animated tones on the topics: (1) if Dean Smith had one bullet, who would he shoot -- Terry Holland or Rick Barnes?; and, (2) that time we saw Texas Rocker Joe Ely live at The Pier and it was so good I allegedly sort of, well ... cried. I am smack dab in the middle of what male friendship is all about. My wife Barbara, an admitted woman, is in the den waving her hands wildly and mouthing the words to me: "ask him about his d-i-v-o-r-c-e and subsequent complete mental breakdown when he shot his wife's lawyer and wound up sobbing in the fetal position at his office, muttering "I love you, mommy!" Huh? What for? Why would I ask about that mess? Barbara's insistence that I acknowledge my friend's complete unraveling -- a decidedly female approach to friendship -- is rattling me. In the confusion of the moment, I do what I swore I'd *never* do. The unthinkable thing. The "stay with Mom and Dad for a couple of days" thing: shooshing. I'm sorry, but I shooshed her. No doubt about it -- it was a squinty-eyed, vertical finger to the mouth with full head nod shoosh. In my jurisdiction, "First Degree Shooshing" is an automatic Marriage Felony, subject to the Death Penalty. Barbara declared when we first met that she was, above all else: unshooshable. Now, in the post-shoosh silence, I deal with the consequences. The foundation of my friendships concerns Barbara. For instance, my friend Jeff and I were once traveling in the mountains and saw a sign for "Bill Cody Insurance" in a town with a population of about ten. We made endless jokes about Mr. Cody getting up every morning of his life and calling the same nine people to sell them insurance -- with two of them being his Mom and Dad. For the past five years Jeff and I have called each other at work once a month, saying: "Dad, it's Bill Cody from Bill Cody Insurance. You know, as a man gets older, his thoughts turn to his family ..." This is our relationship now. What Barbara does not understand is that this is very satisfying. The whole thing cracks me up. Don't you get it? You see, the town is so small he doesn't have that many people to call. So he has to call his Dad. Ha! I understand Barbara's confusion. On the one hand, I have kept in close contact with every single close friend of my entire life since Junior High School. On the other hand, I know essentially nothing about their lives. While I know Barbara admires my tenacious commitment to friendships, I think there is a question on her lips which goes something like this: "do you guys really need to get together in a big room *one more time*, make choking gestures, and talk about how Ralph Sampson "never won diddly" Now don't laugh -- *she* thinks we should be talking about "more important" topics like "how's your enormous tumor?" or "did you know I'm a woman now?" I hear what she's saying, but c'mon -- Sampson was 7' 4"; he had a great coach, good supporting players -- and he can't even bring back an ACC Tournament trophy? Don't start in with me about his bad knees, either. Where was I? Oh, yes. While words, tears, and sympathetic touches are the mortar of female relationships, what binds men together is: air. Stale, uncirculated air. We just want to sit in a room together and share space. When I remember college, I get downright *weepy* recalling the times I lounged around in a big room with all my friends sharing our hopes and fears, *man-style*. The substance of the conversation is not the point ("I hope they don't start charging extra for hot peppers at Subway", "Wouldn't it be great if you could get wasted without feeling bad?") Nods all around. There was one moment -- one brief shining moment -- when Barbara entered my world and dwelled there happily. Four years ago, my friend Craig Hemmens came to visit on Labor Day weekend. He was shucking everything to go back to graduate school. We were pregnant with our first child. We were both about to face the biggest changes in our lives. He arrived on Friday at 5:00 PM. The weather was absolutely perfect. At 6:00 PM, Craig and I drove down Battleground Avenue and stopped first at Pizza Hut, then Dunkin Donuts, and finally Blockbuster Video. We stayed in the house until Craig left on Monday evening -- eating pizza and donuts and watching videos in utter silence. It's hard for me to talk about it without getting emotional. I thought about it when Craig called the other day. I think he's still in graduate school or something, but I'd have to ask Barbara to be sure.
© Jim Rosenberg |
