Growing Up Blind – John Warren (part 3, High School)

This is part 3 of a 5 part essay for the Essays on a WV Childhood project.  To go to the beginning of the essay and start with part 1, click here.

Growing Up Blind (part 3, High School)

In the fall of 1983, I became a sophomore in high school, and from my journal it is clear that I was obsessed with interpersonal relationships.  I made endless lists of people who I considered friends.  I made a list of all my classes and the people I liked in them.  I wrote short profiles of classmates.  After any kind of social event I made a list of the people I saw there and noted which relationships were improving.

Junior year I increasingly pursued friendships with guys that I found physically attractive, all the while meticulously charting the progress of my personal relationships.  My primary sources of social interaction were school and the church youth group.  I also did a brief stint in 4-H and had a couple of neighborhood friends I with whom I played Dungeons and Dragons.  It was a good year.  My brother was off at West Virginia Wesleyan College and my sister was still at John Adams Junior High.  I had the whole high school to myself; I was free to be the person I wanted to be without worrying about doing something that would embarrass or annoy my siblings.  I was never popular, but I felt like I got along well with most people (which was a big thrill for an introvert) and I had a couple of good friends.

In my junior year, I continued to use codes to record things that I was afraid to state explicitly.  After taking a Psychology class I decided to keep a Dream Log and to analyze my dreams.  One of the things we learned in the class was that some dreams are “compensative”–they allow you to experience something missing from your waking life. Some of my dreams were just nonsense, but some were more revealing, as this log entry shows:

“I remember something confusing going on that centered around Kroger’s….  Then the scene switched and I was in room 213 with Stan(*).  I don’t know if we were the only ones there or not.  It didn’t seem to matter.  There was a strange closeness between us… (SC).”  [*Name has been changed.]  

Nowhere in the Log did I provide a key to explain to the reader that “SC” meant the dream included sexual content.  In the analysis of this dream I wrote, “Second part seemed to be compensative (enjoyed [it]).”

At the same time I was having sexual dreams about guys, I was extolling the virtues of my friend Sheri.  Sheri was the coolest person I knew–she was brilliant.  She played the piano, she liked to read, she introduced me to the music of Laurie Anderson and the writing of Ursula Le Guin and Isaac Asimov.  Most significantly, she was an encouraging friend.  For Christmas of 1984, she gave me Asimov’s Foundation trilogy and wrote kind notes inside the books encouraging me to continue writing my own stories.  She had a profound effect on me, and in January of 1985, I wrote, “I never get tired of being with her….  She’s the only person I would even consider marrying….”

Tomorrow, part 4 of Growing Up Blind – Born Again.

Image credits: John Warren; Fantastic Fiction

The Beast of Burden

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to burden you.”

Few phrases have the power to push me off the cliff like this one.  It’s not good  from anyone, but it becomes intolerable for me from intimate family, friends, and partners.

Let’s start with the idea that if there is love between two people, that communicating about life’s downs as well as ups is ever a problem.  Life is not all about good news and confetti parties, and it is in the moments when that reality is crystal clear that we most need to share and support one another.  There is no obligation to share necessarily, but if you choose not to, it seems rather weak to claim you are staying private because you think someone who loves you can’t manage it.

There are also all the things people don’t know about the consequences of “protecting” loved ones from “burden.”  Choices were made about a year ago to not contact me when my husband had been in a serious car accident.  I was on an airplane, and those involved thought it was a “burden” to let me know ASAP what had happened, that it could wait until I was on the ground and see that he was safe.

What those who made this choice didn’t understand is that with those I love, in the moment I am very connected.  There is strength in that connection, and power, and trying to mitigate that in any way is not a good idea.

I had a post earlier about Papa Bear.  I leave you simply with the correlative point:  Don’t mess with Mama Bear, either.

Photo credit: Josh Ackerman