Missy was one of the first friends-of-a-friend that I met through Suzie – and as such one of the friends whom I’ve known the longest after Suzie. I still remember traipsing through the attic in the Ko’s grand Victorian home as Missy was over for one holiday or birthday that found us there. By 1989, we’d survived all of Suzie’s birthday parties together and were in most of the same classes. The three of us, along with Suzie’s mom, my Mom, and my brother – were taking a trip to New York to see a Broadway show.

The winter of our 8th grade year found us all of thirteen years old, and as we sat down to a performance of ‘Jerome Robbins’ Broadway’ starring some actor named Jason Alexander, I felt like one of the coolest kids in the world, in the way that only a couple of really good friends who truly appreciate your company can make you feel. On the cusp of young adulthood, we were still kids at heart, and at one point of participatory audience clapping, I remember losing myself in uncontrollable laughter – the joyous mirth of life that would be a happy hallmark of my friendship with Missy. 

Now, all these years later, I remembered that NY weekend. As we sat down in the Citizen Opera house to see ‘Some Like It Hot’ with her two sons, the youngest of whom was just about the same age as we were when we saw that Broadway show some 37 years ago, and the lights went down, I recalled and marveled with gratitude that our friendship had survived, that we were still in each others’ lives, that some things could last in this ever-uncertain world.

Most of my classmates hated our third grade English class. The teacher was a fright in her polyester pant suits and unruly bun (you could tell how harried she was by how many strands of hair were escaping from it at any given time) – and the material was dry for our young age. Most of the writing assignments were unrelatable as well, but they still appealed to me more than anything else. Part of me thrilled when we were given a topic and asked to write a paragraph on it; I didn’t realize then how much writing would enrich my world, but I felt the rich reward of working out words and sentences and seeing what worked best. 

The lessons I gleaned were less about writing style and more about life – particularly in how to fit in and when to slip into the safety of unnoticeable shadow. Back then, fitting in was a matter of life and death. Having already been shamed for saddle shoes, I couldn’t afford another instance of being too different or other. When the teacher announced that day’s writing topic as ‘Three-Bean Salad’ I froze. I had no idea what three-bean salad was. Never had it, never heard of it, never even knew of its existence until that very moment. The rest of the class groaned, as much for the topic as for the assignment of writing itself, and the teacher herself was acting as if most people found the salad gross. I took that as my cue and proceeded to write the most over-the-top condemnation of three-bean salad I could make up. Such was my passion and detestation for it that the teacher gave me an ‘A’ and remarked how much I must hate it.

Instead of asking what it was, or writing of my honest ignorance (as a more clever classmate so bravely did) I wrote what I needed to write to fit in, to fly under the radar, to go unnoticed and unridiculed. It would be a trick I’d master as the years advanced, as a young gay man in the 90’s was safest when he blended in. 

Even in the third grade, I could play any role. At what detriment, I’m still discovering…

PS – A three-bean salad sounds absolutely divine to me right now.

Winters have lately been times of reflection, leaving opportunities for moments of hygge, and as I’m fully entrenched in the autumn of my life trajectory (God willing) I find more comfort in winter now than I ever did in my younger years. Some of my contemporaries are fighting it more, and I wonder how much of it is fighting our own aging and the relative passing of time rather than winter itself.

The past week has brought about a warming trend, as we’ve finally moved above the freezing point for the first time in forever. Andy and I finally felt warmth on our faces from the sun – a sensation we haven’t had since last year. I’ve also detected the sounds of melting in dripping icicles, falling ice, and shifting snow. Not anywhere near a total thaw, but enough to give slightly more hope than that stupid groundhog.