Shhhhhhhhhh🫢Is silence golden?

I would a if I could a.

Plugged my ears.

My friend invited me to dinner.

There is a difference between ironic and “funny.”

I think.

I dunno.

Yum.

As excited as I was.

I remembered, “Keep calm, call mom”.

You see, for a kid, like me, being invited to stay at a friends for dinner was a big deal. All the other kids were doing it, so once I was asked, I was on cloud nine.

My Mom said it was ok, but I was a little scared. To stay longer at my friend’s house was a lesson in patience. You see, I think the real name of this family was not the Lawrence Family but the Loud Family.

They all talked really loud.

Disconcerting kind of loud. My Mom knew. About this kind of stuff. She said maybe they were “hard of hearing.” At my age, I wasn’t really sure what she meant. At my age, I did not really care. I was more concerned with video games and table tennis and outdoor street ball. Not concerned about what went on in INSIDE a friend’s house.

With parents, siblings, the family dog.

When it all gets too much, the noise, my Mom would reminded me to excuse myself. Go to the bathroom.

The crack, crackle and cracker of the communication in their household was too much. And.

To me, they just always seemed, mad, as in angry mad.

My friend would hint.

’Bout a lot of stuff.

I, the so called non sensorer with a self sensorineural astute nature—kept a lot of “others” guessing. About what went on. Inside. Of me. When other friends would ask. About stuff. In our house. I shrugged my shoulders. What was happening. I, the simpleton, just went along with the crowd. Took a breath, ran out the front door, donned the invisible mask, and went about playing with the neighborhood kids.

It was a relief actually.

At my age, still too young to learn the give and take of the art of the conversation. We kids oftentimes, express the mumbles and ramblings and rumblings with a -diarrhea-of-the-mouth-word-string-along-and-sing-alongs—and made some inexperienced kid-folks run for the hills. When the other kids saw my friend coming. They laughed. I did not.

What we did not realize it at the time, by nowadays standards anyway, was we had just formed the greatest bonafide support groups of all support groups out there on the neighborhood streets, when we would meet at the street, or at the corner and just,

”Unload.”

In our own kid speak about the unspeakable things that went on behind closed doors. We just did not know what we already knew. About what we knew, was going on.

So. Some of us just bluffed our way from childhood to adulthood hanging on to the verb-speak-child-tone onto and into adulthood with the childlike sentiments of childhood with adult speak.😳

With age comes wisdom. Talking under one’s breath is a sure fire way to make it smell. Scope it out all you hope to, swish, swish, swish, deny, denial denying. Admitting there is a problem is not just left to the “they”or “them” or “others”

Sometimes, the in crowd of youth becomes the out crowd of adulthood. We are all guilty. When the penalties become harsher for some thee than they do for me. Rendering us spending and expending too much time and energy making sense of the nonsense. Surrounding us like a straight jacket. Suffocating.

Hoping beyond hope we do not draw the “short one” during the insidious game of cat and mouse game of toothpicking and scoping. “Team building.”

Told ya it was a diarrhea kind a speak. (maybe not directly tell ya, but I did try—to tell you). Or. respectfully, tell ya the words spoken may have sounded like Cantonese or Mandarin but when spoken by a kid who knew, sound perfectly legible and coherent.

When someone,

Knew.

What is was like.

Really like.

Sounds. No words. But a boatload of understanding.

Oh. Well. I thought. He did. Know. My friend.

We shared, a lot. Loudly. Outside……he said aloud funny things, that others would laugh at. Thinking back, many years later, my friend simply said the quiet parts out loud. Things most of us would never admit saying the same thing.. Advanced beyond years. As any friend pact requires, I stuck up for my friend.

I did not know any better.

At my age.

And I am glad I did not know any better.

Kids can be mean. Grow up into mean adults, too. I often wondered. If this is what happened to the Loud Family, oops, I mean the Lawrence Family. What to do. What to do.

So. To keep the peace. I went along. Secrets in the neighborhood were left close to the vest. Real close.The only one to know the truth, died along with the secrets. Well. Me and the family dog.

The family dog.

Never talked. 😉

Only communicated with the expertise of all things,

Honest.

Stood close by.

Quiet.

Protective.

Loyal.

That one day. When my friend invited me “in”. She was asking a “big ask” of loyalty. A big one. Of me. To carry this thing called family—to not her—but my grave.

I, am too young to die, I thought. And. friends don’t grow on trees I also thought. So I committed. In the moment I said, “Yes.” To eating together and the Loud Family members

And. I never looked back.

Ever.

Communication. Is Art.

NIL or NIL. Either way, the tricks up your sleeve are no match for Him…. like Santa Clause, he knows if you are sleeping, he knows when you are awake. He knows if you have been bad or good so be good for goodness sake.

And only for goodness sake.

No bending, no braking allowed. The bonds of friendship, on the monkey bars, the chin ups, the slide up, the slide down, in the playground of life, all matter,

Greatly.

Play respectfully,

Play it safe,

Play it straightforward.

No point in joining the dance with two left feet, right?

With that, remembering back, to that moment, I walked into my friend’s house and overheard the parents say they were moving away. From the neighborhood.

My shoulders slumped. I looked at my friend, saw shrugged shoulders. We took our places at the table. To share what would have been our “last supper” together.

Little did I know then, the artificial societal cultural spying of life would begin culturally and we would be connected by artificial tracking until death do us part.

Denying the denial of denying-ness does not make the problem be “all gone.” Bandaids ripped off quickly do not bond. Or repair. Healing takes time.

How long? Nobody knows.

Healed people heal people.

Guilt-ridden become bed-ridden.

Admittance of guilt.

It is a start!

It can be a start.

To a beautiful ending.