Pistachio and Anchovy

When I was young I was picked on quite a bit. The usual set of circumstances, I was an easy target (smart, quiet, odd, insecure) and once the kids found my buttons they didn’t relent. For a long time I tried to ignore them. I spent a lot of time reading because I thought that with a book in front of my face I would blend into the background. And, for a while I did. From behind those first books I developed my love of the written word. Beginning with the marvels I found in the library and then later the stories I found in my own head. My need to escape elementary school torment helped foster my imagination, I suppose. I need to thank those kids for that.

So anyway, a few times the kids pretended that they wanted to be my friend. A kid would ask if I wanted to hang out on the playground either at recess or after school. The first couple of times I bought it. It was a pathetic display of desperation that, looking back now, makes me laugh. You can see that kid, right?...very awkward, over-filled book bag, disheveled clothes, greasy hair, hopeful smile. I would wait for my friend to show up and of course they wouldn’t and I would eventually trudge home. Sometimes they would gather somewhere along my route and give me a hard time shouting “Who were you waiting for back there?” and “Did you really think we’d be friends with you.” It was worse when they would wait until the next day bringing my humiliation to school to share with the rest of the class.

Why am I telling you this? Well…insight I suppose and also to offer some context that you may draw from for those times when I seem a bit vague (yes, really). I have had to overcome and still battle with some pretty substantial trust issues. Always present in the back of my mind is the voice telling me to watch out for anyone who gets too close because they probably have an ulterior motive that will leave me in a rut. It has taken me a long time and years of therapy to be able to ignore that voice and share even my more simple weaknesses with friends (without the guise of fiction). And, so I share this piece of myself, my past with you.


p.s. I am not sure what you will glean from my palate but my gut holds plenty.






(Not at present: soon and I'll let you know when.)