Don’t Forget to Write

I got a call from a friend to whom I was very close in college. We hadn’t talked in years. He said my sophomore roommate was trying to put together a contact list for a bunch of us who shared a floor my freshman year. And the friend relaying this information wanted to come to Florida and charter a boat and take me and my father fishing.

Does that seem appropriate to you? It occurs to me that once you’ve been out of touch with someone for years, unless it’s someone very special, that person shouldn’t call you up and demand that you participate in a weekend of fishing, as if you were still tight. A person like that isn’t really a friend any more. He’s an acquaintance. And you wouldn’t call a mere acquaintance up and expect him to act like a pal. You wouldn’t ask to borrow money. You wouldn’t expect him to be an usher at your wedding. You wouldn’t ask him to be the godfather of your child. Dinner, maybe. Or lunch. Talk about old times. That’s about it. Say hi, fight over the check, and part for another ten years.

He was saying I should crash class reunions, even though he and I both graduated apart from our freshman class. Crash reunions? Hell, I’d hide if I spotted most of those people. My family was a mess when I was in college. I went through hell. Those guys would just remind me and make me feel all those sensations over again.

I gave him my contact information via email, but I told him not to give it to anyone else, and that there was no way I would participate in an email list or reunions. And I explained that I didn’t enjoy reliving college. I was polite, but he hasn’t responded, and I’m not going to follow up. Now I’m the bad guy, I guess, but it doesn’t matter, because things weren’t going anywhere anyway.

I belonged to a group of six close friends when I was in college. I guess we thought we’d be friends for life. Out of the six, the two I still treasure are Aaron and old gay Dave. One other is okay, but I can’t say I miss him much. The others, I chose to allow to drift away. One I just don’t like or respect any more, and the other wore me out by disappointing me too many times. I won’t say which one called.

I drop people right and left. No warning. Poof, you’re gone. I’ve always been that way. I try to treat people very well, and when I realize I’m not going to be repaid to any real extent, I just close up. Or if I realize a person is an incorrigible bad influence. And I am especially bad about dropping people who tell me what to do. That’s degrading, especially when it comes from a younger friend or a friend who knows I’m smarter than he is. People shouldn’t be like chickens, always trying to establish a pecking order. Friends should be equals. I don’t do well with competitive friends. If you’re insecure, spring for therapy. Don’t abuse me to inflate your ego; buy yourself some Tony Robbins tapes and watch Stuart Smalley.

A friend isn’t a tool. A friend isn’t something you use to achieve goals that benefit you. A friend is someone you like and respect, even if there is nothing he can do for you, and whom you try to help however you can. You take pleasure in the good things that happen to your friends, even if good things aren’t happening to you. You only criticize friends when you feel you absolutely have to. A friend improves you and helps you succeed and enjoy life. If you disagree with this stuff, you have no idea what friendship is. You probably have no real friends. You may be a psychopath. At best, you’re underdeveloped, and you need to grow up.

Maybe I should work harder to keep friends and change them. Maybe that’s one of my shortcomings as a friend. But I think you can tell when a person is willing to change and when he’s not. And now that I think about it, I know I’ve talked to friends many times about issues we’ve had. I should be better about going to them first instead of complaining to other people, though.

On balance, I think I’m right about letting friends go. No one has more than four or five friends. Regardless of what they think. The rest are just extras. Nice to have around, but not to be relied upon.

I feel like a friend ought to be able to tell when I’m no longer excited about the relationship. If I never call you back, or I never take you up on your invitations, you say we should do this or that and I always change the subject instead of answering, or you find yourself carrying the entire weight of the friendship, you ought to realize things have changed. Am I wrong? Sometimes you have to end romantic relationships very explicitly, maybe in some cases with tear gas and a bean bag gun, but I’ve usually found that friends don’t have to be told when things have frozen over.

I don’t want to spend the weekend with this guy and his kids. I don’t want him spending $1500 on a fishing trip for me. There is no way I’d spend that kind of money on him. I’d spring for dinner, sure. But I hope he doesn’t expect me to show up or send presents when his kids get married. I’m sorry to say it, but I wouldn’t pay for an airline ticket to go to his funeral. If it was across town, sure. But fly? No way.

Dinner would be fine. I’m really glad he’s doing well; he has earned it, and he has a family to support. It would be nice to hear from him every couple of years. But this is like appearing on someone’s doorstep after twenty years and yelling “ROAD TRIP!” Like everything will be fine if we just start texting each other every day. The lack of communication isn’t the problem. The problem is, I’ve changed.

Asymmetrical relationships are so uncomfortable.