Today’s songs are: “Just Give Me A Reason” by Pink, “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac, “Gone, Gone, Gone” by Phillip Phillips, and “Keep Your Head Up” by Andy Grammer.
So today we go back to full length posts and I want to talk about something that’s really very important to me: Friendship and the effect just a little kindness can have on saving someone. Personally, I’ve always thought that humans and dogs have a lot in common. The best of both would stick with you even if you were trapped in a burning building. Meanwhile, the worst of them will shit and piss all over and tear up your whole damn house no matter how kind you are or how hard you try to teach them otherwise. Call me a cynic if you want, but the similarities are pretty easy to see when you really think about it.
Now I don’t talk about them very often, because I find that the more you brood over something, the more it drags you down – but I will tell you I have my fair share of regrets; some a little mundane, and some downright staggering. And probably, the ones that burden me most all relate back to the very people who first saved my life: my friends.
Strange as it may be, I didn’t actually make any friends or really socialize with people up until I started high school. I wasn’t home schooled or anything, it’s just that from the time I was three years old until shortly after I turned twelve, I lived in a quiet little town where everyone knew everyone else’s business. Naturally, my family being the way it was, this meant that everyone from teachers and other adults all the way down to kids my own age all viewed me with a certain sort of stigma. I kid you not, when I was first grade, only one girl in the entire school dared to play with me…and then one day, she just didn’t anymore. I remember stubbornly asking her why again and again while she struggled to ignore me, and finally she told me, “My daddy said you’re family is a bad influence.”
After that, I suppose I just gave up. All around me, I could only see adults who treated me like a contagious disease and children who followed their example and scorned me just the same. Nearly every day I ended up someone’s target, so nearly every day, I also ended up in multiple fights. Of course, regardless of who said or did what, my family’s reputation preceded me and when it came to discipline, I was always seen to be the one at fault. My only defense was to be as invisible yet intimidating as possible, so I kept quiet and made it so that even my relaxed expression was that of a cold and indifferent glare. To be blunt, I had no personality, no sense of self, and no social skills – which of course gave me a hell of a time when I suddenly relocated to a place where no one knew my family or my past and so of course, didn’t treat me like a filthy stray to be shooed away.
My seventh and eighth grade years were awkward to say the least. Imagine being dropped in a foreign country where you know you don’t belong, but strangely enough, no one else seems to recognize the obvious differences. People walk up to you speaking a language you don’t know and reciting customs you can’t understand, and all you can do is freeze and stare at them like a deer caught in headlights because simply lack any ability to communicate. I didn’t really come into my own until I started high school, and by then, I had already made a bit of a reputation as an oddball.
My freshman year during the first week of school, I was spotted out by some of my peers for my eccentricity, and when they tried to bully me I reacted exactly as I had learned to during my childhood years. Unfortunately, my new home wasn’t like my old one. The bullies there rarely picked physical fights, they just used their words to spread rumors and humiliate you as best they could – and since they weren’t really looking for a confrontation, the moment I called them out their crap and stood up for myself, the spineless cowards ran off to the school administrators. Next thing I know, I’m being pulled out of class and my locker and backpack are being searched for some “hit-list” I supposedly said I had. Truth be told, I was terrified. I knew how to fight, I had even held my own against a rag-tag gang of druggies one of my brothers had stiffed, but in the face of all these adults scrutinizing me and treating me like a criminal, I feared I would once again have to regress to the kind of life I lived before. So, when the administrators began to interrogate me mercilessly, I shut down. With my lips sealed shut and my hands clenched at my side so they wouldn’t tremble, I donned the familiar glare I had once perfected. I despised and distrusted “adults”, and if I was going to be put down by them, I certainly wouldn’t let them see me cry.
When they called in the school counselor assigned to me, however, I was caught off guard. Instead of looming over me, Mrs. Warec actually sat down across from me. She smiled at me kindly rather than turning up her nose at my glare. And then, she asked me for my side of the story – and just like that, all I could do was bite my lip and swallow down sobs, struggling to speak clearly as I told her everything that the other kids had said to me. For the next four years, she was one of my greatest allies.
Along with Mrs. Warec, I also had Mrs. Williams – my science teacher freshman and junior years. I was horrible with the subject, so she made time to teach me everything step by step, even if it meant coming in earlier to help me. When I needed to vent to about my home life, she and Mrs. Warec always had a moment to listen. In my senior year, Mrs. Williams paid for all my graduation fees. Later, Mrs. Warec nominated me for the local Rotary Club’s Challenge Scholarship, and when my own mother refused to take me to the luncheon to receive the award, Mrs. Warec was the one who drove me and stood beside me the entire time. On the day of the Challenge Scholarship luncheon, my senior year Journalism teacher, Mrs. Waddens, and my Spanish teacher, Senora Uraz, brought me dress clothes, a pair of nice shoes, and even arranged for the school cosmetics team to give me a makeover. It wasn’t just them though. My junior year Journalism teacher, Mrs. Bagell, encouraged me to write and set a goal for my future, and was the first person who ever took the time to read any of my stories. I had never met such kind adults; they restored my faith in humanity and gave me a future – no joke.
Aside from them, I also managed to make many friends from various social groups – all whom treated me with kindness and kinship despite how much of an oddity I was considered to be by most of my peers. I hate to be grim, but if not for them giving me something I would’ve regretted abandoning, I likely would’ve killed myself before my eighteenth birthday.
Still, it’s a strange thing how often I found myself betraying my own standards as soon as I had something I wanted to protect. At my house, I was dealing with my mom’s drug-addict and abusive behavior, as well as the behavior of her married coke-fiend boyfriend, Chuck. I was severely depressed, barely sleeping at night, and at times, even hearing voices. Even so, I woke myself up every morning, went to school, and smiled and laughed with my friends no matter how much I was hurting inside. I never wanted them to find out about my family or my home life because I was afraid of both having them turn away from me and also of having them become involved in things that would only hurt them. I kept so many secrets for people who didn’t deserve my loyalty and told so many lies to the people who did, and when I graduated, I smiled and pretended I’d be able to keep in touch and that we would remain close. I never got to tell any of them a proper thank you. I never was able to explain just how much they meant to me or how much their kindness saved me.
It’s been over two years since then and I’ve been dreaming of the day when I’ll be able to travel back to that place and see those people face to face again, so I can finally tell them everything I should’ve said the first time around. It’s one of the main reasons I’m so intent on getting a job. Sometimes I think back to the first time I ever told a friend about my, “Dogs and Humans are alike” theory. I remember she looked me in the eyes and said, “Maybe so, but you’re different, Azariah. You’re more like a wolf – you’re fierce, wild, and mysterious, but gentle, loyal, and entrancing all at the same time. And even though you try to act all tough and independent, you still treat everyone equally and look out for us when we’re in trouble.”
Honestly, I’ve only recently come to hold myself in as high a regard as that person did. If I must say so myself though, it’s only thanks to the pack-mates who made me strong and helped me survive. After all, before I was a “Wolf”, I was just another stray – weakly staggering about and seeking out the comrades that would give me a “Home.” I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again, but I’ll never forget any of them. And if you ask me, each of them was as great and true a wolf as I’ve ever seen.
– Azariah
By the way, I reached 100 views yesterday!! Thanks so much to everyone who has been so kind as to read along! Two more weeks until this assignment is due, so I hope you all continue reading. And once again, don’t be shy and leave me some comments – I’d really love to hear some feedback.
The World According to a Wolf 