If you're new here, you may want to subscribe to my RSS feed. Thanks for visiting!
Early last summer, right about the time The Lawyer was sending subpoenas for supposedly nonexistent pension accounts, I spent a weekend at a conference for the children’s group associated with my lineage society. I didn’t really want to go: The Child wasn’t especially interested and I was struggling, socially. The divorce that would not end was the only thing on my mind, which makes conversation difficult, particularly when dealing with a room full of complete strangers.
I’m not great in these types of large gatherings, in general, though I seem to have mastered an approach that works for me. I stand in one place for the duration of the event. I find by the end that although I’ve not moved a bit, I’ve talked to quite a few people – but not actually approached anyone or said anything overly stupid in an effort to break the ice.
I’m not an Eskimo, I’m a fish – the Eskimos seem to find me, and they have their own ice-breaking equipment.
The conference is mostly fine, and mostly boring, and mostly doesn’t require a lot of conversation on my part. I sit through presentations, and there is plenty of reading material that I can pretend to read intently when I find myself needing to avoid the interactions that I find so difficult.
This strategy works well, too, until The Child and I find ourselves on a school bus for a field trip. We’re headed to the EMP – Paul Allen’s interactive Seattle music museum – with a busload of total strangers. I can’t pretend to read, and the few people I do know at the conference mostly aren’t there.
Except one family, who live quite far away from me, out on the peninsula. I only sort-of know the father, who serves on the state Board with me and I am pretty sure – but not positive – that I was on a bylaws committee he chaired and did all the work for. I know his teenage daughter better, because I’ve seen her at other events, and she’s a very personable, social girl. She’s also on crutches, which The Child finds fascinating, so it’s easy to join this group: father, teenage girl, and a boy about The Child’s age.
We board the bus together, and I sit with Mr. Faraway. The conversation is easy – at least, it’s easier than the other ones I’ve had that weekend. We chat about kids, and The Teenager’s foot injury, and I am surprised to discover that Mr. Faraway himself does not qualify to be a member of the group: His kids do, but through their mother, so he signed them up and serves on the board and takes them to all sorts of activities and just generally helps out.
I make no effort to conceal my surprise, and wonder for a moment where his wife is. The one who is eligible to be a member is not in attendance.
Leave a Reply