Friends. Ever stop to think about your friends who wish you a happy birthday? They are taking time from their day to do that. Time they could be using in their lives, they are willing to spend in yours. Isn’t that one of the most phenomenal things you ever heard of? One of the most unselfish acts you will ever encounter?

Why do they think I am important enough to do that? I don’t think they ever think about that. It’s just that a friend should be reminded today that we are glad he’s here. A gesture of the highest human kind.

I in turn wonder if I have lived up to the expectations that my friends have of me. Exactly what have I done to deserve their friendship? What’s so rewarding about that is that I’m just me, and that is enough for my friends.

They don’t expect me to be someone else, to try and pretend to be someone else. Just plain, old, simple me is sufficient.

I’ve never really done anything outstanding, no plaques of note to hang on the wall, nothing to be written up in the paper about, never written anything spectacular on Facebook, never really made their lives better.

Yet my friends have made my life better by just knowing them, by their pausing on this day, because they thought they should.

It is me that should remind them of what that means to me. Sure, I tried to answer every birthday greeting that was sent to me. But that’s small measure for their thoughts, their efforts, their kindness.

Poets have written about friends in much more profound words than I could ever come up with, than I could ever imagine, and yet I mustn’t borrow their words to say what I think. I must diligently find my own words, for others’ words in this instance do not have the center of gravity I need, do not express what my feelings are.

Maybe if I can define a friend, that’s what I need to do. That’s difficult, because a friend is so much. They listen to you when you should shut up. They find just the right words to send you when your day is lagging and dragging. And most importantly, they are there.

So here goes, in my limited poetic ability, for I must think of what I can think of, and not what I wish I could think of, or hope I could think of. A little nostalgia, a little humor, a little emotion.

Explanation of Friendship

Burma Shave







Add comment