I had real trouble making friends when I was young. I had asthma which made me a wheezy weirdo who often had to sit out gym class and had allergies that made snack time a pain for the teacher and impossible to invite to birthday parties and sleepovers. This was long before life-threatening allergies were common, and people had sympathy for sufferers. That coupled with the fact that I could not have a friend over because I never knew what the hell was waiting for me there. Would it be the quiet (hungover) father who grunted in my direction and ignored me as long as I was quiet? Would it be the boozy amusing father who smiled and told amusing but inappropriate stories, embarrassing me to death, or would it be the swaying, half-falling-down guy who slurred his words and made no sense but would scream the house down if you did not do what he was asking. Nope, it was too big a risk. It was much better to have people just assume you were sickly and weird and not need friends than to risk having them see what went on in your life.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Thing With Feathers to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.