When I was 17, my Junior year in high school, I lived with another family because things were dicey at my parents' house (violently dicey) and I moved out. They were extraordinarily kind and generous, They were stretching money and things were always tight for them, but they found a way to let me live with them for most of my Junior year, Two of the sons (there were 3 boys and one girl) were my best friends.
When I came out, one of the sons, Phill, was not receptive about me coming out at all... he didn't react well. He couldn't accept me being gay... it was a very cold reaction. I didn't talk to him for years. I did talk to the other brother often for several years, but Phill was my best friend. It definitely left an empty spot in me... one I had forgotten about.
I met him yesterday and he and his sister and I went to dinner. He made amends for the way that he reacted... it was tearful... It was amazing... It was amazing to me because he got to clear his conscience. He said that he had carried the regret for the way he reacted for 25 years. It meant a lot to me to see him get some peace around that. It was also beautiful to know that he was still my friend.
He is also surviving colon cancer. I know first hand that this kind of experience can change the way one sees the world radically. It had the same effect on him that it had on me. To sum it up: it's much easier to see the pettiness of pettiness (sounds silly) and let it go... It was only 2006 when he went through all the surgery and chemo... He is currently cancer free but he's not out of the woods yet (they say if you are cancer free for 7 years, you beat it). He has an amazing attitude and has become truly beautiful person.
I am going to celebrate Christmas with one of his brothers, his sister and his parents on Friday.
So far, this has been an amazing trip.
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Understanding can never be made into a habit, a matter of routine; it demands constant watchfulness, alertness. To understand, there must be pliability, sensitivity, a warmth that has nothing to do with sentimentality.
- J. Krishnamurti
