A few weeks back, I was out for drinks with a buddy of mine. I started talking to a woman, who I thought was just gorgeous. This sounds innocent enough, but it was me talking to a woman.
I said a few things, and she said a few things, and my buddy sat there listening, like a good friend does. He filled in the gaps, helping to ensure that the conversation was running as smoothly as possible for me.
Then, I started really getting into the conversation. I wanted all three of us to come to a mutual understanding of what we were talking about. This is when things got weird.
This is when I got weird.
My buddy, true friend that he is, slowly turned to me and softly said, “You’re being weird.”
I wish more people would tell me when I’m being weird. You know, I’d like it if we could tell people that they have boogers in their nose, that their fly is undone, that they have something in their teeth, or that they’re just saying weird shit.
This sort of mutual support for the social well-being of others would really help me out. I can’t do it alone. If I were to, none of what I do would be weird.
You see, I taught gym class today. Picture that for a second. And, well, kids do weird things, but I encourage them to be weird, believing that they are exploring their creativity. Cartwheels during a game of touch football. Chasing some sort of flubber that they’ve flung into the air. Refusing to play a co-ed game because the they think that the boys are better than the girls.
But, they also come up with neat ideas, like suggesting modifications to a game of tag to make it more interesting and inclusive.
As an adult, society expects me to play by certain rules. As a teacher, I’m led to believe that I’m held to a higher moral standard. It’s not easy for me to be weird. I need people to tell me that that, which I just did, is a weird thing to do.
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