Dear Friend

October 5, 2008

Dear friend,
I have often times felt like a burden. Not an uncommon feeling, by far, but certainly unwarranted at times; amongst my family, primarily, though with the tendency to arise in mixed company. There is really no apparent reason, for truly my life has been one to be envied. No disputes, no issues, nothing outside of the high standards of Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood. My father, the hard worker and honorable, who misses my birthday every year, no matter what. My sister, the athlete I would never be, who I’m sure will suffer as I have beneath the expectations of my parents. My mother, the enlightened, is clearly me with time to let my essence settle.
One never wants to impose if they are pure in intention. Some day, years ago, while getting a bottle of water out of my fridge, I scanned the family calendar held up by a grip of rick-rack magnets. Tae Kwon Do, Dr. Zemel, Radiation, Softball Practice—I know, right? Approaching the subject lightly, I asked, “Mom, isn’t radiation for treating cancer?” She responded equally as lightly with a “Yes, it is.” I am sure a stunned look on my face conveyed my confusion, but, something was dying to be said. “So, do you have cancer?”-- Clearly ridiculous. She carried on, conveying that she would have told my sister and me eventually, and that this was not something to worry over. And it wasn’t. She did not make it a big deal to any extent, and even now, it seems to have hardly an effect. I have the tendency to down-play all of my accomplishments, my blunders and my endeavors. Complaining is just unsightly, and to burden someone with caring about me is simply unacceptable.
In the presence of my closest and most personal friends, however, I am far from a weight on anyone’s shoulders. Legitimately, through years of interaction with people with decades behind them, I have come to discover that I have the emotional maturity of a 32 year old. An attitude has been adapted on my behalf, one of stunning persistence. For the celebration of my eighteenth birthday, a timely three months late, we all went out for a night of debauchery I would never forget. On my way, in the back seat, excitedly nervous with an overwhelming air of confidence looming low, I understood something that I knew most never would—I have the ability to move myself into a state of infinite power. When I walk through a door, unconcerned with the opinions or authority of those inside, I am infinite. To show up where I want, looking however I want, and make it clear that I belong. Infinity is taking your sixth shot, having two strippers be interested in you for more than moist dollar bills, while being rightfully considered barely legal—and walking away, careless. To act like one doesn’t care is a test of will, but to actually not care is the tell of superiority.
I do hope you feel my regret for having to tell you all of this, for I am sure you are busy with better things than my well-being, but really, you can spare a moment or two. But do you see now why I have such problems with dating?

Kiss-Kiss,
Dante