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Best Buddies
"Whenever I attempted to start a conversation, Dan would whip his head around and turn the question into yet another opportunity to talk about college sports."
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By Lauryn Silverman
I have this buddy. I’ll call him Dan. He’s a scrawny blonde haired boy who wears oversized basketball jerseys and a CAL baseball cap everyday, like a uniform. Dan’s an avid sports fan, and he often brings up last night’s game only to hear me apologize, “I don’t really watch sports”. In a more spontaneous friendship, the fact that Dan and I have little in common would most definitely present a problem. But in this case, it’s enough to mix the social scenes up a little, and break the norm.
I met Dan through a high school program called Best Buddies. The organization pairs up students with their physically or mentally disabled peers. I joined the program because it sounded like something I would describe as “priceless” and “meaningful” when I was older.
The first time we had lunch it was awkward. I remember prying Dan from the cafeteria table where he ate all alone, religiously. I convinced him to sit out in the sun on the grass instead. I tried to eat lunch with Dan every Thursday. At first he seldom even showed up, but after getting to know me a little bit, he became more reliable. He even started showing up early, but that didn’t mean he came prepared with chatty icebreakers. A lot of the time, he didn’t say anything. Whenever I attempted to start a conversation, Dan would whip his head around and turn the question into yet another opportunity to talk about college sports.
Even though Dan almost never shared his own opinions, he talked endlessly about what his beloved friend, the CAL mascot, thought about any number of topics. The CAL mascot is a brown bear named Oskie. Dan told me Oskie hates phone calls (which meant I couldn’t call Dan) but loves snow. I thought, “Maybe he’s talking about his own ideas that he’s afraid to share, so he expresses them through Oskie.” I played along, thinking he would get over it. Boy, was I wrong. I felt like I was patronizing him whenever he would say “Oskie is going to the game tonight”, and I would respond, “What are YOU doing tonight?”
The fact of the matter is, even though I’ve met up with Dan every week for the last year, I wouldn’t describe our relationship as a close knit friendship. The counselors at Best Buddies never prepped me on how to hold a good conversation with kids in their program. But honestly, in my case, the most helpful hints would have taught me how to read a scoreboard… I wish I could really get to know Dan, like I know my best friends. I tell them everything. But with Dan, I try to be a good role model. And that creates distance.
I find myself picturing Dan’s life beyond the green grass we always sprawl out on. I imagine him making up excuses for his lack of friends, convincing himself Oskie is the only confidante he needs. I create an image of Dan sneaking Oskie to school with him, flattening the bear against his pocket so no one sees. I can even picture him slouching at the dinner table, being quizzed on what’s new, but not responding…even though I’ve only met his parents in passing.
I realize I am making up a story, piecing together the fragments of Dan’s personality I have caught a glimpse of, in order to feel like I know who he is. The Dan I do know is puzzling and foreign to me, even though I do value our friendship. Maybe just as I can’t fully understand football, I can’t comprehend the thoughts and actions that make Dan who he is.
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