Candy Man

In junior high, my entrepreneurial spirit took hold and I began selling candy at my school. This was not the sort of sanctioned candy sale put on by one of the school's organizations or at the school book shop. No, this was my own sort of shop, where I wandered around the school with tons of (at the time) kids' favorite candies - Now and Laters, bubble gum, Lemon Heads, Fireballs, etc. The candy was concealed in my long winter coat. Through a twist of fate, the inside pocket of my coat had torn and I was able to use the entire lining of the coat as an enormous pocket for the stashing of my product. Sure, some kids at other schools sold illegal narcotics, but at our school, sugar was our students' drug of choice and I was their supplier.

The profits were enormous, as I was able to markup everything by 100%, and I had no real overhead costs. Sure, in some cases, I had to take the time to repackage everything. For example, when you buy a bag of 100 sticks of gum, you need to break it down into something more palatable to your average junior high consumer, like bags of ten. There was some effort involved, however, as the nearest store from which I could replenish my stash was about 10 miles away - 10 miles of insane, mountainous hills. Fortunately, my mother was supportive of my new found career, once I told her about it.

Unfortunately, my school was not as pleased with my job creation spirit and did not seem to feel I should be aiding the youth of America in their pursuit of a sugar fix and early onset diabetes. I guess they wanted to have the market cornered for themselves. In any event, after much back and forth, and repeated harassment, my budding career was brought to a halt. Mostly as a result of supplier difficulties. I guess the only people more upset with me selling candy to the masses were the ones supplying me with the product. Even though the store that supplied me was in a completely different town and they were incredibly unlikely to be able to sell to these people otherwise, they were somehow outraged that I was able to make such a sweet profit. They probably would have never known I was doing it but I guess sooner or later they got suspicious as to where the seemingly limitless supply of candy I was buying week-in and week-out was going and questions were asked.

Another bright future cut short. In retrospect, however, it was one of my favorite jobs. I set my own prices and my own hours and I never had to worry about someone else slacking off.

Put It On

When I was in school, we had health education. The most uncomfortable portion of the whole class, of course, was sex education. All sorts of inaccurate, yet clinical sounding, information was floated about once we had exceeded the teacher's knowledge, and of course there was the banana. After all, that's what you're going to need to put a condom on, right, a yellowish curved fruit that will one day over-ripen and turn into an odd colored mush in your hands. (Hmm, maybe they were on to something.)

One of the fundamental principals that we had drummed into us during these classes was directed at the ladies, as they were constantly instructed that men wouldn't want to wear a condom. They would come up with all sorts of excuses about sensitivity and lack of pleasure and the woman was to disregard these obviously false statements and insist on him wearing it, and not worry about whether or not he was still going to love or stay with them. If the man really cared, he'd wear the condom. Men were, of course, instructed to wear protection and that it was important, but mostly only because it made the woman's job easier. Ultimately, the woman was put in place as the gate keeper. We'd watch those stupid health class videos where the guy would come up with all the excuses our teachers said they would and the woman would triumphantly insist on the man wearing the condom. We, as men, were trained to assume that women wouldn't sleep with us unless we wore condoms, or if they did, we'd have to come up with some sneaky way around it.

Since then, I learned that women often do not perform their role as gate keeper in this, or often any other, area. I have had far more women insist that I don't wear a condom than ever ask me to put one on. "Do you really have to wear that?" "It doesn't feel the same when you have one of those on." Wait a second, why were these ladies using all the lines men were supposed to use. In school, they had taught us that we were the ones that would fight not to put one on, not the other way around. I felt wholly unprepared. The videos all taught us that men wouldn't want to wear a condom and that really we were only supposed to wear them so that the woman wouldn't feel uncomfortable. Now, it seemed that the only thing that would make them uncomfortable was if I actually heeded the words that had been imparted to me in health class.

So while there seems to be much debate about whether there is too much health (and sex) education in our schools. I happen to feel there isn't anywhere near enough. I know I certainly wouldn't have minded being more prepared for the inevitable time that all that training was about to be put to excellent use. Although, I still question the wisdom of the banana.

Free at Last

Every now and again, I'll catch a flicker of just the right hair color or just the right body type and I'll be instantly reminded of an ex. Sometimes it will be a fond recollection and other times it will be a bitter fleeting thought that I would just as soon forget. There are also the rare occasions where I will suddenly be filled with remorse and regret. The thought creeps in that perhaps I made the biggest mistake ever. Perhaps she was the one for me. No faith in my own decision making - it was an issue I had to address in therapy. "What do you mean that's a bad thing?"

I remember she used to ask me, and her other friends, for hours on end what we thought of Fred's behavior. It was a terrible exercise in futility, as we would all validate her feelings and tell her how right she was to be feeling the way she did, but then she would confront him and her entire self-esteem and boundaries would immediately crumble. We simply believed in her more than she believed in herself, a terribly unfortunate way to live. "He's not like you. He doesn't understand me the way you do. It's not his fault. I just need to be better. You don't understand him the way I do. You don't see how much potential he has." It's always frightening when you see others' dysfunctions in yourself. However, it's also relieving because it's that recognition and admission that can lead to recovery or behavior modification (as they like to call it).

However, there were other issues that I also had to address and, at times, it's difficult for me to look back and discern whether I got in the way of myself somewhere along the line. This self-doubt and concern can haunt me for days, as I reevaluate and reassess. But every now and again, something spectacular happens where the ex does something so annoying that I am immediately reminded of all the reasons she made me miserable and I am instantly glad to be away, with no regrets to ever haunt me again.

"She really did that?"

"Yeah. Pretty crazy, huh?"

"I can't believe you stayed with her for as long as you did."

"I was too busy being afraid that leaving would be a bigger mistake than staying to see just how unfulfilled I was. I kept thinking someone else would make the decision for me. I kept hoping that someone would say the magic words that finally gave me the courage and freedom to leave. What it took me time to learn was that I always had that freedom and only I could see it through."

You Should Read This

I started reading one of my books about codependency the other night. I think one of the problems with those books is they often discuss the severe cases or the cases that have, eventually, escalated out of control. Much like alcoholism, it's usually a progressive illness, worsening with time if left untreated. I felt like if I lent the book to one of my friends, they could easily shake it off and laugh, as it wouldn't really apply to them. After all, I don't have many friends dating alcoholics or drug addicts. I've had a couple, but they either grew out of it or eventually left the relationship, or we've lost touch. However, I know several codependents. In fact, in my life, I was often attracted to codependent women. I think it's probably because of the way I was raised. I felt that if maybe I shared one of their stories, it might have more of an impact.

In law school, I knew a girl named Liz. Liz was married to this guy named Fred. Liz was fairly unhappy about that fact. She really didn't like Fred. She didn't feel like he really understood her or the things that were important to her. She didn't feel that he was supportive of her in many ways and when she tried to talk to him about it, he usually made her feel like she was overreacting or being ridiculous. Liz couldn't leave Fred because she couldn't figure out anything that he really did wrong. He was a good provider. He made good money. He didn't beat her. Her family would never understand. And she constantly worried that it might be a mistake to leave. "What if he's the one I'm meant to be with?" She kept hoping Fred would either change or leave her.

Eventually, Liz had an affair and Fred found out about it. Liz figured Fred had to leave now. I mean, c'mon, she had been cheating on him. But Fred didn't want to leave. Fred cried and said he wanted to save their marriage. This caught Liz off guard. She explained that she didn't want to work on anything. She wanted a divorce. He wouldn't give her one. She said that she wouldn't stop sleeping with other men. He didn't care. He cried and begged and Liz decided she had to stay for a while. After all, she did love him and he was a nice guy. He really had always been the same guy. He just had never changed, or become the person she envisioned him being, despite all her efforts. Liz went home to see her family and they all confessed that they thought Liz had been unhappy for a while and that if she wanted to leave Fred, they fully understood. Fred said he wanted to have children. Liz changed her hair.

Liz started seeing a psychologist, a really good psychologist. Liz's psychologist diagnosed Liz as a codependent and he was pretty sure Fred was too. Liz couldn't leave Fred still. They'd fight and argue but she couldn't do it. She just didn't have it in her and she didn't know what her life would be like without a relationship. She had always had a man in her life.

Liz got offered a job far away. Her psychologist said that when she took the job, she should ask for a trial separation from Fred. "It doesn't have to be permanent. Just some time away so that you can truly assess your feelings about this relationship."

"Why do you look frightened?"

"I'm worried that if I do what you're asking, I'll never go back with him."

"From everything I know about you and everything you've told me, you won't, but you will actually need to complete the separation to make a rational and healthy decision. No contact for at least three months. None. If he respects you and loves you, he will give you this time."

Liz did it. It was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. She walked away from Fred and moved, beginning her trial separation. It lasted all of three days.

Liz couldn't take it. She missed Fred. He wasn't that bad after all. And he did love her. I mean, he had stayed and he said he loved her. "He just doesn't understand how to make me feel loved. That's not his fault." Liz was still trying to make excuses for Fred and enable his behavior. It's what codependents do, and she had stopped therapy after she moved. Liz isolated herself from all of her friends, didn't return their calls, wouldn't go out with them and soon left town with Fred.

I recently spoke with a friend of Liz's, who occasionally speaks with her still. "I spoke to Lizzy the other day."

"How is she?"

"She's still miserable with Fred. Nothing in her life has changed one bit. They're the exact same couple they were years ago, maybe a little worse. I just don't get it. How could she be that miserable and still stay?"

Give Me, Give Me What I Cry For

I used to think she didn't care or that she was incapable of considering the thoughts, needs, wants, or desires of others when it came to shopping. I still remember one of the first gifts she got me. You could tell she loved it. It was quite possibly one of the best gifts anyone could have ever gotten her. I, unfortunately, did not share her taste with respect to that particular item and ended up giving it to her.

It was often upsetting to her that she never knew what to get me. I always seemed to have all of these wonderful little thoughtful gift ideas for her, but then she would bring her mind to bear on what to get me, it would come up blank. I often interpreted this as meaning that she really just didn't care or didn't know me. It seemed all of the ideas that she came up with often fell short of what I would want and were more in-line with her preferences. It would make her so frustrated, and I would be so frustrated because she was so upset.

All I really wanted, usually, was a gift card and a day of fun with her, but this didn't make sense to her. Where were the objects displaying our love? Where was the commericalism? How could we really love each other unless we bought lots of things for each other? Time wasn't really anything important?

Yet, it seemed she often seemed so much more considerate to others with whom she wasn't as close. Why did they generate more consideration and thoughtfulness from her than me? Wasn't I supposed to be just as, if not more, important than them. It just didn't make any sense. She just must not care for me.

Then today, I read about a study just released from The University of Chicago. It turns out that people are often worse at buying presents for their loved ones than complete strangers because they often feel that the other person's tastes must be similar to their own. "Not only do we feel overconfident that we’ll pick something they like, but our tendency to assume that we are extremely similar to the ones we love also motivates us to ignore cues that don’t support preconceived notions." Perhaps this year, more people would be better off pretending like they were still getting to know their loved ones when they go to pick that perfect gift, rather than believing that they already know them all too well. Or maybe everyone should just pick out their own gifts.

Flying

She sat in the car and began adjusting the stereo. The music, quite obviously, did not suit her mood. However, the next selection only suited her briefly. In the interim, she began moving objects in my car, thoroughly distracting me from driving. I started to wonder if I had ever ridden in the same car with her before, as such constant fidgeting would normally have been punishable by death or at least avoidance of the same vehicle. Suddenly I realized that I had known her for a year; we went lots of places together; of course, I had ridden with her before, but she had never been like this. What the heck was wrong with her?

One cannot ask these questions of her because not only will you not get a response, you'll make it less likely that you'll ever actually find the answer you ultimately seek. No, with her it is much more like fishing, where you wait in the bitter, bitter cold, and hope that something bites. (In Florida the fishing is comparably warmer, but not at all what I am used to.)

Traffic was quite a nuisance and we were late as it was. Her flight was leaving in a couple of hours and I needed to get her there in time for check-in. In my world, check-in is merely a guideline and not a rule, as I've sailed through security in as little as ten minutes as the airport crew rush me through all the procedures. However, the hour minimum to her was mandatory and not to be deviated from. I had arrived to her house on-time but she, of course, was late. The story of her life, late for everything but always moving like a small tornado. Truly a marvel to watch.

She picked up my iPod. The nice thing about an iPod is that even if you have never touched one before in your life, you quickly figure out how to access everything on it without much direction. The cooing sounds of Norah Jones seemed to be calming her down, or maybe I had just gotten used to her colorful animation. No, she was slowing. Something was about to come out of her; she was getting to that stage where lucid communication was possible.

"I'm afraid of flying."

"What?"

...

"Well I guess that explains things."