It was the first day of Kindergarten. I was huddled by the big tree on the playground, scared to talk to anyone. Stephen came up to me and introduced himself. "Hi, I'm Stephen." I looked up. "Hi, I'm Anna." "You want to be friends?" he asked. We've been friends for 23 years and counting.
Many times since, I've lamented it's not always that easy to make friends. Especially with guys, and especially as a single chica. Sure, it's easy at the beginning, but there's often underlying emotions, expectations. You ask how his day is, and he hears, "I want to jump on you." Or he asks how your day is, and you hear, "I want to take you to dinner. And buy you roses. And chocolates. And tell you you're beautiful.*" More or less. Point is - it can get complicated. But every once in awhile, people come along and remind me it can still be that easy.
It was the first Friday of school. Our section just finished last in the MBA games, but we dominated flag football, which I’m pretty sure is the lead indicator of athleticism. My personal fave of the highlight reel was Joe catching a pass, thinking he had scored, and celebrating as if he had just caught the winning TD against the Buckeyes. We all yelled at him to get to the line of scrimmage, as his flag had been yanked at the two yard line, and we had five seconds to score before halftime. But I also smiled, because his eyes had lit up like a boy at Christmas.
As I was leaving, I stopped to say goodbye to my teammates. Ryan told me they would be playing beer pong later, and while I’m terrible at the game, I thought that was nice and told myself I would go. I was determined to make friends at school, and tapping into my twenty-one year old self seemed an excellent avenue to do so.
Nine o'clock rolled around, and I walked over to 909 Packard for the second time. The first had been a welcome barbecue for our section, and I credit the house's extreme hospitality as one of the reasons our group of classmates is so close. I peeked in the front door, and it was not nearly as crowded as the barbecue. In fact, there were just five housemates eating dinner. I was nervous. What if they didn't want me there? I could just go back to my couch and binge watch Netflix. I told the butterflies in my stomach to fly away and knocked on the door, because I was going to make friends, darn it.*
They graciously invited me to pull up a chair and join their meal. No one else ever came, but we spent the evening reliving the nineties, belting out everything from Kelly Clarkson to Everclear. And leading the sing-a-longs was Joe.
Joe is captivating. He will regale an entire room with his opinions of Matthew McConaughey's unparalleled greatness, all the reasons the Dayton Flyers are a team worth rooting for, or a humiliating story from his past.* He's persuasive. He can convince a room of grown men to chug milk for good luck. And he's contagious. He loves life to the last drop and brings a smile to those around him, whether it's the hockey team he helped coach or a group of MBA students reliving their youth on a Saturday night at Circus. Like many at Ross, he's smart, driven, and humble. And he's an inspiring fantasy football coach who pushed his team to a victory against Sugga Momma Bears, a bet on which was the catalyst for this post.
But I would have written it, anyways, because most of all, he and his housemates made my transition to a new stage of life so very simple and entertaining. For that, I am extremely thankful. And I think we will still friends in 23 years.*
* Playing gender stereotypes, I know.
* Little did I know I would be spending many a funky Friday night there, and they continue to tolerate me - even when I request my favorite song fifteen times in a row.
* I think he may have a wider range of embarrassing stories than I, which is an impressive feat.
* Even if it's only him rubbing a Cleveland loss in my face.
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