Push

Old, drifted friends visited last night. I kept thinking of the LeCarre line, that as we grow older, we tend to settle to people. Strong proof to me that I have (believe it or don't) mellowed over the last three years. I can see all the former annoyances and angers, but they seem like gentle swells rather than crashing waves. I can see my own sins, grey and prickly, acceptingly. I see their peculiarities with similar fading, pastels that once glared neon. Good people, good to know.

Only one habit still rankles, not for my own sake. I love D entire, see him as a whole soul, no part amiss, nothing to be changed, no lump out of place, all expressive of an utter personal perfection at this moment in time. He does not drink. He does not drive. His brain is on the mild end of the autism-ADD spectrum, giving him in compensation a phenomenal memory and focus, with insight. This is a person who should not drive, lest he risk his and other's lives. Alcohol has never appealed, and recent experiments - for cardiac benefits - have been abandoned as inconclusive to irrelevant. He certainly hated the disassociation of morphine and other narcotics while healing his shattered elbow, though necessary for physical therapy and a version of sleep. Alcohol for him is like taking glasses away from the myopic, not the reason most people drink. (I drink to take an hour's vacation from my overactive vigilance reaction.) And yet, the push, the pressure, that he should learn how to drive, remains.

His parents do much the same, want him to become a professor, to drive, to return to their church, or whatever other solution to his life they find that week. (They would be horrified that he's tasted gin, but really, it did nothing noticeable. Those Welsh genes in action.) As though his life needs solving, with the implied criticism.

I despair. He is a loving, kind, gentle, intelligent, skilled, funny and decent human being, that I am honored to know, nonetheless get to live my life with. Why do they want him to be otherwise? What do they think they can improve? I knew within a few week of really knowing him that pushing him was like pushing a cat. It doesn't work, and it annoys the cat. He listens to me, because he trusts my judgement, an influence I take with great gravitas. I know he knows himself best, and I trust his assessment of himself. When others will not accept that he really does know, assuming their advice trumps his, I cannot help but think less of them. His life is his life, our life together. We think we're doing pretty well.

This is the aspect of this part of the country, this culture, that once drove us East. To a city that didn't give a damn about us, such a relief, respite. HERE insists we take it all personally, and we politely decline. We are older now, wiser, stronger. We brought back our fortification, our big stick. Don't mess with us. Don't mess with D. Well greased, letting the intrusive helpfulness slip aside.

Shove not, lest ye be shoved.