Did you ever have a friend that you were really close with? To the point where you had so many inside jokes that it was like you had your own language, or you had such a bromance that people literally thought you were gay, how about sometimes you actually thought you had the same brain. Well that's my relationship with my best friend Birke.
Birke is the guy that I can have a one on one discussion with for hours and not have an awkward moment or nothing to talk about. He is the guy that I could share anything with no matter how embarrassing. We knew everything about each other and always were there for each other. However, at first it was not all rainbows and butterflies. Our friendship blossomed like a flower, so let's start from the beginning.
It was the first day of seventh grade. I was a innocent little kid who nature never quite favored when it came to growth. I knew nothing of the mysterious "sex" or anything related to the subject. All I knew is that I loved my family and friends and was looking forward to a new year. I didn't have a concern in the world. My family was a tightly knit ship and I had never had a problem with education. My family had money and I got what I wanted. I wasn't bullied and other kids generally seemed to enjoy my presence. I had always surrounded myself with older friends, but these friends had always treated me as almost a little brother. So I never quite was myself around them and the same went for them. Dirty thoughts were not blurted our around me and things that were "grown up" stuff was not intended for my ears. But it was better than nothing.
"Anzetasyeiazio," called out the teacher. The class giggled and I spoke up from the corner the correct pronunciation of my name, Anastasio. Any child with a unique name knows exactly the situation on the first day of school. It consists of you telling teachers how to pronounce your name over and over again, until the next day comes and you rinse and repeat. This goes on for awhile depending on the teacher. It was almost a game to see what the next teacher would call me. It always seemed to me that this would be a difficult task for a teacher to learn and take a shot out in the dark on pronunciation. They wouldn't want to offend anyone but also would want to get the name right for the pride.
My two good friends at the time were Curt and Mitch. Curt was a loud mouth who would always seemed to find trouble. In a crowd of thousands of awkwardly aging seventh graders the teacher always seemed to hone into his voice like a bat with sonar radar. Yet it always seemed to happen and never struck me that he was the common denominator, not the teacher. Mitch was athletic with a mature sense of humor. Mitch was a baseball and football fanatic. The three of us would argue on who was better, the San Diego Chargers( my team), the Atlanta Falcons(Curt's), and the Pittsburg Steelers (Mitch's). I came out of my shy shell with these friends. At first, I was a shy kid and moving didn't help the situation. I am not a risk taker, a rule breaker, a kid that takes a scolding easily, or a outgoing kid. Yet Curt took a chance with talking to me. I could never make the first move of talking to people, so Curt took the reins from there. However, when I grew a solid relationship with him, my web of friends diffused. It was like a tree. I was the shy little seed at first. Once Curt came along, he broke the shell open and a sprout appeared. Curt brought more friends and the tree grew. Those new friends brought new people and the tree kept growing. This was the only convenient option for me considering I was terrible with meeting new people. I need at least one friend there in the group to talk to, then I could be myself. I had always been shy because of the way my mother raised me. A combination of my personality and her strict parenting style didn't help me become an outgoing person. I would bottle up all my energy while at school so I could be the best I could be, so when I arrived home I was a loose cannon. I would bounce of the walls and be a totally different child. I loved my mom and dad and could hang out with them without the slightest of conflicts. mother was never mean but didn't want me to be that kid that runs around in nice restaurants. My mom and dad would bring me to fancy restaurants frequently. And when the dreaded time would come to where we would go with my grandpa, I would need to be extra patient. My grandfather is one of the slowest eaters in the world. He is the exact opposite of those Asian guys on the television that eat quickly, dunking the food in water to make it even faster. He took this time to talk about everything under the sun. The man could talk. Plus, It didn't help that he took four hours out of his schedule to eat with us. It would be a long a treacherous road of my drawing. This is partly why I became so creative and shy. When all you have is a crayon and a napkin to play with for four hours you make due. So, I would sit there and get through it. I have always hated to make my parents disappointed in me. It was never the fear of being reprimanded or beaten but just the little cricket in my head telling me what to do. I was a kid that worried over the smallest of things. It was like they were imprinted into my brain and I would fret over them every waking moment of the day. I never understood it but went along with it.