Today a co-worker called me Jesus (or he was swearing at me, but I prefer the latter explanation), thus triggering a conversation about the nicest compliments we've recieved. So for the sake of opening a forum and maybe a little self-promotion (none of those compliments where that I was particulary humble) I will recount the top three.
(3). In my sophmore year, my dear friend and posse member Jessica came home to find that her mother had passed away in her sleep. Since Jessica had little family, the gang headed over to, well, what do you do in those situations, beside just be there. One by one the gang started to peel away and I, also thinking Jessica would want to be alone, said that I was going to take off and I would call her in the morning. Jessica pulled me aside and said that the gang could go, but would I please stay. Please don't think I was thinking of myself at that moment, but in hindsight, I took it as a compliment that I was the one she would pick to just be there.
(2). My ex, Jadon had a beach house in Rosarito, Mexico, about an hour and half drive from here in San Diego. While he was writing his book, he pretty much stayed out there full time. This beach house happened to be about a mile down the beach from a cancer treatment facility, the sort that has treatments not yet permited in the US by the FDA. It housed quite a few americans, axious for one last hope. Most of them died. Jadon befriended one woman, Debbie*. Debbie was dying, not much doubt there. The first time I met Debbie, I walked in her room and saw her wasted body propped up on pillows; she turned and looked at me with eyes who's sheer alive-ness (I know, I'm making up words) contrasted strongly with her body. She said, "Are you an angel?" What do you say to that? I said no, but that they were on their way.
(1). While I was working at the teddy bear factory in Minnieapolis, I found in the pocket of an apron (we all had to wear them, but you used any that were hanging up, you didn't have your own) a note. It appeared to be part of a letter, a person describing how he felt about the person the letter was for. There were no names on it, to or from. It was beautiful. I couldn't imagine who had written it. I asked around but no one claimed it. Then later I was chatting with Jacob*, a fellow employee, a guy who's multi-color streaked hair was always falling in his face and who quite deliberatly kept everyone shut out of his thoughts and feelings. The note fell out of my apron pocket. Jacob suddenly looked, I'm not sure what the right word would be, nervous? Vulnerable? Happy? Scared? Somewhere inbetween those. It dawned on me that I had found the writer of the letter. Thinking that he would be embarrassed that I had read his letter, I handed the letter with a trite comment along the lines of, "Oh is this yours? Don't worry, I didn't really read ...................". The comment died as epiphany numero dos kicked in. Oh. Ah. Jacob and I dated for a while, sadly it didn't really work out for complicated reasons that I won't bore you with here. And since Jacob never really intended for even me to read what he wrote, I won't violate his privacy by sharing it here. But it was the nicest compliment I have ever recieved.
(3). In my sophmore year, my dear friend and posse member Jessica came home to find that her mother had passed away in her sleep. Since Jessica had little family, the gang headed over to, well, what do you do in those situations, beside just be there. One by one the gang started to peel away and I, also thinking Jessica would want to be alone, said that I was going to take off and I would call her in the morning. Jessica pulled me aside and said that the gang could go, but would I please stay. Please don't think I was thinking of myself at that moment, but in hindsight, I took it as a compliment that I was the one she would pick to just be there.
(2). My ex, Jadon had a beach house in Rosarito, Mexico, about an hour and half drive from here in San Diego. While he was writing his book, he pretty much stayed out there full time. This beach house happened to be about a mile down the beach from a cancer treatment facility, the sort that has treatments not yet permited in the US by the FDA. It housed quite a few americans, axious for one last hope. Most of them died. Jadon befriended one woman, Debbie*. Debbie was dying, not much doubt there. The first time I met Debbie, I walked in her room and saw her wasted body propped up on pillows; she turned and looked at me with eyes who's sheer alive-ness (I know, I'm making up words) contrasted strongly with her body. She said, "Are you an angel?" What do you say to that? I said no, but that they were on their way.
(1). While I was working at the teddy bear factory in Minnieapolis, I found in the pocket of an apron (we all had to wear them, but you used any that were hanging up, you didn't have your own) a note. It appeared to be part of a letter, a person describing how he felt about the person the letter was for. There were no names on it, to or from. It was beautiful. I couldn't imagine who had written it. I asked around but no one claimed it. Then later I was chatting with Jacob*, a fellow employee, a guy who's multi-color streaked hair was always falling in his face and who quite deliberatly kept everyone shut out of his thoughts and feelings. The note fell out of my apron pocket. Jacob suddenly looked, I'm not sure what the right word would be, nervous? Vulnerable? Happy? Scared? Somewhere inbetween those. It dawned on me that I had found the writer of the letter. Thinking that he would be embarrassed that I had read his letter, I handed the letter with a trite comment along the lines of, "Oh is this yours? Don't worry, I didn't really read ...................". The comment died as epiphany numero dos kicked in. Oh. Ah. Jacob and I dated for a while, sadly it didn't really work out for complicated reasons that I won't bore you with here. And since Jacob never really intended for even me to read what he wrote, I won't violate his privacy by sharing it here. But it was the nicest compliment I have ever recieved.
1 Comments:
That was a really wonderful entry. I can google you!
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