My Label? Hot Iron, If Needed

Bob had a lot of autistic friends. I have mentioned this before. Perhaps I mention it too much. After all they’re just people, and pretty much everyone has something that makes them unique. Everyone has challenges, flaws, different abilities, and of course,  strengths. Whoops, did I just parrot Donald Trump’s, “some of them are very nice people?” That was not my intent.

The difference between someone on the spectrum and me is that they have a diagnosis. Terms like autism, asperger's, bipolar, or even terms like shy, provide a kind of shortcut to understanding how a person is or what to expect. Or so the theory goes. Labeling can also be seen as racist, sexist, anti-Semitic, homophobic. So use labels with care.

See, I’m difficult. That’s not a malady, officially, but it can be a challenge. There are probably less flattering terms for whatever I am, but I tend to have great difficulty forming and maintaining friendships lately, so I’m not around to hear what people really think of me. Worse yet, maybe they don’t think of me at all.

I come on too strong. I have a lot to say about everything. And I can interact for long periods with people before realizing I haven’t delved into what they are all about. I know I do this, and yet I struggle with being equitable and positive while still being authentic. All those metas playing in my head can cause me to shut down. Oh, and I often overstay my welcome.

Since Bob died I spend long stretches of time alone. I feel guilty asking people to spend time with me, though I have an amazingly high turn-down rate. I just always feel like I’m imposing.

I’ve been spending some time with one of Bob’s best friends, going to movies, out to eat, chatting online and on the phone. Regular friend stuff. He’s on the spectrum, but as he says, “I’m my own man.” He works, rents an apartment, and is quite active socially. I kind of envy the ease with which he moves thru the world. Not that it’s a contest, but he’s winning.

I recently was about to take his picture as two pretty college girls were walking by, so I invited them to pose with my friend. Ya know, wingman stuff. If he ever wanted to meet a girl, I’d probably find a way to introduce them. Why not? So he has a friend I’m kinda crushing on, and yesterday as we were IMing, he called me on the phone. Turns out he was hanging out with his hot friend*, so he calls me and puts the guy on the phone to say hi. He did me a solid! Pretty awesome.

I’m not saying it’ll go anywhere. I could give you a hundred reasons why it won’t. But my new pal didn’t worry about any of that. He just sprang into action. I respect that.

All this happened after I got back home from a birthday party I got invited to by inquiring about my brother’s mention of it. I didn’t know anyone too well, known the birthday girl since childhood, but it’s not as if we hang out, and then my bro was a no-show. So here I am, this scrawny, over-50, quite-openly-gay widower in a pimped out microcar, covered in temporary tattoos and wearing a toupee. I put myself out- met most everyone, had a lot of sparkling conversation and tons of great food. But I’m not sure I belonged there. I never stopped worrying that I was coming on too strong and maybe I should go. But everyone was super nice and it was so sweet to extend me an invite.

Best of all, I didn’t have to spend another Saturday night alone.

*Post Script: The person my friend had me say hello to on the phone was not the guy I’ve been crushing on. It was another friend I haven’t seen in a while. Totally changes the dynamic of the story, but it was still nice.