What twelve year old child works to understand human nature—the good, the bad, and the ugly? At twelve I'd worked toward getting 100% on my spelling test.
Today, each time I tell or rewrite a story ...
I work to expose the main root of a problem, which had been beyond my comprehension.
I work to expose the main root of a problem, which had been beyond my comprehension.
For example, decades would pass before I considered this probability: At twelve, it's likely that Joseph had had to muster the courage to ask the girl of his choice to that first girl and boy party. And perhaps, upon hearing YES!, Joseph had been just as stunned as I had when that embrace leaped out of his heart, locking our bodies, together, his lips plastered against mine.
Or maybe he'd wanted to do that for a very long time. Again, your guess is as good as mine.
If Joseph had assumed that his spontaneous 'declaration of love' had been brutally dismissed by a girl, who'd obviously not cared a fig for his feelings, then, it stands to reason that humiliation would have burned so deeply into his sense of pride that this vulnerable boy would have spent the night tossing and turning while spewing obscenities—at me—and, most likely, himself.
Or maybe he'd wanted to do that for a very long time. Again, your guess is as good as mine.
If Joseph had assumed that his spontaneous 'declaration of love' had been brutally dismissed by a girl, who'd obviously not cared a fig for his feelings, then, it stands to reason that humiliation would have burned so deeply into his sense of pride that this vulnerable boy would have spent the night tossing and turning while spewing obscenities—at me—and, most likely, himself.
As these assumptions offer a good guy, like Joseph, the benefit of the doubt, you can see my attitude leaning toward positive focus. When no sign of my insecurities arise, my alarms have no reason to blast: DANGER—FIGHT (OR FLEE) FOR YOUR LIFE!
Alas, at twelve, twas natural to focus upon the little that I could see—and so did he.
Tis all Shakespearean—Ingmar Bergmanlike—Woody Allenesque, don't you think? This awareness of one misunderstanding leading to the next ... until the boulder cracks open, at last.
Unfortunately if the boulder doth harden too much to crack then—all's well ends in alas and alack: girl loves boy—boy wins girl—love is blind to reasons why girl gets scared; boy get mad—what's new, Pussy cat? What's next?
Unfortunately if the boulder doth harden too much to crack then—all's well ends in alas and alack: girl loves boy—boy wins girl—love is blind to reasons why girl gets scared; boy get mad—what's new, Pussy cat? What's next?
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