Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

I am more than sixty years beyond my first childhood, but today I smiled to see children playing the age-old game of hide and seek.  Everyone else hid while “it” counted to ten then called, “Here I come, ready or not!”

When “it” found and tagged another player, he or she became the next “it.”  Several children ran fast enough to touch home base before being tagged and were safe for the next round.  Finally “it” called, “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” and the players still hiding raced for home with many delighted shrieks and giggles.

I was never quick at hide and seek, so I had to be clever in hiding.  But I wasn’t clever at hiding either, so I was “it” most of the time.

One essential question when you grow up is when to hide and when to run, screaming silently with fear and delight, to the safety of home.  And it is no longer entirely a game.  When should you be self-contained, keeping thoughts and emotions to yourself, and when should you allow yourself the thrill of a mad dash for home, vulnerable and free?  The answer is tricky, because it depends on who you are and who you are with, as well as the subject matter.  There is no “one size fits all” solution, but let’s take a look at grownup hide and seek.

When I was twelve or thirteen I became obsessed with the idea of convincing a girl to love me.  I haunted the library and read more than a few books.  I finally found one sentence in one book which helped.

“If you want someone to love you, love them first.”

I decided then and there, even though I didn’t start dating for another three or four years, that I would be the first to say “I love you.”  To be safe I practiced on my mom.  She was a saint and always loved me back.  Always.

With teenage girls it wasn’t so easy, and since I was fat and geeky I didn’t have much opportunity. But in the tenth grade when I finally said “I love you” to Cathy Ferris she told me she was planning to go steady with my debate partner and my heart was crushed.

Twenty five years later I met my writing idol, Ray Bradbury, in the lobby of a theater after seeing his new play, still a work in progress. He was definitely nervous, and possibly inebriated.

“Mr. Bradbury,” I said, “I’ve loved your writing for twenty years.”  It was a little awkward, but sincere.

As we shook hands he seemed to glare at me. “Hmph.  I’ve been writing for a lot longer than twenty years.”

Instantly his image morphed into something ugly inside my heart.  I felt rejected that night and for a long time after.

A few years ago I realized my mistake.  I got the “I love you” part right, but missed the heart of it.  I was using “I love you” to get an “I love you” back.  I wasn’t giving.  I was trying to receive.

Today when I say, “I love you,” or “You’re one of my favorite authors,” I focus exclusively on what I am giving.  Isn’t that the essence of love?

So when the time is right you might give it a shot.  Tell your partner, your parents, or your kids, “I love you.”  Say to a friend, “I appreciate you.”  Or leave a reply on this blog.  Share your delight.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

NEXT WEEK:  “The Compliment.”  One of the best compliments I have ever received, and it was from my wife.

Alan