Huggy Bear
Huggy Bear is turning out to be a real linchpin in my connection to the rest of St. Michael's. He's one of a handful of uncloseted, single, gay men in the congregation. At thirty, he is at the higher end of the twenties-thirties group age range and perhaps a little more aware of life passing swiftly by. He's also Crosby's best friend.
I say that with a certain number of qualifications, the foremost being, that out of all of Crosby's many circles of friends it is nearly impossible to identify any one of them as being the one, the only, "best". I've read his Facebook entries from top to bottom. They make interesting reading. They are not that numerous; they almost read like entries from the Old Testament: Crosby or someone else posts a picture of themselves smiling or grinning at the camera and everyone else contributes how drunk he or she were at the time. Until, gradually, one senses the beginnings of a spiritual journey. The posts trail off into a cluster of high school friends, friends from college, his brother, and some cousins, whose most frequent complaint is how infrequently Crosby visits the page.
I am reminded of something I observed about my pupils when I was a Sunday School teacher: the fact that none of them knew each other outside of church. They all went to different private schools; their families rarely visited each other. Their sole connection was through St. Michael's and yet their connections to each other seemed genuine. Crosby and Hope were not just a figment of my imagination. They really were friends.
So, being best friends with anyone in St. Michael's is no small thing. We are very likely the leading edge of a devoutly compartmentalized life. I'm giving a Super Bowl party this weekend and Huggy Bear said he would let me know if he can come. He'll be at Saturday Kitchen.
I say that with a certain number of qualifications, the foremost being, that out of all of Crosby's many circles of friends it is nearly impossible to identify any one of them as being the one, the only, "best". I've read his Facebook entries from top to bottom. They make interesting reading. They are not that numerous; they almost read like entries from the Old Testament: Crosby or someone else posts a picture of themselves smiling or grinning at the camera and everyone else contributes how drunk he or she were at the time. Until, gradually, one senses the beginnings of a spiritual journey. The posts trail off into a cluster of high school friends, friends from college, his brother, and some cousins, whose most frequent complaint is how infrequently Crosby visits the page.
I am reminded of something I observed about my pupils when I was a Sunday School teacher: the fact that none of them knew each other outside of church. They all went to different private schools; their families rarely visited each other. Their sole connection was through St. Michael's and yet their connections to each other seemed genuine. Crosby and Hope were not just a figment of my imagination. They really were friends.
So, being best friends with anyone in St. Michael's is no small thing. We are very likely the leading edge of a devoutly compartmentalized life. I'm giving a Super Bowl party this weekend and Huggy Bear said he would let me know if he can come. He'll be at Saturday Kitchen.