A Gift for Frog

OK, guys. Let’s face it. I know it as much as you do… I will always be that one friend of yours that is, shall we say, “different” – totally shy, interested in uncommon things, socially awkward at the most inopportune times, and, almost always anxious.

I suppose I embraced my awkward self a while ago, but lemme tell ya, it continues to be a real pisser. The catch is when you look back in hindsight on those ever-so-unfortunate-events and you wish like hell you could retrace your steps. What is worse for me is I don’t have the social anxiety that is imperceptible to others. I stutter when I speak. I never know what to do with my hands. I very often say stuff that just did not go right. Google “awkward” or “socially anxious” sometime. You will find a litany of memes, cartoons, and quotes from movies, things people do that can be just plain odd. You name it, I’ve done it.

Yep, I am the kinda gal who, when standing with a group of friends, will chime in with some comment that is either totally not related to the conversation or is so weird that the group comes to a halting silence wondering how to recover.

I’m also the one who holds the door for someone with a big smile, announcing a loud “Hello! How are you!?” without realizing that the person is pretty far away from the door. You can remember this kind of scenario. Funny little me stands there happily holding the door, while the person walking feels compelled to speed up to little trot in order to accommodate my intended politeness and make up for the uncomfortable time it would take if they would just walk. Yeah, it gets pretty uncomfortable when they whisk by me, a bit out of breath, some sweat beading on their forehead, and then they say with more irritation than gratitude, “Thanks a lot”.

It is just dorky stuff like that.

Ever been with a group of friends when someone tries to tell a joke and then they forget how to tell it? Bits and parts of the joke come out, all out of order, and when it comes time for the punchline, they say, “Wait. I messed it up!” This is a common scenario for me. Usually, the group will wait for me to try again, and upon a second failure, I end up exclaiming with too much unintended seriousness, “Shit! Forget it! I can’t get it right!” Then everyone stands there wondering what the hell to do cuz the moment, and the joke didn’t just bomb, it plummeted into that realm of total weirdness that makes everyone really uncomfortable.

Ugh. Those times suck.

Well, I’m telling you all of this for a reason. This is the history of a bunch of personal crap that led up to total neuroticism the other day.

This story is part explanation, part confession, part apology, and mostly an expression of gratitude.

I got invited to a friend’s baby shower a while ago. I was so excited for her and her husband. Leading up to the day of the party, I bought gifts for the parents, gifts for the baby, little things to decorate the gift, and so on.

They encouraged those invited to the party to bring a book instead of a card and to write a little inscription for the baby to be. I thought this was such a special idea to build a little library for the kiddo and to have guests share a bit of themselves for when he gets older.

This idea was also the cat’s meow for me; something perfect for my inner nerd-ness. I excitedly went to Barnes and Noble and looked through a gazillion children’s books, trying to find the one that gave the perfect life lesson. I remembered all those classics and all the ones I had given to friends for their kids through the years.

Funny thing was, right there in the bookstore, I envisioned the party. Do you remember the skits of the little devil and the little angel that sit on a person’s shoulder and whisper into their ear the worst and best choice to make? It was like that. Just imagine a creepy devilish gremlin, not really present or visual, but a feeling that whispered in my ear that everyone would bring any of the children’s books I wanted to give. Seemed like whatever I’d get would just be a second copy of what someone else brought. I second guessed every book from that point on. I didn’t want my friends to return what I got and, as usual, too much thinking started.

Joy turned into frustration and panic set in, as I felt nothing would be good enough. I know it is silly, but for a month in advance, I wracked my brain about what could be a unique book to give. It wasn’t at all that I wanted to out-do the others. I simply wanted my friends to know that they were special! But that damn anxiety and OCD stopped me from feeling anything would be the right choice.

Then, I thought about it. I vaguely remembered the “Frog and Toad” books that I read as a kid. I didn’t remember the stories very much, but I remembered they were tales of two inseparable friends that always stood by each other. Perfect. Though my friend and I didn’t know each other really well, she always stood by me no matter how “unique” I was. If there was anything I wanted her son to know, I wanted him to know that his mom taught me a lot about friendship. I was excited, thinking I accomplished my mission, and I ordered a collection of the Frog and Toad books on Amazon just in the nick of time for the party.

The books arrived soon before the shower and, as usual, I procrastinated to do what I wanted to do. I wanted to read through them so that I could write a meaningful inscription.

Yet, I read them at the last hour. I was totally aghast when I found the stories as the oddest stories that anyone could find in a children’s book. First off, there seemed to be no obvious moral in many of the stories. The tales were sometimes weird and awkward, often ending with none of the normal “feel good” resolution you normally find in kid’s books.

I started sweating it. The party was the next day and my desire to give something meaningful didn’t quite turn out.

I continued reading, hoping the stories had some redeeming quality. The more I read, the more discouraged I became. I discovered Toad was a totally neurotic character. He was grumpy and, in some stories, he either stayed in bed avoiding things or refused to try new things because he was totally anxious. Oh, God, I thought, what kind of gift would this be?

To make things worse, I couldn’t help but think that I was a lot like Toad.

I had gotten three of the books with a handful of stories in each. So I read through more of the stories, hoping one book would be better than the others. I discovered Frog was kinda cool. He was an optimist and exemplified what it is like to be a loyal friend who is giving, loving, and selfless. Yet, after finishing reading them, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to give these books. Frog and Toad didn’t always make the right choices, and sometimes their choices were downright stupid.

Gosh. I thought these books were weirdly interesting, but what the heck would my friends think? Sometimes the tales would start with Frog encouraging Toad to overcome his fear, but in most of the tales, Toad just ended up being a total buzzkill and grump, and then the story ended there. This did not seem to contain any kind of wisdom I wanted to impart to my friend’s child.

I planned to just get a different book in the morning, praying that I could find something special for my friends and their baby.

But the plan was not at all what happened. I woke at 11:00 AM in a fog and the party was at 2:00 PM. I was immediately freaking out. All my clothes had to be washed, I had to make time to get the final touches for the gift; I had to buy wrapping paper and I wanted to find time to replace the children’s books.

My anxiety set in and quickly skyrocketed.

As with every other party, something entirely convinced me that my love for those to be celebrated would help me overcome my anxiety. But history repeated itself, and the ever-so common intense fright reared its ugly head on the actual day of the get-together.

Then it started. I sat frozen with fear and the over-thinking set in.

I looked in the mirror and exclaimed that I would be brave! But while looking in the mirror trying to hype myself up, I felt like a pool of quicksand around my feet was quickly swelling was about to suck me in. My mind circled with thoughts of all the things I could go wrong at the party, all the awkward statements I could make, how I wouldn’t know what to do with my hands, and a million other typical worries of a socially anxious mind.

My breathing was fast, my eyes were open wide, and my fear was consuming. I walked away from the mirror and sat down frozen, immobilized, and could not think of any rational choice for what to do next. Mind spinning, heart racing, and the world closing in, I just stayed in my chair feeling wretched. More and more time passed and, soon enough, I only had one and hour before the party. Still no gift wrapping, clothes partially washed, and no time to replace those odd children’s books.

Shit. Fuck. Damn. What the hell was I going to do? I suck. I suck. I suck. My inner voice became my bully and everything it announced was denigrating and self-deprecating. How could I be so self-consumed? My friends were more important than allowing myself to be filled with such self-focus!

Well, my total suck-i-ness got worse. I am usually very honest, even with my anxiety. If I am anxious, I will tell my friends that I am. But on the day of my friend’s shower, my agitation was so intense that I was even afraid to tell her the truth.

So… I said I was sick.

Immediately, after saying that, my stomach filled with disgust. That really sucked. I had promised my friends to celebrate them, and this cursed anxiety led to consuming self-interest. How could I not go after promising I’d be there? Who the hell changes their mind at the last minute when giving a yes to an RSVP?

Despite bowing out, I was determined to at least drop off some food that Paul made. I was ashamed and nervous to show my face but I went to the site of the party to give the food and give my apologies.

When I got there to drop off the food, I looked around. There was a picture of my friend and her husband. They looked lovely. My heart sank as I saw it. I looked around some more. I saw little toys and decorations for a baby boy to be. A boy that would be a miracle to my friend and her husband. A boy that would be special to me, too.

I left and immediately regretted my choice to act in fear instead of acting in love. I went home crestfallen and opened up those damn Frog and Toad books, hoping to laugh at how ridiculous they were.

Then I thought of it. I am a lot like Toad, fearful of many things, sometimes grumpy, and often wanting to stay in bed covered by sheets and blankets. My friend who is having the baby is a lot like Frog. Her kindness and support for me are endless, she does not judge me for my challenges, and when I’m an anxious or grumpy, she continues to be dedicated in her kindness.

After rereading the books, I found it interesting that the author never shows Toad overcoming his “issues”. When reading the tales, I always thought Toad would somehow get over himself. But that never happens in the stories. Rather, the crux of the odd little stories is that they tell of a friendship where each character just accepts the other without trying to change them.

I thought about the books again. They did have value. Their stories aren’t at all perfect and the characters definitely aren’t either. Some tales had a dumb ending and others had no point at all. Yet I realized the stories were all honest and real. They speak of what it is like to have a friendship that is simply rooted in devotion and gratitude.

Somehow, re-reading those silly books helped me accept my deep regret of not getting to my friend’s party. Like Toad, my fears got the best of me. But, even though Toad often made mistakes, the friendship lasted. Both friends were thoughtful for the other and they allowed each other’s imperfections.

So, I didn’t give “Where the Wild Things Are”. I also didn’t give “The Hungry Caterpillar” or “The Little Engine that Could” or the many Dr. Seuss books I loved as a child. I didn’t give my favorite children’s book, “The Giving Tree”.

And, regrettably, I didn’t give what I really wanted to give, which was to be present at the party to give my love and support and to celebrate with my friend. That part I really regret.

But what I will be giving is this… Fessing up that I was too afraid to go… telling the truth so that my friend knows I really care for her… giving a sincere apology for missing out on a chance to celebrate with her… giving the gifts I bought for them… And… I’ll also be giving those funny books about a Frog and a Toad hoping, in their undeniable honest depiction of humanity, they will show my friend’s child the immeasurable value of friendship, fellowship, acceptance, devotion, and honesty.

And finally, I’ll give my friends this silly, poorly written little story—one that doesn’t have a great ending, doesn’t show the heroine courageously defeating “the enemy”, and one that doesn’t pull the story together full circle in any special way. This silly story is the main gift though…

Thank you, Frog, for allowing me to be neurotic, quite imperfect, and not always the best at knowing how to be a good friend. Thank you, Frog, for reminding me I am just OK despite my challenges. Thank you for standing by me and showing me what friendship means.

Just like your devotion to friendship, I am certain you will be an amazing mother…. I look forward to the arrival of your little guy and seeing how much of a miracle he is to this world—just like his amazing mother!