WENN
Once a friend, always a friend.
At least, that’s my belief. It’s a theory that I’ve been thinking about this week in the wake of Michael Eric Dyson’s much-discussed and much-publicized rebuke of Cornel West.
By now, you’ve probably already read Dyson’s story or heard about it (unless you’ve been living under a rock or on a protracted social media diet post-Lent). And, just so you know, what I want to say about the public feud is tangential to the essay itself. In fact, I barely read the article. I stopped at the part where Dyson says, “West and I became dear friends.”
I’ve gathered from the critiques by those who did read the 10,000-word essay that the dear friendship between the two men has fallen apart. But I couldn’t stop wondering, What are the rules for public or private comportment when dear friends become ex-friends? (And surely, “Don’t call me out to folks and disparage my reputation” would probably be in the top three.)
If you ask me, the rules of friendship and ex-friendship are similar. I think the dearness of a friend is eternal, even when that friend becomes an ex-friend. Translation: That which I’d try not to do to you as a dear friend, I’d also try not to do to you as an ex-friend.
Again: Once a friend, always a friend.
Now, you may think that “once a friend, always a friend” is delusional thinking. Ex-friends, after all, can do the most unforgivable, irredeemable, incomprehensible, and downright unacceptable things–things that are worthy of temporary and permanent separation.
But who’s to say when a separation is permanent? I have at least one friend for whom I still hold out hope that we will return to our former closeness. I won’t tell you her name, but I will tell you where she’d appear on my Friends Every Woman Should Have list.
She’d be The Ex-Friend Who’s Still A Friend In Your Heart (aka, The Dear Friend Who’s Not Really In Your Life Anymore But Who’s Always On Your Mind And About Whom You’d Never Say A Bad Word).
The thing is, I don’t really like calling this (former) sister friend of mine an ex-friend, so, for now, let’s just call her Sister Friend.
As for why Sister Friend and I aren’t really friends anymore, there’s usually only one reason for most breakups: Hurt. I hurt her. She hurt me. We hurt each other. (Sister Friend, however, would argue that I hurt her more than she hurt me. And I’d probably concede that she was somewhat on the money about that.)
Nevertheless, Sister Friend and I haven’t spoken for about five years. But last week, I called her for her birthday. Her name isn’t one of the contacts in my phone, but I still know her number by heart. When I was met with her voicemail, I left her a message basically saying, “Happy Birthday. I love you. I’ve been loving you. You’re always my friend.”
My phone call wasn’t intended to be conciliatory. I wasn’t even trying to make amends, so to speak. But every year, on Sister Friend’s birthday, I think of her. Every. Single. Year. I forget many of my dear friends’ birthdays, but Sister Friend’s birthday, like her phone number, never escapes my memory. And this year, I wanted to let her know…well, that she’s still with me. It could be that my phone call was an act of spiritual observance, the way one calls out the names of the dearly departed in prayer.
So, for whatever reason, I called Sister Friend on her birthday this year and I expressed my solemn belief: Once a friend, always a friend.
It should be noted that Sister Friend and I are Facebook friends. We have mutual Facebook friends, including members of her family. We also have real-life mutual friends–many of whom don’t know that we’re, technically, no longer friends. From time to time, someone will ask me, “How’s Sister Friend?” And I’ll say, “We haven’t talked in a while. But I hear she’s doing well.” And when I say, “I hear she’s doing well,” it’s because I likely just asked another one of our mutual friends about her.
I say all that to say, I try not to talk sh*t about Sister Friend. I’m pretty sure Sister Friend tries not to talk sh*t about me too. (But we’ve both expressed one or two grievances to one or two friends to whom we’re both very close and, of course, we always ended up hearing what we’d said about each other.)
If friends, especially dear friends, took oaths, I imagine one of the vows may be, “To promote and preserve one another’s dignity.” That’s a statement that kind of echoes a line that I grew up reciting in church on Communion Sunday when we pledge “to guard each other’s reputation, not needlessly exposing the infirmities of others.” I feel lucky that I can say I have more friends than ex-friends. But my ex-friends are still–and always–friends. Which means my public relationship with them (and even the relationship that I carry on with them in my head) is still governed by the same principles of friendship.
Michael Eric Dyson says that he and Cornel West were “dear friends,” and yet, he excoriated him. Say what you will about intellectual sparring, but when it seems viciously personal, it hurts. I would bet money that Dyson knew his critique might injure West, hurting not only his reputation but also his feelings. Coincidentally, “trying not to hurt others” is the moral high ground on which West claims he stands, per his Facebook post yesterday that many are saying is an indirect response to Dyson’s critique.
Don’t get me wrong. When it comes to friendships, hurt happens (whether intentionally or intentionally). Hurt is, after all, why Sister Friend and I aren’t what we used to be.
But what breaks up a friendship–hurt–is the very thing we must still diligently avoid even after the relationship is officially dismantled because an officially dismantled relationship needn’t be an emotionally dismantled one.
In fact, it’s our dismantled relationships that probably need our deepest care and respect. If I ever heard someone say something negative about Sister Friend, I like to think I’d vigorously defend her (even if, and especially if, the negative talking “someone” happened to be the voice in my own head).
So I’ll tell you one last time: Once a friend, always a friend. But you tell me: Do you agree?
