Fares B.

A few years ago I started reading a book series by Cara Black about a private detective in Paris. The first book was set in 1994 and centered around hate crimes against Jewish people and the murder of a WWII survivor. It was a great book and I highly recommend the series. Beyond it being a great book, it resonated with me for a personal reason.
In college, I had two French pen pals. I started writing them during my freshman year. My next door neighbor had three pen pals and she gave me the addresses for two of them. One of them was a blonde haired surfer guy. He was really cool and even visited me once. We lost contact as school got harder and I got a boyfriend. I did look for and find him on Facebook after reading that book. We don't talk much as we're both married with children and working. But he's out there.
The other guy I did not find, though I looked. I really wanted to tell him something. A few weeks ago, this all came back up for me after reading a blog post about INXS. And I still felt like I needed to tell him something.
My pen pal's name is Fares. His last name starts with a B. Part of the reason​ I couldn't find him a few years ago is that I probably spelled his name wrong. He always asked me not to butcher his name but he never would email me so I had it in a readable format. He wrote with a block handwriting that I just couldn't fully decipher.
The relationship had a rocky start. He couldn't understand why my neighbor stopped writing him and I hated being in the middle. He kept asking me what was the matter with her and I didn't know what to tell him that wouldn't be insulting. She thought he was weird. I don't think he was. But he was INTENSE. He was very political and tried to explain it to me. He tried to tell me about the prejudice and hatred toward Jewish people and other immigrants in France, including his family. I didn't get it. I had seen racism. I was born in the South after all. But I thought it was black and white. That was the extent of my experience with racist people. I thought if your skin was light you wouldn't have a problem.
I naively thought antisemitism had been shut down. He tried to tell me how wrong I was. At 18, I wasn't ready for the knowledge he was trying to impart. I just wanted to exchange letters with a cute French boy. And he was cute. He was also more socially aware than I was. It's not that I didn't care. But after he told me, I didn't know what I could do to help.
We tried to talk about other things, likes and dislikes and such. We shared cassette tapes. He sent me an INXS tape once. It was before I really discovered them. I thought they were all Devil Inside and Suicide Blonde. I got into them later. But at the time, I thought the tape, Shabooh Shoobah, was weird. I wound up giving it to a friend. What a jerk move. :/ Who knows what it cost him to send that and it was probably his personal tape! The irony is, one of my favorite songs of theirs, Don't Change, is off that album! After reading the blog about them, I binged listened to them. Don't Change makes me so sad. I was in a funk for days, thinking about 19 year old me and what I'd wasted. Mostly my relationship with Fares.
What I wish I could say to him is that I'm sorry and he deserved better. I'm sorry for being a blockhead. I'm sorry for being put off by your intensity. I'm sorry I stopped writing you. I wish I could find you to see how you turned out. I hope you have a happy home and that you've found acceptance in your country. I hope you have forgiven me. I hope when you think of me, IF you think of me, that you don't think I was a stupid hopeless case. I hope my airheadedness didn't put you off of other people from my demographic. And I hope you're still working for the underdog. I also want to say thank you. Thank you for trying to help me grow.

Anxiety

I actually wrote this on 6/28/17, but it still stands and is exacerbated more by the shooting last week. My son is 5. 

 There's a quote from the movie Con Air that goes something to the effect of "moments of levity actually bring him pain..." That's how I feel. I live my life constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. When we're at the gym for family swim and we're all playing in the pool, I ache because I don't want those moments of happiness to end, but I'm so anxious about what could happen. If we're cooking together, I find the moment ruined by my own fears. This is at war with my tendency to view the glass as half full. But I lay in bed at night, listening for the boogieman at the back door. Every time I get in the car, I wonder if this is the day we get hit. I constantly have terrible thoughts. Is someone going to hurt Edgar? The lobby in his preschool is not very secure, someone could easily get into his school. Can we let him play sports? I recently read an article about athletes sexually assaulting their teammates and calling it hazing. I can't let him go into a locker room. Or to a teammate's house.The coaches aren't watching. Because if they watch, then they're perverts! But if they don't watch, the sickos on the team will hurt Edgar. The parents aren't watching because they don't think their little angels would do that. Or what if it's a third party?! If we teach him self defense, how many could he fight off? Will he be as tall and as big as I think he's going to be? Is he going to get sick? Is Allen going to get sick? Am *I* going to get sick? On and on ad nauseam.... It is painful. And exhausting. I can't sleep at night, so I take naps when I know Edgar is with Allen. Or am I napping because I'm sick? What did that internet ad mean about puffy feet being a sign of cancer? I have puffy feet, but I thought it was because my medicine makes me retain water. Do I have cancer? Why is my heart racing? Do I have a heart condition?!!? Why is the blood pounding in my ears? Am I going to have an aneurysm? I bet I have a brain tumor. Will it kill me or will I just become a vegetable? My body is a ticking time bomb. My car and other cars are ticking time bombs. Whacked out gang bangers are going to break down our back door any day and kidnap Edgar to sell on the black market, after bludgeoning me and Allen in our bed. And no one will know because no one here would miss us for at least 2 days. And by then, Bullitt will have eaten my face. And where would they look for Edgar. I wonder if I could scratch my attacker and get his DNA. This nurse was raped one time and she scratched her attacker to get DNA and some fool actually argued that that meant compliance with the assault. Could I get to the closet and get a weapon to fight? My baseball bat is all the way in the closet, but if I put it back under the bed, Edgar will play with it and probably knock out the bedroom window. Yes, this is an actual scenario I fretted about the other night. Last night, I told Allen we needed to open the window and air out our bedroom this weekend. He said "It's a mild night, let's open it tonight." And I said "That ain't happening. I'm not sleeping with an open window. Two words 'Richard Ramirez'." He actually said "Who?" Who? WHO!? The Night Stalker! He would break into houses and strangle people in their beds. He said he actually looked for open windows. So, no. No thank you. I will NOT be sleeping with an open window! Because if a psycho is going to break in, he's going to have to work for it! I pray. I pray a lot. I pray throughout the day and at night before bed. I know if I'm not comforted, then that means I'm doing it wrong. Because if I were right in my faith, I'd have no worries, right? I can't just turn anything over to God. Not the nightmare scenarios I come up with. Not the real problems we actually face. I just can't let go of these fears. So maybe God's teaching me a lesson. I don't have enough faith, so things continue as they are. No solution appears. It's my fault for continuing to worry. God is not going to answer because I'm still worrying about it, even after I prayed about it. Maybe it's because I studied criminal justice. Maybe it's because I worked for a police department. Maybe it's a hold over from all of the things that HAVE happened over the years. I know the Evil that people can do to one another. I know too much and it clouds my brain. Maybe there's just something wrong with me. I'm sorry.