Dearest Rachel -
We didn't have a word or a name to apply to it when we were in primary or secondary school, but we both understand and remember what it was like to be the 'Hermione' of our classes. You know the type; the one who had an answer (or at the very least, an opinion, if it was that sort of class) for every question posed by the teacher, and would immediately have their hand in the air to offer it. Because of this, that hand was rarely selected by the teacher; it would've been a great bluff to put our hand up when we didn't know, because our reputation would often preclude our being called on, but at least we could still pretend to know. On the other hand, it would never have occurred to us to do so - Hermiones are rarely so duplicitous.
I recall you saying how you graduated about third in your class; not high enough to require you to give a valedictory speech, but enough to gain recognition for your excellence. Likewise, I finished tenth in a class of nearly six hundred, but didn't specialize enough to earn such recognition myself. The point is, we both came from that sort of background, where we had the answers, academically speaking.
Socially, however, was another story entirely. Certainly, it's useful to have someone who knows what they're doing or talking about, especially in a scholastic setting; however, there's a point where that person crosses over from being useful to being a know-it-all pain in the neck. It's the sort of thing that you may or may not have experienced personally, but certainly recall not being impressed by when you first met me. I hadn't yet learned the lessons of Solomon, as you recall...
There is a ·time [season] for everything,
and ·everything [every activity] ·on earth [L under heaven] has its ·special season [time]...
There is a time to be silent
and a time to speak.
Ecclesiastes 3:1,7b, Expanded Bible
Just because I knew everything the leader was talking about already (and then some, in my mind) didn't give me the right to hijack his message and tell it myself; at least, that's how you saw it. I honestly don't remember the specifics of the incident, myself, but I've heard you tell the story enough times to know full well that I didn't exactly make the best first impression on you.
I do wonder, however, if you didn't have moments like that yourself before you went off to college. To hear tell from your folks – and even yourself, when talking specifically about your Sunday School experiences – you were often the smartest kid in the room, too; or at least, you were the only one who applied yourself. Did you have moments when your teachers saw your hand up, sighed inwardly (if not outwardly) and, while thanking you for your willingness to contribute to the discussion, suggested that you put your hand down and let others speak? I imagine that you must have.
So it was last Friday, when the girls came over. This was an opportunity to tell them about our trip, much like I had already told you while we were there. But since I had told you (and to a certain extent, them, if they had the chance to look over your letters), this was not my place to speak on Friday; this was more for Daniel to tell his side of things. It wasn't going to be easy for me, but it was necessary for him to say his piece; his experiences may not have been all that different from mine, as we were rarely apart for very long, but his perspective was different, and needed to be expressed. This meant that I needed to get out of the way.
Of course, none of this was being forced on me by the others; this was a self-imposed restriction. But it was a necessary thing to do; much as I've learned that it's best not to do all the talking (in fact, I don't like the fact that so many of these letters use the terms 'I,' 'my' and 'me' so often, but first person is the only perspective I have, after all), it's hard to avoid it. And if I took the stage, Daniel would be all too happy to cede it to me, and that wouldn't be right. I'd internally resolved to give him the chance to tell his side of things that night as much as possible. And once we had finally organized when everyone was on their way (so that I could get the half-baked pizzas into the over to finish the job), welcomed them all into the house and enjoyed the usual pleasantries over the meal itself (along with the usual banter about which people could or would not each which pie, leading to an unintended double entendre – Kerstin could ordinarily pass for a native English speaker, but a certain phrase about concealing a specific topping from Erin got a reaction from me, where I heard an idiom when she was speaking literally – that derailed things for an embarrassingly lengthy period), I did what I could to let Daniel describe what he saw and thought about it all.
To be sure, I would still jump in from time to time. There were photos and video I haven't sent you that I brought out to illustrate Daniel's point from time to time, and I added a few points of my own as well. But I'd like to think that, once the topic turned to the trip itself, Daniel did more of the talking than I did – even if that meant I had to leave the room from time to time to ensure it (there were plates and utensils to rinse and put in the dishwasher, as well as a few souvenirs to distribute). And it would seem that he'll need more time to finish the job, too – he was barely through our visit to Hiroshima and Miyajima when we realized that it was getting near to eleven o'clock. And while that wouldn't be considered late to you, the girls needed to get home and get some rest (Erin, in particular, had work to go to in a few hours; I'll never get used to trying to adapt to her time schedule), so we decided to break up shortly thereafter, and continue this on another weekend. Perhaps by then, I'll have figured out how to assemble a Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki to serve up to everyone, just so they get a taste of it.
This is also the second letter I've contemplated titling the "KitKat Club"; we'd brought home a bunch of flavors of that candy bar that they have over in Japan that don't exist anywhere else, and thought everyone might want to try them. Since the title also references the fictional nightclub from the musical Cabaret (and a real Berlin nightclub very loosely based on said club), I figured it might also get a few extra clicks from using that title. However, by the time we agreed to call it a night and continue from here at a later date, everyone was still too full to really consider anything for dessert, let alone eight candy bars (yes, we brought home that many varieties). Guess that analysis will require another letter of its own.
Anyway, I hope you would have been pleased with Daniel and me about how this went, and the fact that there will be another time soon. Until then, keep an eye on the both of us, and wish us luck. As always, we're going to need it.
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