Hiding from Father Nick

It's no secret that I am quite anti-social. In fact, my brother bought me a t-shirt for Christmas that reads, "You Read My Shirt. That's Enough Social Interaction For One Day." Sadly, it's true. I have a fairly serious aversion to most everyday interactions. It's mainly because I don't like to waste time and I don't like small talk. I really just don't understand the point of interacting with people who aren't a fairly permanent fixture in my life. I've tried to reform my anti-social ways, but I can't stop myself from trying to disengage from a conversation with a stranger less than one minute after it began.

In all fairness, I come by my introversion honestly. You see, my father is also a classic introvert. This is probably why we get along so well. We are perfectly happy to spend days and weeks completely alone. In contrast, my mother (and brother) are textbook extroverts who love meeting and entertaining people.

With all of my mother's social activities, there were a lot of people coming by the house on a regular basis. This did not bode well for my father and I when we were home alone. In fact, one of my funniest memories is the day that Father Nick, our priest, came by the house looking for my mother. That fateful day went down something like this.

Father Nick knocked on the door and, knowing that any visitors were naturally for my mother, my father and I ignored it. When he knocked again, we stealthily crept into the kitchen just in case Father Nick looked in the windows. As my dad and I waited patiently for him to leave, we were suddenly startled by the sound of someone turning the knob of the kitchen door. We looked at each other and took off at a sprint to the master bedroom closet where we fought mightily against a fit of giggles that was threatening to make noise and give us away.

Meanwhile, Father Nick left something on the kitchen table for my mom and let himself back out. As soon as the coast was clear, we slowly reemerged from the closet and continued with our anti-social day. To this day, I can't help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of our flight. That's not to say that we wouldn't do the same thing today if we happened to be the only two in the house, but at least I can recognize my neurotic ways for what they are.