I'm a Chameleon

There was a girl that rode the bus my brother Barry and I took home from high school. She was a mother hen that ruled her flock of rowdy roosters like a tyrant until we got off at the bus stop where we transferred to northeast Portland. She was argumentative, contrary and critical; so naturally I was attracted to her.

All in all, I was a pretty good kid, a square, but she treated me like a drug dealing pervert; she knew how to make me feel good about myself. She had this thing about "character". Character, by her definition, is what we were and what she had. Of course I gave her a hard time all the way home and she scolded me, but deep in my heart I was eating it up. I can only recall one thing she ever said that got under my skin. She called me a chameleon.

I didn't know much about chameleons because there aren't very many in Oregon. I knew that they are ugly and bug eyed, but she was referring to their ability to change color to match their environment. She was saying that I was a fake, a phony that changed my appearance and behavior according to the people around me. I think the reason that chameleon label stung while otherwise I enjoyed her abuse, was that it was true. I would be the bad boy to impress her and be the good boy when it suited me, but she saw through me and knew that none of these were my true colors.

Barry was here in Israel for Hanukkah with his daughter Brianna. He tagged along with me and remarked that everywhere we went, people liked me. I don't know why he thinks that's so remarkable, but maybe it's because I mix with a lot of different kinds of people. Right-wing settlers and Arabs, the ladies of the English staff and the rough crowd in the teachers' smoking room, native born Israelis and Russian immigrants, you name it. I'm not like all of the people I hang with, but I like them all and they like me. It's true; no matter where I go or who I am with, I fit in. I'm a chameleon.

We have chameleons here. A chameleon can be as yellow as straw or as brown as turned over earth, but most of the time they are green and live in trees and bushes. They climb the branches slowly and when the wind blows the leaves they sway along. They are barely visible to the untrained eye, protected from predators and invisible to the bugs they prey on. They look like just another leaf. Chameleons are very observant. They have bug eyes that swivel around independently of each other like security cameras detecting threats.
I think that if you were to ask the leaves, they would tell you that they like chameleons. In fact, they would be very surprised to find out that chameleons are reptiles. The leaves think that the chameleon is just another leaf. In a way, it's good that chameleons don't try to really be a leaf. Leaves don't see the bugs and certainly can't gobble them up. It's okay to be a chameleon.

I think the reason people like me is that when they look at me, they see one of themselves, the way leaves look at a chameleon and see a leaf. I sway in the wind with them, but because I'm not really a leaf, I'm me, I can see them. Even though I can mix in with the people around me, I'm an outsider and can observe. I don't have bug eyes, but I can see their bugs even if they can't see them for themselves. I'm a chameleon; that's what I do.

I didn't stay in touch with very many of my high school friends, not even that self righteous little goodie two shoes that ruled the bus home from school. I would like to tell her that she was right, but that she was wrong about me. Just because someone is a chameleon doesn't mean that he doesn't have character. Chameleons aren't phonies; they are chameleons. It's their job to mix in and observe. They don't harm the leaves and those around them. In fact, it's good to have someone in the tree that can see the bugs and catch them with their lightning quick tongue.

It isn't so bad being a chameleon. I guess I can live with that, bug eyes and all.