I went to a funeral today. Strangest thing, I haven’t seen the guy in just less than 30 years and I feel like I lost a really good friend. I met the guy just after I moved to Oak Park when I was 11. He was a friend of my brother David for a few years. When I got into High School we started to blend into the same crowd and we would often see each other on weekend nights and at school. We’d also hang out at the “teen center” where we could smoke and play pool and ping-pong. I found it cool that his name was David Todd and so was my brothers.
We would party together and just hang out but I don’t think I was ever alone with the guy. I guess you could say he was just this side of an acquaintance. That doesn’t sound right, he was part of the gang. I couldn’t tell you his likes and dislikes or the things he liked to do, I just plain didn’t know him that well. I think that can be said about a lot of people’s friends in High School. So why is his death making me feel so empty inside? Well I think there are a couple reasons for that.
The first is that I still see David as he was. 17 or 18 years old and full of life. I see him the way he was when he and I, along with two other friends drove down to Cedar Pointe in the summer after my senior year. We stayed in a hotel for the evening and did the things that 18 and 19 year old kids do when they’re off on their own. Kids like that should never die. They’re supposed to live forever, at least that’s the thought when you’re that age.
Reason number two is much more basic. He was, as I stated earlier, one of the gang. A peer. It brings the fear of aging and the possibility of life ending right to the forefront. That’s just plain uncomfortable.
The funeral itself was much more emotional for me than I thought it would be. It was a graveside service so, as usual; I got there very early. I thought it very important that I go for the basic fear that I didn’t know if any of the old gang would be there. I was just walking around the site all alone. I guess you could call it meditating about life and all it’s questions that can never be answered.
The limo arrived with the casket and as the guy from the cemetery got out I asked him if I was in the right place. I was. I waited a few more minutes and asked him if he knew what had happened, how had David died? He said he hadn’t seen the paperwork so he didn’t know. The family started arriving and everyone was talking to each other and expressing condolences. I didn’t know anyone so I just stood off to the side and waited.
My friend Mark showed up and I felt a little more comfortable and then two other guys I knew from High School arrived. At least I had someone to stand around with. I joined them while they went to the family and we all gave our condolences. I introduced myself and was met with a familiarity from David’s sisters. Partially because my Brother was his friend and also because my last name was relatively well known during my High School years.
After the service was complete we hung around for a bit and two of David’s sisters approached me and we chatted for a bit. They asked how I knew David and I explained that. We talked about David for a bit and I told his younger sister that I felt horrible but I had to ask what happened. She told me that they found out about his death a day after he died and explained that the autopsy found clogged arteries and things of that ilk. She mentioned how sad it was that David had finally straightened himself out and had been clean for eight months and then this had to happen.
They both asked where I was living and when I said East Lansing they both expressed surprise at how far I drove to get there and asked me why I did it. I started to choke up a bit and told them how important I thought it was that someone from that stage in his life was there and I wasn’t sure who else would show up. They both reached out for me and held my arms and told me how sweet that was. I felt so odd being comforted by two women who had just lost their brother but I think my explanation helped them too. They introduced me to a couple of their friends and told them what I had said so I think it was a good thing.
I spoke to Jill, the younger sister, for a short time and she expressed the usual regrets about not knowing him better and how she wishes she had called him more often. I told her how natural that feeling was and told her my story of moving to Florida and looking up a number of my old friends and staying in contact with them. Most of those friends are you guys reading this right now.
I learned an important lesson from today’s events. I learned that I did the right thing by looking you guys up. I learned, even more than I thought, how important your friendships are to me. The same goes for my Brothers and Sister. I love all you guys and I don’t ever want you to forget it. Without you all I am nothing inside. In a post a few weeks back I asked of a certain family I knew, “How did they breathe?” the answer for me is easy. It’s all of you and I promise to thank my stars everyday for the rest of my life for the knowledge I gained today from a grieving Sister.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
It's Just Not The Same
While at the “Police” concert the other night I was doing my normal looking at all the other people there. Directly behind me were a couple girls, maybe 18 or 19 years old. There was a song being played called “Can’t Stand Losing You” and at one point in the song is the verse, “I see you sent my letters back, and my LP records and they’re all scratched.” Well, that got me wondering, do these girls behind me even know what an LP is? Even if they do, do they have any idea how important they were to people in my age group?
The first album I ever bought, with my own money, was “Alice Cooper” “Billion Dollar Babies”. I was 12 years old and in sixth grade. Don’t get me wrong; I grew up in a household full of music. I remember as a kid of eight or nine and even younger having albums in the house by singers like Dionne Warwick singing Burt Bacharach and Hal David songs. We always had a number of Motown albums and singles in the house too. The “Cooper” album was the first I ever bought all on my own. It was all mine.
As I got older my taste in music became, what I like to call, more refined and my collection became much more exclusive. I, of course, bought my share of “Beatles” and other albums that others had but I would have no problem buying records that none of my friends had ever heard of. I remember buying the album “Flat As A Pancake” by “Head East when I was 14 just because of the song, “Never Been Any Reason”. I took great pride in the knowledge that I didn’t know anyone that had the record.
My record collection became very important to me. My Mother used to give David and I $5.00 every Friday and I would take mine and go to Korvette’s, a local department store, because they sold albums for $3.99. I had a job at 14 and would always spend a good portion of my check adding to my collection.
When I got my license to drive I remember going to a place called “Peaches” to peruse their massive aisles full of records from all over the world. You were pretty cool when you picked up an import of “The Beatles” and, trust me, I had my share. My friends and I would go to different record stores all the time. It was important to us.
I really got into reading the liner notes. I loved it when the lyrics were included. Little trivia for you. Did you know that the first album to ever have the lyrics included was “Sergeant Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band”? You do now. I used to pay so much attention to who played what instrument and always looked to see if they were on any other albums I owned. I would read the album cover thoroughly at the store to see who the players were and I would sometimes buy a record based on who the players were even if I’d never heard the song. I became quite arrogant when it came to my musical tastes.
When I moved to California in 1980 I discovered what, for a record collector, could have been mistaken for heaven on earth. “Tower Records”. There was one right across the street from the Sports Arena and it was open till midnight. It had everything I could ever want. California was far ahead of Michigan when it came to musical tastes. I would find all kinds of new bands like “Squeeze” and “The English Beat”. Groups that I still listen to today. I really got into Phil Collins’s first two solo albums and still consider them to be among my favorite records.
With the mid eighties came the cd and everything changed. They just don’t seem as personal. Albums were mine, cd’s are more, I don’t know, not mine. Listening to music isn’t the event it used to be. You can listen to music anywhere now. Back then you had to take the time to listen to it. Like I said, it’s just not as personal.
Anyway, back to the girls at the concert. I highly doubt they’ve ever had an album. They can never have the memory of the popping sound of an LP. That sound that seemed like a campfire when the needle hit the record. The scratch in the middle of your favorite song. Yeah, it was messed up but it was your scratch. I just don’t know if you can appreciate cd’s as much as your “LP records” that are all scratched.
The first album I ever bought, with my own money, was “Alice Cooper” “Billion Dollar Babies”. I was 12 years old and in sixth grade. Don’t get me wrong; I grew up in a household full of music. I remember as a kid of eight or nine and even younger having albums in the house by singers like Dionne Warwick singing Burt Bacharach and Hal David songs. We always had a number of Motown albums and singles in the house too. The “Cooper” album was the first I ever bought all on my own. It was all mine.
As I got older my taste in music became, what I like to call, more refined and my collection became much more exclusive. I, of course, bought my share of “Beatles” and other albums that others had but I would have no problem buying records that none of my friends had ever heard of. I remember buying the album “Flat As A Pancake” by “Head East when I was 14 just because of the song, “Never Been Any Reason”. I took great pride in the knowledge that I didn’t know anyone that had the record.
My record collection became very important to me. My Mother used to give David and I $5.00 every Friday and I would take mine and go to Korvette’s, a local department store, because they sold albums for $3.99. I had a job at 14 and would always spend a good portion of my check adding to my collection.
When I got my license to drive I remember going to a place called “Peaches” to peruse their massive aisles full of records from all over the world. You were pretty cool when you picked up an import of “The Beatles” and, trust me, I had my share. My friends and I would go to different record stores all the time. It was important to us.
I really got into reading the liner notes. I loved it when the lyrics were included. Little trivia for you. Did you know that the first album to ever have the lyrics included was “Sergeant Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band”? You do now. I used to pay so much attention to who played what instrument and always looked to see if they were on any other albums I owned. I would read the album cover thoroughly at the store to see who the players were and I would sometimes buy a record based on who the players were even if I’d never heard the song. I became quite arrogant when it came to my musical tastes.
When I moved to California in 1980 I discovered what, for a record collector, could have been mistaken for heaven on earth. “Tower Records”. There was one right across the street from the Sports Arena and it was open till midnight. It had everything I could ever want. California was far ahead of Michigan when it came to musical tastes. I would find all kinds of new bands like “Squeeze” and “The English Beat”. Groups that I still listen to today. I really got into Phil Collins’s first two solo albums and still consider them to be among my favorite records.
With the mid eighties came the cd and everything changed. They just don’t seem as personal. Albums were mine, cd’s are more, I don’t know, not mine. Listening to music isn’t the event it used to be. You can listen to music anywhere now. Back then you had to take the time to listen to it. Like I said, it’s just not as personal.
Anyway, back to the girls at the concert. I highly doubt they’ve ever had an album. They can never have the memory of the popping sound of an LP. That sound that seemed like a campfire when the needle hit the record. The scratch in the middle of your favorite song. Yeah, it was messed up but it was your scratch. I just don’t know if you can appreciate cd’s as much as your “LP records” that are all scratched.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Mitch, The Police, Ho Hum...
So I saw “The Tubes” last night and came back to the hotel and slept relatively well until about 5:00 am. I sat around, went down to get a paper and showered until I blew enough time so I could go out to breakfast. I went to a kosher style deli in Southfield. That’s one of the things I always liked about the Detroit area, the restaurants. I’ve always loved delis, must be in the blood, and there are a number of good ones down here. By the way the show was great. Man I love those guys.
So after breakfast I had to go to Best Buy to fix my Sirius radio. I had tickets to “The Police” and Elvis Costello tonight and I had plenty of time to just get stuff done that I’d been wanting to do. While my car was being worked on I was just walking around the store looking at cd’s and stuff when I saw someone that looked familiar. I stared for a second and realized that it was Mitch Albom, the writer. He was on the phone so I waited and approached him and introduced myself and told him I had sent him an email a few years ago and was very impressed that he replied. I told him I wrote about it in my blog and that he was an inspiration to me. He was very gracious and we talked for a couple minutes. He asked if I had moved back to Detroit and I told him East Lansing but I come down a lot for Tiger games and concerts. He asked if I was going to the game tonight and I said no, “The Police”. He told me it seemed everyone was and we shook hands and I thanked him for whatever it is we thank people like him for and off I went. I thought that was so cool I started calling everybody to tell them about it.
So the stereo got fixed, I chatted with my buddy Mitch and I still had a concert to see. Pretty full day. I went back to the hotel to watch the Yankee/Red Sox game and get ready for the concert.
Everyone I spoke to about going to the concert kept saying how great Elvis Costello was going to be and giving “The Police” very little credit. I kept thinking that this should really be a special evening. The band had no new album to promote so that meant they would only be playing songs they’d already recorded. The body of work they have to choose from is pretty impressive and I told one of the friends I went with that they could literally play a greatest hits set and fill a whole show.
That’s what they did. Don’t get me wrong, Elvis was really good, but The Police” were something special. I think everyone there felt the same. From the minute they hit the stage 15000 people got on their feet and we never sat back down. 18 songs and not one was something the crowd thought was worthy of taking a break during. It’s really quite impressive if you think about it. Each of the songs played are well known by you, me and pretty much everyone we know in our generation. That’s even if you’re not a big fan of the group.
I’m real happy I saw them tonight. I don’t see them doing another tour after this and it was nice to see them at the top of their game as it were. This was the only real super group of the eighties and it’s nice to see they still have it. It would be impossible to say they played all their hits because they would never have enough time. On the other hand, every song they did play was a hit and the crowd at the theater tonight surely didn’t leave disappointed in any way.
So after breakfast I had to go to Best Buy to fix my Sirius radio. I had tickets to “The Police” and Elvis Costello tonight and I had plenty of time to just get stuff done that I’d been wanting to do. While my car was being worked on I was just walking around the store looking at cd’s and stuff when I saw someone that looked familiar. I stared for a second and realized that it was Mitch Albom, the writer. He was on the phone so I waited and approached him and introduced myself and told him I had sent him an email a few years ago and was very impressed that he replied. I told him I wrote about it in my blog and that he was an inspiration to me. He was very gracious and we talked for a couple minutes. He asked if I had moved back to Detroit and I told him East Lansing but I come down a lot for Tiger games and concerts. He asked if I was going to the game tonight and I said no, “The Police”. He told me it seemed everyone was and we shook hands and I thanked him for whatever it is we thank people like him for and off I went. I thought that was so cool I started calling everybody to tell them about it.
So the stereo got fixed, I chatted with my buddy Mitch and I still had a concert to see. Pretty full day. I went back to the hotel to watch the Yankee/Red Sox game and get ready for the concert.
Everyone I spoke to about going to the concert kept saying how great Elvis Costello was going to be and giving “The Police” very little credit. I kept thinking that this should really be a special evening. The band had no new album to promote so that meant they would only be playing songs they’d already recorded. The body of work they have to choose from is pretty impressive and I told one of the friends I went with that they could literally play a greatest hits set and fill a whole show.
That’s what they did. Don’t get me wrong, Elvis was really good, but The Police” were something special. I think everyone there felt the same. From the minute they hit the stage 15000 people got on their feet and we never sat back down. 18 songs and not one was something the crowd thought was worthy of taking a break during. It’s really quite impressive if you think about it. Each of the songs played are well known by you, me and pretty much everyone we know in our generation. That’s even if you’re not a big fan of the group.
I’m real happy I saw them tonight. I don’t see them doing another tour after this and it was nice to see them at the top of their game as it were. This was the only real super group of the eighties and it’s nice to see they still have it. It would be impossible to say they played all their hits because they would never have enough time. On the other hand, every song they did play was a hit and the crowd at the theater tonight surely didn’t leave disappointed in any way.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Totally Tubular
The first time I saw “The Tubes” was, quite by accident, at the Del Mar Fair in July of 1983. I was at the fair with a couple of my roommates at the time and there was a concert so we decided to stay. At the time the band had recently put out what would become their most popular album and the single “She’s A Beauty” was just starting to get airplay on MTV.
What I saw, to put it mildly, restored my faith in Rock n Roll. I’d heard a few of their songs before but this was something I truly wasn’t prepared for. These guys were all over the stage. There were “Rockette” like dancers, monsters, jungle tribesman and so much more. The lead singer, Fee Waybill, changed costumes for each song and was actually near naked a number of times.
I went home from the show and proceeded to buy a number of “Tubes” albums and really got into them. When I was in Michigan in the summer of ’84 I saw them again at the Royal Oak Theater. Another great show and I just plain couldn’t believe how much I enjoyed these guys. I saw them again in Los Angeles with my friend Ed in the summer of ’85 in what turned out to be their last live appearance in 10 years. The concert in L.A. was even more special to me because the back up band was “Utopia”, the band fronted by one of my musical heroes, Todd Rundgren.
In the mid 90’s, as I was on my way home from work, I heard on the radio that the band was playing at some bar in San Diego. I got home a little after 2 in the morning and crawled into bed and woke Shelly up to tell her about the show. God forbid I wait the three or four hours for her to wake up, I had to tell her right then. We went to the show with my friend Mary and her husband Glenn. This was the first time I’d seen them without all the theatrics and they were great. Just straight out rock and we all had a great time
I’ve seen them a number of times since then. Once, with the whole family, at a corn festival in Brentwood California, and since the divorce, a bunch of times at bars and fairs around the country. I’ve never felt cheated when I’ve seen them.
I’m going down to the Detroit area tomorrow to see them at a festval in St. Claire Shores and I can’t believe how excited I am. It’s a no seat arrangement and I’m hoping I can get right up near the stage. You just plain haven’t lived until you’ve seen Fee’s alter ego Quay Lude perform “White Punks On Dope’ and tomorrow I’m gonna live one more time.
What I saw, to put it mildly, restored my faith in Rock n Roll. I’d heard a few of their songs before but this was something I truly wasn’t prepared for. These guys were all over the stage. There were “Rockette” like dancers, monsters, jungle tribesman and so much more. The lead singer, Fee Waybill, changed costumes for each song and was actually near naked a number of times.
I went home from the show and proceeded to buy a number of “Tubes” albums and really got into them. When I was in Michigan in the summer of ’84 I saw them again at the Royal Oak Theater. Another great show and I just plain couldn’t believe how much I enjoyed these guys. I saw them again in Los Angeles with my friend Ed in the summer of ’85 in what turned out to be their last live appearance in 10 years. The concert in L.A. was even more special to me because the back up band was “Utopia”, the band fronted by one of my musical heroes, Todd Rundgren.
In the mid 90’s, as I was on my way home from work, I heard on the radio that the band was playing at some bar in San Diego. I got home a little after 2 in the morning and crawled into bed and woke Shelly up to tell her about the show. God forbid I wait the three or four hours for her to wake up, I had to tell her right then. We went to the show with my friend Mary and her husband Glenn. This was the first time I’d seen them without all the theatrics and they were great. Just straight out rock and we all had a great time
I’ve seen them a number of times since then. Once, with the whole family, at a corn festival in Brentwood California, and since the divorce, a bunch of times at bars and fairs around the country. I’ve never felt cheated when I’ve seen them.
I’m going down to the Detroit area tomorrow to see them at a festval in St. Claire Shores and I can’t believe how excited I am. It’s a no seat arrangement and I’m hoping I can get right up near the stage. You just plain haven’t lived until you’ve seen Fee’s alter ego Quay Lude perform “White Punks On Dope’ and tomorrow I’m gonna live one more time.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Vroom, Vroom
Mike, my nieces fiancé, invited me to join him for some Marlboro cigarette promotion where you get to ride around in an IROC car with a professional driver around the Michigan International Speedway. I accepted the invitation immediately, not because I’m a race fan at all, but for two reasons. First of all because I never go out. Seriously, I spend, easily, six out of seven evenings a week sitting in this here chair and watching television, messing around on the computer or writing.
The second reason, and this is exactly what I meant in the previous post, was that I figured it would give me something to write about. I figured I’d start the essay a week or so before the event and kind of relay the excitement and nerves I was feeling leading up to the event. So I waited, and waited but the nerves never came. Don’t get me wrong, I was looking forward to it but I thought I’d get that feeling I get every time I go out to do something with others. The feeling that I would start looking for reasons to bail out of whatever I might be doing that might cause me to enjoy myself. Those reasons never came.
This was the first time I can remember that I actually allowed myself to have fun. I wasn’t worried about what I looked like to others. I wasn’t concerned with what others thought. I just plain didn’t care. There wasn’t any time during the entire three hours we were there that I felt nervous. I realize that during normal situations nobody would ever know that I’m all abuzz inside but I am. Not this time though. It was almost disappointing, like I was missing part of me. Almost a numb feeling. Different.
When we got there it was rather odd to me. Being sponsored by a tobacco company even the parking attendants had Marlboro jackets and hats. Once we showed our identification to get in and got to a parking space a guy came up to give us some rules that we’d already heard from the other folks as we pulled in. he said to make sure that we had our picture ID and to not forget our cigarettes as smoking was permitted inside. I don’t smoke cigarettes and thought the statement encouraging us to “make sure you bring them” was humorous.
They put us in our suits that were basically walk around saunas and fitted us for helmets. We then went to a tent that had a couple example cars in it and a number of coolers with water and “PowerAde” to keep us hydrated. There were also snacks of nutrition bars and high carb stuff. This was the case for every new section we went to. Very well thought out.
When it came time for the first part of our speedway experience we were led out to the main raceway and each put into a car with a professional driver. I was a bit nervous about getting in because we had to go in through the window and I’m not the most flexible of men. I surprised myself with my flexibility and was able to get in without much effort and away we went. They told us beforehand to give a thumbs up if we wanted go faster and down if it was too fast. They also told us a signal to use if we’d had enough but there was no way I was gonna use that.
I wasn’t quite sure when to start putting my thumb up so I waited until we got to what I thought was a normal speed during the first lap and out it up and held it there for the rest of the ride. It was a much smoother trip than I thought it would be. I felt the g-force holding me against the seat and got a true appreciation of how hard it would be to drive while feeling the push against you. We went around the track three times for a total of six miles and after we were through I asked the driver how fast we got up to and he told me we were right around 150 miles per hour. Pretty cool.
The next thing we did was get into these Mustangs and did what they call drifting. This was easily the highlight of the day for me. This was just going around a course and taking really tight curves at high speeds. We were slipping and sliding all over the place. Once again I had my thumb up the whole time and it was great. The driver had some thrash metal music going on and it fit quite well with what we were doing.
After that they fed us a pretty good meal and gave us the picture you see to the left. Cool thing about the picture is that when they took it the car wasn’t there. We were just standing in front of a blue screen. Anyway, we had a real good time and my urge to buy some chewing tobacco so I could feel at home with these people was overtaken by common sense. I didn’t see one person there with tobacco stains on their shirts.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
It's A Good Friend
Something inside me has changed ever since I’ve started this whole writing thing. I think I may have become more confident in myself. I actually look at anything I do or that I see happen in a completely different way than I used to. When I’m at a store, concert, or sporting event I’m always thinking about how the event can be translated into something that I can put on the blog.
I often wonder if that puts things in a different light than they should or do I perhaps miss something that I should take in a different manner because I’m not paying things there proper respect all because I’m writing it in my head. I’ve written about my uncles’ funeral that I probably should have paid much more attention to than I did. I probably should have been more in mourning than I was. It’s weird, I’ve actually found myself waking up on a day off trying to think of something to do and one of the criteria is that it has to be something that could make a good story.
I’ve done a few things that I probably never would have done if I weren’t going to write about it. Back in 2005 I did Karaoke and that’s something I would have never done if, in the back of my head, I weren’t planning to write about it. The same can obviously be said about my recent venture into stand up comedy. I can’t imagine anything giving me the motivation to do something like that if it wasn’t for my knowing I would be writing about it.
I don’t kid myself, I know I’m not going to write the “Great American Novel” but I’ve found something that sometimes make me feel like I’ve got something to offer. I get emails and comments, both good and bad, from literally all over the world. I’ve found that I can sometimes strike a chord with complete strangers just by sitting here in my lounge chair with my computer on my lap. I‘ve found a good friend in this writing thing and we can all use a good friend.
I often wonder if that puts things in a different light than they should or do I perhaps miss something that I should take in a different manner because I’m not paying things there proper respect all because I’m writing it in my head. I’ve written about my uncles’ funeral that I probably should have paid much more attention to than I did. I probably should have been more in mourning than I was. It’s weird, I’ve actually found myself waking up on a day off trying to think of something to do and one of the criteria is that it has to be something that could make a good story.
I’ve done a few things that I probably never would have done if I weren’t going to write about it. Back in 2005 I did Karaoke and that’s something I would have never done if, in the back of my head, I weren’t planning to write about it. The same can obviously be said about my recent venture into stand up comedy. I can’t imagine anything giving me the motivation to do something like that if it wasn’t for my knowing I would be writing about it.
I don’t kid myself, I know I’m not going to write the “Great American Novel” but I’ve found something that sometimes make me feel like I’ve got something to offer. I get emails and comments, both good and bad, from literally all over the world. I’ve found that I can sometimes strike a chord with complete strangers just by sitting here in my lounge chair with my computer on my lap. I‘ve found a good friend in this writing thing and we can all use a good friend.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
I Wanna Be In A Rock Band!
They have this festival here every year called Common Ground. It’s got concerts each night for a week or so and is real popular. The music varies in genre but it seems that there is something offered for everyone’s tastes. It’s all festival type seating and it’s first come first serve when it comes to getting a good spot. People bring their lawn chairs if they want to sit because there are no seats.
Saturday night they had a show for those of my generation with three bands from the 70’s. A friend had got there early in the day and set up a few lawn chairs for a couple of us that were going so we had chairs in the first row. When we got there it was pretty empty so we were able to walk up and stand right at the barrier to the stage. Pretty cool as I was able to stake out my own little section of the gate and could lean up against it.
The first band to play was “The Sweet” of “Ballroom Blitz” fame. They were a major “glam” rock band back in the day and it was a tad disappointing to see them come out in tee shirts and jeans with no make-up. The only original member was the bass player and he looked like a beat up old woman. Mean, I know, but just an observation.
There was a young girl, maybe 18 or 19, about seven or eight people down from me. Very pretty girl but young enough that when guys my age look at her we kind of seem like the lecher from the song “Aqualung”. The guitarist for the band, who has to be at least ten years older than I, consistently flirted with her and actually invited her backstage. Now, if I had asked her to spend time with me, I’d be considered a dirty old man yet it’s kind of expected of a guy in a rock band. I wanna be in a rock band.
The second act was the band “War”. Gotta say, totally impressed. They played all their hits from “Spill The Wine” to “Low Rider” and had the crowd in the palms of their hands from the moment they hit the stage.
Being so close to the stage I happened to catch the eye of the lead singer during the song “Spill The Wine” and as I was singing along with him he changed a few words. He saw me flub it up and actually mentioned it while pointing at me and laughing. Pretty cool.
This is actually quite a band. Though the only original member is the lead singer, he was still the guy who wrote all the songs so you couldn’t really tell if they were missing anything. I really enjoyed their set. I was actually dancing, if you can call what I do dancing.
What I thought was the coolest thing about the whole night happened during their part of the show. Off to the side of the stage, in the back behind the band there were a number of people. Three of them were members of the first band that played, “The Sweet”. The others were all members of the headliners of the evening, “Grand Funk Railroad”. They stayed right up until the start of the last song, which meant they only had another 10 minutes to prepare themselves for their own set. Getting your peers to stand in back of you to see your set, to me, shows a great deal of respect. I think that’s something we all could use in our chosen careers. I wanna be in a rock band.
As I said earlier, the headliner of the show was “Grand Funk”. The band was originally a three-member group and during their heyday they actually became the only band to sell out Shea Stadium in New York faster than the Beatles. They were pretty big for a while. In the 70’s. Over the years they’ve continued to tour and record but they pretty much live off their old hits and who could blame them.
I wasn’t really into their show, probably just tired of the songs. The band is also without their original singer and main songwriter and he’s someone that’s hard to replace. The other side of that is the guys in the band are into their early 60;s and you gotta give it to anyone who can do what they do at that age. I mean, honestly, sixty something years old and still traveling around playing in a rock band. I wanna be in a rock band.
Saturday night they had a show for those of my generation with three bands from the 70’s. A friend had got there early in the day and set up a few lawn chairs for a couple of us that were going so we had chairs in the first row. When we got there it was pretty empty so we were able to walk up and stand right at the barrier to the stage. Pretty cool as I was able to stake out my own little section of the gate and could lean up against it.
The first band to play was “The Sweet” of “Ballroom Blitz” fame. They were a major “glam” rock band back in the day and it was a tad disappointing to see them come out in tee shirts and jeans with no make-up. The only original member was the bass player and he looked like a beat up old woman. Mean, I know, but just an observation.
There was a young girl, maybe 18 or 19, about seven or eight people down from me. Very pretty girl but young enough that when guys my age look at her we kind of seem like the lecher from the song “Aqualung”. The guitarist for the band, who has to be at least ten years older than I, consistently flirted with her and actually invited her backstage. Now, if I had asked her to spend time with me, I’d be considered a dirty old man yet it’s kind of expected of a guy in a rock band. I wanna be in a rock band.
The second act was the band “War”. Gotta say, totally impressed. They played all their hits from “Spill The Wine” to “Low Rider” and had the crowd in the palms of their hands from the moment they hit the stage.
Being so close to the stage I happened to catch the eye of the lead singer during the song “Spill The Wine” and as I was singing along with him he changed a few words. He saw me flub it up and actually mentioned it while pointing at me and laughing. Pretty cool.
This is actually quite a band. Though the only original member is the lead singer, he was still the guy who wrote all the songs so you couldn’t really tell if they were missing anything. I really enjoyed their set. I was actually dancing, if you can call what I do dancing.
What I thought was the coolest thing about the whole night happened during their part of the show. Off to the side of the stage, in the back behind the band there were a number of people. Three of them were members of the first band that played, “The Sweet”. The others were all members of the headliners of the evening, “Grand Funk Railroad”. They stayed right up until the start of the last song, which meant they only had another 10 minutes to prepare themselves for their own set. Getting your peers to stand in back of you to see your set, to me, shows a great deal of respect. I think that’s something we all could use in our chosen careers. I wanna be in a rock band.
As I said earlier, the headliner of the show was “Grand Funk”. The band was originally a three-member group and during their heyday they actually became the only band to sell out Shea Stadium in New York faster than the Beatles. They were pretty big for a while. In the 70’s. Over the years they’ve continued to tour and record but they pretty much live off their old hits and who could blame them.
I wasn’t really into their show, probably just tired of the songs. The band is also without their original singer and main songwriter and he’s someone that’s hard to replace. The other side of that is the guys in the band are into their early 60;s and you gotta give it to anyone who can do what they do at that age. I mean, honestly, sixty something years old and still traveling around playing in a rock band. I wanna be in a rock band.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
It's All About The Squeeze
I love driving, always have. I don’t know what it is about it that gives me such a thrill but it does. Actually, I don’t know if thrill is the right word for it. I just enjoy it. It’s a relaxor, if there is such a word, running spell check tells me that it’s not but it’s the word that comes to mind.
I used to watch my Dad drive when I was very young and he’d hum his little out of tune song and just be lost in his thoughts. Sad to say but I kind of aspired to that. I find that I can get lost in my thoughts so easily in the car whether I’m driving or even as a passenger. Pretty sad when I’m the passenger and all I can think is that I wish the driver would be quiet so I can just do my own thing. I guess I shouldn’t say that but it’s the way I feel sometimes.
When I first started driving I would make sure I had a couple cassettes to listen to and I’d just drive around town listening to whatever I had chosen. As I gained confidence I started going out on the freeway and exploring more and more of the metro Detroit area. All the while I’d be listening to either the local rock station or a tape that I’d made. There would be many times that a friend or two would come along for the ride and, looking back on it, I have to believe that they would be incredibly bored but I was completely content.
As a child our family would travel to Pennsylvania or Virginia for summer vacations and the highlight of the entire trip, for me, would be the ride. The anticipation of the drive would get me so excited about the trip I’d barely be able to sleep. On the day of the trip Mom would wake us at 4:00 in the morning and the six of us would pack ourselves into the car and off we’d go.
We’d hit the turnpikes along the way and I don’t know why but I just loved it. Stopping at these little toll booths and getting our little ticket out of the booth either by hand or machine was something that, I don’t know, just seemed so cool. We’d have to go through tunnels when going through the mountains and, again, I just loved it.
After I started driving I would try to drive to Chicago on as many weekends as I could. The stated reason would be to see Dad but I truly just wanted to drive. I would start to feel a little bummed whenever I’d get close to whatever the destination was that I was getting to. I could literally turn right around and drive back right away. Actually I’ve done that a few times while living out west. When I lived in Las Vegas I would sometimes drive to Mom’s just to pick up something that I thought I needed and grab it, put it in the car and head home all in the same afternoon. It’d be a total of about nine hours of driving for a 20-minute stop over. I don’t know, nothing to it.
Nowadays I listen to either talk radio or a book on tape during my drives. Just this past weekend, when I went to Chicago, I stopped at the local audio book rental place and picked up the latest book by David Sedaris. After picking it out I went home, grabbed my bag and the dog and off we went. Lucky slept on the floor of the back seat and I listened to David Sedaris for four hours. A perfect trip. Lucky only bothered me once and that was to open the window when we got to the toll booth when we entered Indiana.
The problem I have with these trips is that there’s always a destination. I don’t really care if I ever stop when I’m driving. I’d really like to just drive around the country and stay in hotels. I’d listen to whatever book I felt like “reading” and life would be just about as perfect as I can imagine. Of course that’s how I feel today. Hell, tomorrow I may wake up and just hate the whole idea. But right now it sounds wonderful.
I’ve always felt let down whenever I would get close to whatever destination I would be heading to. It happens in cars, planes and even cruise ships. I always just want to keep going. I really think I could get on a train and not get off for a month. Just let me watch the world go by from the old Amtrak and I’d be happy as a clam. I do need decent weather but that’s pretty much my only requirement. Bad weather doesn’t give me the sights I enjoy. When it’s grey and ugly I just get bummed out.
Of course nowadays it’s not too easy to drive all over the place. With gas prices going through the roof I can’t go nearly as far as I would like. With my current job giving me weekends off though I constantly feel the need to hit the road every Friday night. It really doesn’t matter where I go. That’s probably why I have gone down to Trenton and Oak Park over the last couple months. I do enjoy seeing the old haunts but the true highlight for me is the drive. There’s an old line about whether something is worth the effort. It goes: is the juice worth the squeeze? To me the squeeze is what it’s all about. The juice is just an afterthought.
I used to watch my Dad drive when I was very young and he’d hum his little out of tune song and just be lost in his thoughts. Sad to say but I kind of aspired to that. I find that I can get lost in my thoughts so easily in the car whether I’m driving or even as a passenger. Pretty sad when I’m the passenger and all I can think is that I wish the driver would be quiet so I can just do my own thing. I guess I shouldn’t say that but it’s the way I feel sometimes.
When I first started driving I would make sure I had a couple cassettes to listen to and I’d just drive around town listening to whatever I had chosen. As I gained confidence I started going out on the freeway and exploring more and more of the metro Detroit area. All the while I’d be listening to either the local rock station or a tape that I’d made. There would be many times that a friend or two would come along for the ride and, looking back on it, I have to believe that they would be incredibly bored but I was completely content.
As a child our family would travel to Pennsylvania or Virginia for summer vacations and the highlight of the entire trip, for me, would be the ride. The anticipation of the drive would get me so excited about the trip I’d barely be able to sleep. On the day of the trip Mom would wake us at 4:00 in the morning and the six of us would pack ourselves into the car and off we’d go.
We’d hit the turnpikes along the way and I don’t know why but I just loved it. Stopping at these little toll booths and getting our little ticket out of the booth either by hand or machine was something that, I don’t know, just seemed so cool. We’d have to go through tunnels when going through the mountains and, again, I just loved it.
After I started driving I would try to drive to Chicago on as many weekends as I could. The stated reason would be to see Dad but I truly just wanted to drive. I would start to feel a little bummed whenever I’d get close to whatever the destination was that I was getting to. I could literally turn right around and drive back right away. Actually I’ve done that a few times while living out west. When I lived in Las Vegas I would sometimes drive to Mom’s just to pick up something that I thought I needed and grab it, put it in the car and head home all in the same afternoon. It’d be a total of about nine hours of driving for a 20-minute stop over. I don’t know, nothing to it.
Nowadays I listen to either talk radio or a book on tape during my drives. Just this past weekend, when I went to Chicago, I stopped at the local audio book rental place and picked up the latest book by David Sedaris. After picking it out I went home, grabbed my bag and the dog and off we went. Lucky slept on the floor of the back seat and I listened to David Sedaris for four hours. A perfect trip. Lucky only bothered me once and that was to open the window when we got to the toll booth when we entered Indiana.
The problem I have with these trips is that there’s always a destination. I don’t really care if I ever stop when I’m driving. I’d really like to just drive around the country and stay in hotels. I’d listen to whatever book I felt like “reading” and life would be just about as perfect as I can imagine. Of course that’s how I feel today. Hell, tomorrow I may wake up and just hate the whole idea. But right now it sounds wonderful.
I’ve always felt let down whenever I would get close to whatever destination I would be heading to. It happens in cars, planes and even cruise ships. I always just want to keep going. I really think I could get on a train and not get off for a month. Just let me watch the world go by from the old Amtrak and I’d be happy as a clam. I do need decent weather but that’s pretty much my only requirement. Bad weather doesn’t give me the sights I enjoy. When it’s grey and ugly I just get bummed out.
Of course nowadays it’s not too easy to drive all over the place. With gas prices going through the roof I can’t go nearly as far as I would like. With my current job giving me weekends off though I constantly feel the need to hit the road every Friday night. It really doesn’t matter where I go. That’s probably why I have gone down to Trenton and Oak Park over the last couple months. I do enjoy seeing the old haunts but the true highlight for me is the drive. There’s an old line about whether something is worth the effort. It goes: is the juice worth the squeeze? To me the squeeze is what it’s all about. The juice is just an afterthought.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
It's The Dying Part That Hurts
I’ve come to Chicago to surprise Dad for his birthday tomorrow. Lucky and I got here last night and I’m not sure whether I’ll see Dad or not until tomorrow. His girlfriend is throwing him a B-day party and he doesn’t know about the party or me. I’ll call her in a bit to see how she wants to work the surprise part.
Dad, David and Laverne, Dad’s girlfriend, went to see the Dr. yesterday to run through whatever kind of treatment program they’re going to use on him. I was driving here when Dad called and told me about the things that would be happening to him. It seems they’ve got a decent enough plan and Dad seems pretty comfortable with it.
I guess they’re going to put a stint in his arm that somehow dries up his testosterone. From what I can gather, the cancer feeds off testosterone and the less there is in his system the easier it is to fight the cancer. After they get that under control they’ll start radiation and whatever else they feel needs to be done. The Dr’s. have told him that the odds are great that he will outlive the cancer.
Dad and I were talking about the whole thing and he seems pretty ok with the whole thing. He keeps saying he’s 76 years old so what can he expect? He figures he’s only got five or 10 years left anyway so this isn’t really any big thing.
On my way to Chicago he called me and while we talked he said that he wasn’t worried because he wasn’t afraid of dying. We talked about that for a minute and I told him I felt a little like that myself with only one difference. I told him that I thought what he really meant was that he wasn’t afraid of being dead. It’s the dying part that can be so difficult on so many levels. I mean there’s the obvious physical pain that you feel but there is also, I would think, an incredible amount of emotional pain that goes along with it. We talked a bit about that and he seemed to understand what I was trying to say.
I think he’ll be alright with this whole thing. David will do what he can to keep those of us that don’t live here informed of any developments and I talk to Dad on quite a regular basis. I know he doesn’t want to go through the treatment, not because of any associated pain that goes with it, I think it’s mainly because it’ll make him do things. He’s never really been one to want to have to do anything and with this he sort of has to.
Laverne will make sure he takes whatever medication he needs to take and that, I can attest to, is not an easy task. He gets handed his little packet of pills and he’ll start to open the package and start talking to someone and he’ll just plain forget what he’s doing and set them down. It happened last night at dinner. He had the packet in his hand and he started telling me some stories of when he was in the army. He totally forgot about the pills. It truly does just slip his mind. I noticed it and told him to stop and take his pills. Laverne made a comment about how this is what happens all the time. He agreed. I totally get it.
I’ll be going over there for his Birthday BBQ and I’m sure he’ll be incredibly uncomfortable and want nothing more than for everyone to leave so I’ll just sit there by him and let him tell his stories. I kind of turn off the brain when listening but I realize that these times won’t last so I can make the effort. He’ll never know the difference.
Dad, David and Laverne, Dad’s girlfriend, went to see the Dr. yesterday to run through whatever kind of treatment program they’re going to use on him. I was driving here when Dad called and told me about the things that would be happening to him. It seems they’ve got a decent enough plan and Dad seems pretty comfortable with it.
I guess they’re going to put a stint in his arm that somehow dries up his testosterone. From what I can gather, the cancer feeds off testosterone and the less there is in his system the easier it is to fight the cancer. After they get that under control they’ll start radiation and whatever else they feel needs to be done. The Dr’s. have told him that the odds are great that he will outlive the cancer.
Dad and I were talking about the whole thing and he seems pretty ok with the whole thing. He keeps saying he’s 76 years old so what can he expect? He figures he’s only got five or 10 years left anyway so this isn’t really any big thing.
On my way to Chicago he called me and while we talked he said that he wasn’t worried because he wasn’t afraid of dying. We talked about that for a minute and I told him I felt a little like that myself with only one difference. I told him that I thought what he really meant was that he wasn’t afraid of being dead. It’s the dying part that can be so difficult on so many levels. I mean there’s the obvious physical pain that you feel but there is also, I would think, an incredible amount of emotional pain that goes along with it. We talked a bit about that and he seemed to understand what I was trying to say.
I think he’ll be alright with this whole thing. David will do what he can to keep those of us that don’t live here informed of any developments and I talk to Dad on quite a regular basis. I know he doesn’t want to go through the treatment, not because of any associated pain that goes with it, I think it’s mainly because it’ll make him do things. He’s never really been one to want to have to do anything and with this he sort of has to.
Laverne will make sure he takes whatever medication he needs to take and that, I can attest to, is not an easy task. He gets handed his little packet of pills and he’ll start to open the package and start talking to someone and he’ll just plain forget what he’s doing and set them down. It happened last night at dinner. He had the packet in his hand and he started telling me some stories of when he was in the army. He totally forgot about the pills. It truly does just slip his mind. I noticed it and told him to stop and take his pills. Laverne made a comment about how this is what happens all the time. He agreed. I totally get it.
I’ll be going over there for his Birthday BBQ and I’m sure he’ll be incredibly uncomfortable and want nothing more than for everyone to leave so I’ll just sit there by him and let him tell his stories. I kind of turn off the brain when listening but I realize that these times won’t last so I can make the effort. He’ll never know the difference.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
How Did They Breathe?
When I was very young, living in Trenton, there was a family down the block that everyone knew. I think everybody had this type of family in their town. This was the type of family that had a Mother that would walk around the neighborhood, in her bathrobe, knocking on doors and asking for cigarettes. The Father, on the other hand, was a raging alcoholic who found it necessary to beat his children at the end of a long day.
There were three kids in the house. Two boys, one was two years older than I and one was one year younger, and a girl, who was probably three or four years younger. I would often play with both of the boys doing things that I would kill my kids for if they were caught doing the same things.
I’m going to call the kids A, B and C with A being the oldest and C being the youngest. I’m not using their real names because I recently met with B and was asked not to.
There was a time when we all went outside and saw an ambulance at their house. As we got down there we saw that A was lying in the street next to the family car. It seems that somehow A’s Mother had run him over. Fortunately the tire had only run over his leg but it was quite scary. The word was that A had somehow fallen out of the car and when he told his Mother to back up she had accidentally moved forward and drove over his leg. A was taken to the hospital and came home the next day with a cast on his leg.
While A was recuperating I would often be down at his house playing board games and listening to music. I remember playing Monopoly with A on the front porch and listening to the “Hey Jude” album. While we were playing, A and I were talking about the accident and he told me something that, to this day, still blows my mind. He said he had actually told his Mother to drive forward knowing that he would be run over. He was 10 years old. Think about that. He was 10 years old and wanted his Mother to run him over. How incredibly sad.
I was also friends with B even though he was a year younger than I we would often steal cigarettes from his Mother, Salem’s if my memory serves, and go out into the woods and smoke our little lungs out. I was eight and he was seven. B was a much quieter kind of guy than A. Middle child and all. The thing I most remember about him was his walks home from school. We would get out of school at 3:30 and it was maybe a 15 minute walk. The average kid would be home and out playing by 3:50 in the afternoon. As we’d all be playing in the street and it would start getting dark we’d notice B just getting home from school. This was a daily thing. He wouldn’t get home until around 5:30 or 6:00 every night. He always said he hadn’t gone anywhere, just strolled home.
At the time neither he nor any of us could figure out why it took him so long to get home. Looking back at it one can easily see that he simply wasn’t in any kind of hurry to get there. Why would he want to?
Karen, my sister, used to baby sit for them sometimes and recalls that they never had anything there for her to make for dinner. She would either bring them down to our house or come down herself to get some food to take back to their house and cook it there. Again, while this was going on, nobody thought anything about it. It was just the way it was. I don’t recall any kids on the block making fun of them or anything like that. They were just a family that lived on our block.
I remember going to the Detroit Zoo with the entire family and having a wonderful time. There were also numerous times that I’d be at the house and we’d listen to albums and play with our baseball cards. There was, however, one night that I spent the night and when the Father came home he proceeded to call each kid out into the living room. After getting them out there he started yelling at each and when that didn’t satisfy him, he started hitting them. I can still hear A yelling out for his Dad to stop. I was no more than nine years old. I remember opening the bedroom window, hopping out and running home. The next day it was if nothing had happened. Life just went on and this was their life.
I’ve thought about this family a number of times since I left Trenton and wondered what had happened to them. I happened to see A’s name on the classmates.com website and sent him a note just saying hi. He responded and we started an email relationship. I asked about his siblings and he gave me contact info for each. A is preparing to retire from the air force after 30 years. He’s widowed with a couple kids. I spoke to him on the phone the other day and we talked about our childhood. He remembers it pretty much as I do. We would remember times and events of things that would happen in his house and all I could think was, “how did you breathe?”
I got in touch with B just last week and found that he is a Pastor in the Detroit area. He remembered me and agreed to have lunch with me so I could ask him about our childhoods. B was 10 years old when I left the area and he, understandably, doesn’t remember a great many of the things I brought up to him regarding his childhood. He does remember the night I left through the window though. He also remembers us never talking about the incident after it happened. B remembers smoking in the woods but not where we got our supplies. He also remembers the day the “For Sale” sign went up on our house. He and I both thought there could be a shrink’s field day on these memories.
I told him my feelings on the whole god thing and we talked about how odd I thought it was that he would become a man of god after all he had been through. He said he could totally understand my questioning him about it. I said I compare his believing to the Jews of the Holocaust. I can’t understand how they could believe in God yet also can’t understand how they wouldn’t. He understood what I meant. We talked some more about things I remembered about our youths and said goodbye after a couple hours. I watched him walk away and was expecting that little kid shuffling his feet and kicking the rocks like he did 40 years ago. What I saw was a man who wasn’t given a chance as a child but beat all odds and is living a life of joy in his family and his beliefs. Again, all I could think was, “how did you breathe?”
I am astonished at the strength of these kids to have survived what they went through. They weren’t incredibly bright or anything, they just saw life as having no choice but to move on. I think B said it best when talking about how he could possibly believe in any kind of higher power. He said that he reached a point in his late teens where he was either going to give up or had to believe in something. He chose to believe. It occurred to me then that that was what allowed him to breathe.
There were three kids in the house. Two boys, one was two years older than I and one was one year younger, and a girl, who was probably three or four years younger. I would often play with both of the boys doing things that I would kill my kids for if they were caught doing the same things.
I’m going to call the kids A, B and C with A being the oldest and C being the youngest. I’m not using their real names because I recently met with B and was asked not to.
There was a time when we all went outside and saw an ambulance at their house. As we got down there we saw that A was lying in the street next to the family car. It seems that somehow A’s Mother had run him over. Fortunately the tire had only run over his leg but it was quite scary. The word was that A had somehow fallen out of the car and when he told his Mother to back up she had accidentally moved forward and drove over his leg. A was taken to the hospital and came home the next day with a cast on his leg.
While A was recuperating I would often be down at his house playing board games and listening to music. I remember playing Monopoly with A on the front porch and listening to the “Hey Jude” album. While we were playing, A and I were talking about the accident and he told me something that, to this day, still blows my mind. He said he had actually told his Mother to drive forward knowing that he would be run over. He was 10 years old. Think about that. He was 10 years old and wanted his Mother to run him over. How incredibly sad.
I was also friends with B even though he was a year younger than I we would often steal cigarettes from his Mother, Salem’s if my memory serves, and go out into the woods and smoke our little lungs out. I was eight and he was seven. B was a much quieter kind of guy than A. Middle child and all. The thing I most remember about him was his walks home from school. We would get out of school at 3:30 and it was maybe a 15 minute walk. The average kid would be home and out playing by 3:50 in the afternoon. As we’d all be playing in the street and it would start getting dark we’d notice B just getting home from school. This was a daily thing. He wouldn’t get home until around 5:30 or 6:00 every night. He always said he hadn’t gone anywhere, just strolled home.
At the time neither he nor any of us could figure out why it took him so long to get home. Looking back at it one can easily see that he simply wasn’t in any kind of hurry to get there. Why would he want to?
Karen, my sister, used to baby sit for them sometimes and recalls that they never had anything there for her to make for dinner. She would either bring them down to our house or come down herself to get some food to take back to their house and cook it there. Again, while this was going on, nobody thought anything about it. It was just the way it was. I don’t recall any kids on the block making fun of them or anything like that. They were just a family that lived on our block.
I remember going to the Detroit Zoo with the entire family and having a wonderful time. There were also numerous times that I’d be at the house and we’d listen to albums and play with our baseball cards. There was, however, one night that I spent the night and when the Father came home he proceeded to call each kid out into the living room. After getting them out there he started yelling at each and when that didn’t satisfy him, he started hitting them. I can still hear A yelling out for his Dad to stop. I was no more than nine years old. I remember opening the bedroom window, hopping out and running home. The next day it was if nothing had happened. Life just went on and this was their life.
I’ve thought about this family a number of times since I left Trenton and wondered what had happened to them. I happened to see A’s name on the classmates.com website and sent him a note just saying hi. He responded and we started an email relationship. I asked about his siblings and he gave me contact info for each. A is preparing to retire from the air force after 30 years. He’s widowed with a couple kids. I spoke to him on the phone the other day and we talked about our childhood. He remembers it pretty much as I do. We would remember times and events of things that would happen in his house and all I could think was, “how did you breathe?”
I got in touch with B just last week and found that he is a Pastor in the Detroit area. He remembered me and agreed to have lunch with me so I could ask him about our childhoods. B was 10 years old when I left the area and he, understandably, doesn’t remember a great many of the things I brought up to him regarding his childhood. He does remember the night I left through the window though. He also remembers us never talking about the incident after it happened. B remembers smoking in the woods but not where we got our supplies. He also remembers the day the “For Sale” sign went up on our house. He and I both thought there could be a shrink’s field day on these memories.
I told him my feelings on the whole god thing and we talked about how odd I thought it was that he would become a man of god after all he had been through. He said he could totally understand my questioning him about it. I said I compare his believing to the Jews of the Holocaust. I can’t understand how they could believe in God yet also can’t understand how they wouldn’t. He understood what I meant. We talked some more about things I remembered about our youths and said goodbye after a couple hours. I watched him walk away and was expecting that little kid shuffling his feet and kicking the rocks like he did 40 years ago. What I saw was a man who wasn’t given a chance as a child but beat all odds and is living a life of joy in his family and his beliefs. Again, all I could think was, “how did you breathe?”
I am astonished at the strength of these kids to have survived what they went through. They weren’t incredibly bright or anything, they just saw life as having no choice but to move on. I think B said it best when talking about how he could possibly believe in any kind of higher power. He said that he reached a point in his late teens where he was either going to give up or had to believe in something. He chose to believe. It occurred to me then that that was what allowed him to breathe.
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