Friends of Mine

Seeing that smile; maybe I should write an article on Bianca. This is why that chick at a reunion did not remember me. I knew people and cultivated relationships. By the time I branched out to more classmates she was doing something else.

I don't exist because some silly redhead did not recall me. Our story opens in sixth grade. You remember- my favorite year in school. Teachers were good, I had new people to meet and the nice people from public school. You never know who will rise up and endure. David was not in my class. Everyone went to lunch together.

Gender segregated lunch where we played on a parking lot. They could call it a blacktop. Where did churchgoers park every Sunday? Where we ran around after eating lunch. It was alright. The urban setting was culture shock of sorts. We still played games and were active.

David was in my eighth grade class. So were many. That is the year when Confirmation happens. I got in trouble for calling it Catholic Bar Mitzvah. It is when you become a adult in the faith and the next day adults go back to treating you like some punk kid.

When our teacher mentioned there was a time when the bishop gave Confirmation candidates a light slap the conversation escalated into The Three Stooges Get Confirmed. Holy water in seltzer bottles- you have seen the short films. Interestingly: The Three Stooges were bar mitzvahed.

The gifts at bar mitzvahs are nicer. None of which had to do with eighth grade. There were two new students and many from seventh grade transferred to different schools. The quality of Jim, one of the less remembered and highly memorable classmates, added a new element. Different voices, different creativity.

Call Allen Gannett. The level of creativity led to an engaging school year. Many of my friends in eighth grade did not go to my high school. That's more the decision of their parents. David and Jim were around, in most of my classes and helped navigate the challenges of freshman year.

They could not do anything about the taunting in homeroom and the prison mentality of certain boys. They gave me a frame of reference. We always pursued different avenues. It was David who suggested how funny it would be to knock the books out of someone's hands.

It's rude and for the high schoolers of today? Don't do it. It is funny until the threats of retaliation and violence. An upperclassman named Kevin McHale (not the Celtics great from Hibbing, Minnesota) explained reasonably why that was not a good course of action.

Just one more score and I'm done. A complicated classmate who was harassed and kind of a jerk (he seemed to stoke the fires of bullying and taunts. Plus, he wasn't very nice.) used to carry every book with him. It's not cool that people trashed his locker. Still, he carried every book so on the stairwell near the History Wing, David and I passed him, I grabbed his left wrist, he was not expecting that there was an avalanche in seventh lunch.

I wrote that paragraph like a police report. My older self does not always approve of the behavior of the freshman. After eliciting the right response I retired my proof of gravity. As we headed to Christmas break I was not well liked.

The one friend who stood by me said "Well, what do you expect?" The answer to that rhetorical question led me to reinvent myself. If I can change something? Please do. The ones who liked me a little and hated me weren't my friends to begin with. Taking a softer approach and appreciating music made all the difference.

I was not enjoying popular music. Pardon me for not enjoying A Flock of Seagulls. Is the music as memorable as the hairdo? There were many bands to discover. Side note: if you disagree with my phrase "High school never ends" the top two albums on this week's Billboard Charts come from Madonna and Bruce Springsteen.

Navigating the challenges of high school with someone consistent- most of our relationship happened over the phone. He had this loud bird and I wondered if it was there or if someone came over to say "Caw!" repeatedly.

My father did not like our relationship. Keep in mind he berated the friends I used to bring around and talked about female classmates as if we were having consensual relations. There were no relations remotely like that and my parents were worse than the tabloids. That led me to visit friends on my own.

When I called David my parents would comment on half of a conversation. Had they nothing better to do? Usually I would collect on my paper route, head to High's, buy a soft drink and make a phone call. I had to go outside and in public for privacy.

Why were we on the phone? Because he lived a few miles away. It's not like we were ball players or had time to scrounge the money to buy a cone at the Baskin-Robbins around the corner from the Jefferson Theater. I saw him occasionally and in school? All the time.

With the knowledge of right now: I treated our phone calls as if we were talking face to face. That is how I treat internet relationships. On the occasions I am able to see someone in the flesh we continue the conversations already had. Did you think I was going to speak in emojis and say "You're crushing it?"

That's fine at Vid Con. We cultivated something real. As sophomore year began we carried on. He fell into the Drama Department. I headed to the literary magazine. Many of the same people- especially classmates one year ahead- were in both. Surround yourself with creative people.

It worked out well until a runt messed with the system. That was in junior year after my father left. I told no one about that. I would spend more time in court over the next year than anyone who committed no crimes. It was my dirty, dark secret.

Number of Psychiatrists and Comparably Titled Professionals Who Helped Through The Roughest of the Rough: 0

Number of Friends Who carried Me Through, If Only By Treating Me Like A Normal Person: 25 (Approx)

You never forget who kicks you when you're down. You should never forget the one who scraped me off the bottom. I skipped a lot of school for many reasons. None of them good. Either depression from my family life, taunting from a-holes, the utter pointlessness of school after my sister was removed by legal means- I was saving this for the book. Since it may never see the light of day: it is the difference between drawing your weapon and opening fire.

It is well established my father used excessive force. At least he didn't know about waterboarding. Missing the four days before Easter break- I came to school that Monday and Tuesday and could not deal with everything all at once.

Family members angrily said "Get over it!" That didn't help. I had to latch onto whatever normalcy there was in my life. Tae kwon do was something I enjoyed. Martial arts put me back into shape, focused me and gave me purpose. My father did not like it because it didn't fit his Team Sports Fantasy.

And then he walked out on his family. I was less interested in martial arts by this time. I did not necessarily want to go for my black belt which was two tests away. At that point I wanted the normalcy of life before wartime.

That Tuesday night I rode my bicycle to karate. There are three different names for the same thing. The session was good and the best people were there. For one hour I could meditate, jump, kick and punch without thinking about foolishness.

The move was riding to 7-Eleven, buying a Big Gulp, taking the quarter that was change to St. James which still had a phone booth and making the call. That was the longest call in our history of long phone calls. I heard enough updates about classmates to make me want to go back to school the next Monday.

When I arrived home the news that my grandmother would not make it through the night meant we would head to a funeral later that week. That was the obvious "Rock bottom" moment and I had a renaissance over the last couple months of junior year.

As most friends do, David and I drifted apart, We spoke less frequently. He blew the lid off how uptight our classmates were. He dyed his hair black. It looked good- like Arcadia era Simon Le Bon.

I told him that in that iconic phone call. I happened to see him for a second the week before. That and Father Gould talking to me in the chapel showing genuine concern in the only conversation we ever had were the only highlights of that week.

You don't want to know the low lights. When I would see David (in later years he went by Skip which worked for him.) he would usually laugh at first glance. Not laughing at me. It was closer to "I can't believe you're still alive." Sometimes I cannot believe it either.

School ended with a whimper. A few years later I found out he was working at Tracks. I wasn't going to clubs although that is a memorable one. After a long period of underemployment I applied to return to The National Gallery of Art. They accepted me. I was so excited that I crossed the Mall and walked to North Capitol Street until reaching Tracks.

When I asked for "David" and used his full name he thought it was the police. Not that he did anything to inspire interrogation; he went by Skip. He was thrilled to see me, I was glad to have money coming in again and we reconnected for one year.

He enjoyed the styles and outfits in comic books and used them for theme parties. We never discussed relationships except who was nice and/or attractive. Let's say he fit in with the clientele at Tracks. I did not mind.

When he first used the word "Boyfriend" he almost said it under his breath as if I wouldn't accept his preference. You meet who you meet. Private life drama? Baby leave me out. Of course I listened and that relationship did not last.

Some do, others don't. We had a good long run. The consistency of talking to someone all the time was important. It still is. We never ran out of things to discuss. That is the sign of a good relationship. Be friendly, engaging and enjoyable. If you're creative? Even better. You can never have too much creativity.

The End of Friends of Mine

Thomas Jackson Will Return in The Springsteen Economy