I am turning into an old man, or at least middle aged. I don’t like it, and I ‘m fighting it every stuttered step. I will have my fiftieth birthday this summer and I must tell you I find it a bit unsettling. I exercise irregularly, I eat healthy sometimes, and I could lose a few pounds. I am beginning to be mindful of my mortality. When I was a kid, my friend Mark had a saying for any dire circumstance we found ourselves in “Well, we’re not going to die.” With that proclamation everything was put in perspective; we knew everything was going to be O.K. Back in the ‘70’s in Belle Plaine we thought we were immortal. I don’t feel that anymore. When I hit fifty years of age I will finally accept being in the middle aged category. You see I plan on living to one-hundred, so naturally I had to wait until fifty to be called middle aged.
A couple weeks ago one of my high school classmates exited before he reached that middle age marker. Tim was one of the 101 of us who graduated in 1977 from Belle Plaine High. Back then we thought that Shakopee was the beginning of the “cities”. Our class was the largest ever to go through the Belle Plaine schools – a small class by today’s standards. Back then you knew everyone’s name, which was no trick. Most of us even had nicknames – some had more than one. The real challenge of staying in touch came years later. I knew Tim but I had lost touch with him. We exchanged pleasantries when we would see each other at a class reunion, or maybe the county fair, but I am sorry to say it didn’t go much further. Now it’s too late. He’s gone and I don’t know why. But, I don’t need to. That’s not my concern.
But, what has become clearer to me now – is that maintaining friendships is more important than any job or any task; it is worth any effort it might take. I am not going to pretend that Tim and I were close – we weren’t. We did receive our first communion together, we were confirmed at the same time, we were disciplined by the same nuns, and we fought with each other while playing floor hockey in Mr. Miller’s Physical Education Class, and then sometime over the last thirty years we went our separate ways. It often happens that way. I knew Tim for over forty-five years. I don’t know - that seems like a long time, long enough to stay in touch when you live in the same county all your life. I’ll take the blame. I didn’t do a very good job of holding up my end of the relationship. My Dad used to say “Go the extra mile, what will it hurt?” With Tim I never found out.
So I went to Tim’s wake. I rode down there with Jim (another guy I have known for a long time). It was so crowded we couldn’t get in to the funeral home. I was glad to see that. Tim deserved it. So a couple of us went uptown (or downtown Belle Plaine if you prefer) and had a beer. We talked of Tim, our kids, our parents (living and deceased), and the “glory days.”
The next day I made a few phone calls, wrote a few letters and promised myself that I would do a better job of staying in touch. After all, I only have fifty years to get the job done.
No comments:
Post a Comment