A Rambling Mind is a Terrible Thing to Let Free

I apologize. This is way too long, but I've lost the energy to edit it. So be warned. Even for me, this post tends to ramble. You might want to bail on it and try again another day. Sorry.

Stephen wasn't much for writing and I was no great shakes at art. I sang in choir, but I had a voice like beef jerky (either you love it, or you hate it). Stephen never even attempted to join choir or band. I became involved in drama, but Stephen left that to his brother, Glenn, who was quite good at it. Regarding athletics, while Stephen was a better athlete, I was more successful. Stephen was always more emotional than me, although I have become far more so than I ever was. I was more sentimental, however. In many ways we were dissimilar. I was tall and strong. Stephen was short and quick. I think we may have looked like Mutt and Jeff. So how did we become friends?

The credit must go to Stephen. That is true for everyone who has ever been close to my heart. I am a responder, not an initiator. Spouse asked me out. And then asked me out again. I never asked Spouse for a date until after we were married. (Didn't fear the "no" reply so much. [grin]) Getting married was Spouse's idea.

Stephen was new to our school in ninth grade. His family had moved to our district from a Minneapolis suburb. Surprisingly, one of Stephen's summertime friends also moved to the area. That was Kevin, and they continued to be friends until college, when Kevin kind of just disappeared into the world.

Stephen was in my algebra class, but I didn't notice him. It wasn't until basketball season began that I even knew there was such a person. It was during basketball that he attached himself to me. Why, I'll never know. But it was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

I didn't want to play basketball. In fact, I didn't even try for the teams in seventh and eighth grade. But I had always been the tallest boy in the class, and in ninth grade I passed Sharla at last and became the tallest in the class. Pressure from coaches, teachers, and students eventually got the best of me and I signed up.

No one ever taught me to play basketball. All the coach cared about was that I got rebounds. So I couldn't dribble well. I couldn't shoot well. I wasn't aggressive because I didn't want to hurt anyone. And I couldn't keep up. I remember our guards loved to fast break, even when it wasn't there. Craig, who I don't believe ever got much taller than five feet, would try race down the court and do layups. I lost count how many times he was blocked by some six foot forward or center. But I would exhaust myself trying to keep up, finally spending my time in the middle of the court, always half a play behind the ball. I was a horrible basketball player. I was probably as bad at basketball as I was good at baseball.

The truth was, baseball was the only sport I really cared about - until Stephen taught me tennis. That's because no one would let me play what I wanted. I didn't want to be the center in basketball. I wanted to be a forward. In football, they saw how big I was and made me a guard. I wanted to be a wide receiver. Mickey had taught me to catch everything, and I would have made an excellent receiver. (Craig, our five-foot wonderboy, was our wide receiver. Sheesh.) I didn't block well and the quarterback and running backs constantly yelled at me - and any other guard or tackle who didn't get the job done. I remember the quarterback kicking me in my b*tt when I bent over to start the play. He never should have done that. I knew better than to drag his a*s all over the field. He was popular with the coach. But I got my revenge.

Before EVERY play, I would tell the defensive lineman across from me which side of me to use to reach the quarterback. Then I would pretend to block the guy and just let him through. Our quarterback spent a lot of time laying in the dirt. I didn't play football again until my senior year, when I was again co-erced into it. Actually played well that year. We had a new quarterback. But I had both my knees broken at the same time, which kind of ended my career.

But back to Stephen.

We became friends during the freshman basketball season. I felt bad because Stephen was probably one of the best players we had. But he didn't get to play. I was one of the worst. I started every game. Such is the fairness of high school sports. Stephen wasn't part of the "In Crowd". Neither was I, but I had the distinction of being the tallest player on the team. What would happen is that I would go out onto the court and foul out by the end of the third period. Then I would sit with Stephen, Joe, and the other benchwarmers and enjoy the rest of the game.

Stephen also played baseball. But our roles were reversed here. He wasn't very good at it, while I excelled. I would eventually be moved to varsity, where the older players resented me being as good as them and let me know it. My old teammates resented me being better than them and let me know that, too. Kind of took the joy out of playing. It also affected the quality of my play.

After we got our driver's licenses, Stephen taught me tennis. I thought it was a "sissy" game. (Anything I couldn't do was "sissy", which is funny now. I have very much become the "sissy" I used to try and hide from. To be honest, I'm happier with it. It seems more honest.) Actually, Stephen didn't teach me tennis. He just got me out on a court to play. We didn't know the rules and only had vague ideas of what the lines were for. So we played it like table tennis, the only tennis we knew. By chance one day, Kevin's family was at the court next to us. He looked at me and asked me what the score was. I told him, "Sixteen to ten." Horrified at our ignorance, Kevin then proceeded to teach us the rules of tennis. It became one of Stephen's and my favorite activities.

During the summer months we would often play six or more hours a day. We spent all of our time together. Stephen taught me about food, such as eating spaghetti with mushrooms, chinese egg rolls, and fried rice. I don't recall teaching him anything about food. He made me put on a swimming suit and actually try to swim. Until then I was terrified to even try. He taught me that it was all right to want to do the things I wanted to do. Most importantly, he accepted me for who I was, despite the many times I was subjected to, "You idiot!" Stephen made me feel happy I was me, because I was the one Stephen liked. I don't know what I gave him, but he must have got something from me. I wonder what.

We never lived together, despite being best friends. Not sure why not. Might have had something to do with the fact that Stephen seldom had a job. Now I don't have one. It's probably best, though. A lot of friends cease to be friends after sharing an apartment or flat. We never did, although we did suffer a couple of separations. Always, it was Stephen who came looking for me. We're separated again. Some day he's going to come looking for me again. Some days I wish it were now.