Friends and Why

As I sat down to write this, this piece about friendships come and gone, and some come again, this song by Robert Earl Keen came on Pandora and seemed appropriate.

Coming Home of the Son and Brother

Time for the singer

Time for the singer boy to make his way home

A prodigal I’ve been distressed

This lonely child can’t make it on his own

I’ve been traveling states away

I’ve been playing in a bluegrass band

Now it’s the coming home

Of the son and brother again
Time has slipped away

I don’t know if I can play another tune

They want me to build single handed

A road up to the moon

They only pay me nickels and dimes

In a game that I can never win

So it’s the coming home

Of the son and brother again
It’s been a long long time

Since I’ve seen all of my family and friends

I want to hear them tell their stories

Tell ‘em all about the places I have been

So open all your doors up wide

Invite all the neighbors in

For the coming home

Of the son and brother again

A couple of days ago I posted pictures from what shoulda/woulda been my high school year book (I didn’t get in the year book because I dropped out – twice). The pictures were of three friends from early high school; Bud Hansen, Stan Ferrell and Tony Hansen.  Another friend, Pete Hoffman, emailed me and apologized if it was his fault we had drifted apart. It wasn’t Pete, it really wasn’t.

My life has been periods of ups and downs in many, many ways. My early life, let’s say from birth (1949) to Sixth grade (1961) was a pretty normal, middleclass, rural life. For those twelve years I had basically the same circle of friends, some school friends, some neighborhood friends and some both. Twelve years is a long time for some friendships.

But in 1961 my life, or my family’s life, took a nose dive. We started the school year in Coventry but I think in late October we moved to Bridgeport. The move, even if everything else had gone well, was hell for us kids (my older sister Sandy, younger brother Doug, and me) because we went from a very idyllic rural life to living in a “big” dirty, ugly city. For the first time in our lives we encountered other races, mainly African American and Latinos, (I think there were two African-American families in Coventry) in fairly large numbers. Sandy was just starting high school and her school had a split day – one group went in the morning and one in the afternoon.

But everything else didn’t go well. It was the end for my mom and dad – they split, reconciled, and split again. Each one of us kids dealt, or didn’t, with it in a different way.

Early spring we moved back to Coventry. I don’t remember that much about school when we got back. I think I ended up in a different class than where my friends. But that wasn’t the hardest part.

I think we all tried to be “normal” but let’s face it, we weren’t. We now came from a broken family. And we were poor. Mom was a teacher but there were no teaching jobs available when we moved back. She finally found a job with some small manufacturing company South Windham but it didn’t pay much. We lived in an apartment on South Street, some old 3-story Victorian house that had been made into apartments. We lived on the second floor.

September 1962, I entered 7^th grade, then at the one year old Coventry High School. I was with most of my friends still. Coventry like I guess many schools had different levels for each class (something like A, B, C & D) with A being the “smart” kids. I, along with most of my friends, was in the A class. But something was wrong with me. I had been a pretty good academic in grade school but my mind just wasn’t there anymore. Later on in life I realized that I like so many children from a busted marriage blamed myself – if only I had been a better person, blah, blah, blah. At the time I just knew something was wrong with the world and somehow I was a square peg in a round hole.

As happens so often with kids who have lost their way my grades suffered. Maybe not immediately but by the time 9^th grade came I was no longer in the A group. I started acting up, barely passing classes I should have aced. I just didn’t give a shit.

More than likely this affected friendships. I wasn’t in the same classes as my friends anymore so we didn’t hang out together as much. I became a “bad” kid. I smoked, swore and didn’t really fit in with anyone.

Sure I still had friends – Bud from my original group of friends hung in there with me for a bit – but some of my friends were different now.

But I guess I’m off track. My point, the point about friendship, is that they have come and gone. I think I’m to blame. I don’t know why. Oh the best friends I’ve had, so many that I’ve left behind. I moved either emotionally or physically. Maybe it was a defense, to be unemotional so that when the inevitable happens and we are no longer near each other I don’t feel the loss.

Now I’m an old man and sometimes I do feel alone and I wish I had my friends around me. I’ve become a solitary guy. I have Nadine. But really no one else. Part of me is afraid to become close to anyone because it hurts so much when they leave. But still I miss the friendships I’ve had.

I’ve connected with some friends through Facebook. I wonder what they think of me now. Do they think that all the ranting and raving I do is strange?

I sometimes envy them, especially those that stayed so close to home and at the same time I wonder how they put up with it. Yes I miss Coventry and Connecticut but whenever I’m back I feel that I’m being drawn into a time that has passed. There seems to be a complacency that I don’t have and haven’t for so long.

I’ve probably rambled for too long. To all my friends throughout my life, thank you. None of you left me; I left you for reasons therapy would take years to unravel. But I never really left you; I am what I am, at least in part, because of all of you. And if we were physically close again you’d see far too much of me. I can’t list all of the people in my life but I’ll do the best I can. In no particular order; Pete Hoffman, Burt (you’ll always be Bud to me) Hansen, Barry Hansen, Tony Hansen, Stan Ferrell, Bernie Costello, Ronnie Anderson, John Fraser, Richard Brownie, Brian Schwarkopf, Mike Thomas, Tony Leopardo, Danny Dorval, Mark French (who I spent a few weeks with in a haze after leaving the army), Al LaRocque, Pete Crowley, Paul Morgan and some of the girls too; Linda Hazen Adamson, Linda Canfield Garrison, Sue Douville. I miss you all.