Seems like old times

It was a cold, rainy spring day in 1977.  Most likely March, or possibly early April.  I lived about a mile away from our school, so I walked back and forth most days.  Since my mom was, like most moms back then, a stay at home mom, she would sometimes take me or get me if the weather was too bad.  

This particular afternoon, however, she was nowhere to be seen  after school let out.  There was heavy rain, it was cold, and a battalion of cars arrived as other parents showed up to pick up their kids who normally walked.  But no mom.  Finally, I saw a kid walking by who was in another homeroom class than mine.  It was fourth grade after all.  We each had our own home classrooms apart from the other ones. Even in a small town you didn't know everyone.  

But I recognized him because his mom and my neighbors' mom were friends, and he had been there a couple times when they visited.  I suppose they knew each other from being Catholic.  Catholics were not a majority group in our village by a long shot.  Plus his mom was Lithuanian, and our neighbor Dutch.  So there was probably a bit of the non-native bond, too. 

I didn't know him otherwise, except I was aware he went by my house on his way home.  It wasn't hard to notice.  His dad drove an old, black pre-60s pickup truck with wooden slats, and a big Donald Duck painted on the passenger door.  So noticing him walking to his truck that afternoon, I asked if he could give me a ride home.  Knowing little more about me than I knew of him, he nonetheless agreed and asked his dad if I could get a ride. 

And the rest, as they say, is history.  After a rocky start, he would end up being my all time best friend I've ever had.  More a surrogate brother actually.  He was an only child, and I had one surviving sibling, a sister almost nine  years my senior. Which is sort of like being an only child, but without the advantages. 

I've mentioned him many times over on the old blog. We had many grand adventures over the years, some when we were young and some when we were not so young.  My wife and I still raise a glass of beer as we undertake some annual traditions in memory of the times he and I had, even before I ever met my wife. 

As I said, we were more brothers, and brothers who often had little in common. He loved cars, I cared enough that they worked and got me where I was going.  I preferred to stay home and read and listen to my dad's classical, crooner and soft jazz records.  He loved to party with the popular set and was up on the latest MTV rock group and heavy metal tour.  He was also one of the premier football jocks in a setting that elevated football to Trinitarian levels.  I wasn't.  I ran some track and cross country, and played baseball for a few years in my younger days.  But athletics and I were always distant relatives.  

He, on the other hand, was competitive, athletic, and very cosmopolitan for our rural community.  Partly because his godfather worked in Hollywood and often helped them travel and gave him a heads up on coming trends, like Space Invaders, a host of video games, the latest music news, and of course the upcoming release of some new space movie we might like called Star Wars.  And he was very, very popular.  

Nonetheless, he never cut ties with me.  In fact, apart from 'members only' social gatherings for his various sports teams, he often invited me along with the rest of his team friends when they were out and about.  It would be them with their varsity jackets and me in my customary sports coat and jeans. But the gang and I got on well enough, and he and I would always be there for one another no matter what.  

In college if I needed him at 3:00 AM, he would be there.  Even if he belonged to a fraternity and I  didn't. As can be guessed, he was my best man when I married the love of my life.  And of course I paid back the favor of being there in my own ways over the years.  Even when he lived in California, working in third party companies that rent out to the music world, and we went decades not seeing each other, I knew if I needed him he would be there. 

Over those many years of adventures, we developed certain traditions and traditional pastimes together.  One was always going to each other's home on Christmas Day.  Another was visiting him at least once in the Fall in college when he lived on Columbus campus, before I began attending the main campus as well.  And yet another was, in keeping with the MTV spirit of the age, attending rock concerts. 

Like many things, I was a Johnny-come-lately in that department.  But in the 80s, almost everyone seemed to be attending concerts.  Contrary to some fears in the music world that MTV would cause a drop in desire to attend such events, it seemed to do the opposite.  But not for me.  Again, my tastes had been informed by listening to my dad's music, and I can assure you that did not - usually - include the latest on American Top 40 or MTV playlist.  

But in the summer of 84, several of the gang got tickets for a group that hit it big at that time called RATT. A throwaway group to be sure. And not to my preferences in the least.  But everyone in our cadre was going, and I didn't want to be left out.  So I went, too.  

Despite my low expectations, I was still disappointed.  I can see why they didn't last.  They seemed less invested in the concert than I was.  Though the opening act was impressive. I hadn't heard of that group, but after the concert I told the others that the opening act would probably go places.  They were energetic, enthusiastic, filled with an obvious love of what they were doing, and the lead singer possessed that important trait great entertainers have of making us think we were the only ones in the arena that they were performing for. That opening act's name was Bon Jovi. 

I ended up attending dozens and dozens of concerts over the years, usually with my friend.  The only one we didn't see was Van Halen in 1984, since those tickets were like gold.  But we did see the group and singer after the breakup a couple years later.  Despite it all, I was never a big fan of this, not only because a lot of the music wasn't my cup of tea, but I've never cared for large crowds or loud music.  

Nonetheless, my friend was all into it, and eventually would work in the industry - stage design and setup.  So I went and went again.  In later college and after, he worked for companies that the tours would hire in local areas to set up the bulk of the lighting and stage sets that you see.  It was working in such a setting, BTW, that my friend was able to get some choice goodies for me.  This included a stage hand T-Shirt for Paul McCartney's 1989 world tour and, the biggest of all, tickets for excellent seats for my parents and me to see none other than the legendary Frank Sinatra in one of his last concert tours.  We sat in the center in the first row behind the VIP limo section.  Not bad at all.  A memory I cherish. 

But that was long ago. This year has been a rough year for him.  His mother, who was like a second mom to me, died back in January.  And this November, his dad - the one who agreed to take me home on that cold, wet spring day all those years ago - passed away.  Because of their health concerns, he moved back a few years ago during the Covid lockdowns, living in the same house he lived in when we were kids. Having never married, and with most of his family gone or in distant countries far away, it's pretty much him at this point.  Still in that old house in which I spent many an evening playing games, watching movies, or just crashing after long weekends. 

I met with him after the passing of both parents a month ago.  We chit chatted as always.  Though it's amazing how talk runs dry when you have distant memories to recall, but decades apart otherwise. Still, shortly after our dinner he texted me.  He invited me to see the Trans Siberian Orchestra the day after Christmas when they play at Columbus. 

Now, the Day after Christmas (in some places, Boxing Day) has long been our real Big Day of the holidays.  First, in my ministry days, people sometimes invited us to a Christmas dinner or such things on Christmas Day proper.  Plus, Christmas Day is busy.  That's why, as a pastor, I always took my Christmas vacation starting on Christmas, not before (since unless Christmas fell on a Sunday, no church).

That was something I also did in the secular workplace.  In fact, most people oddly like to get the weeks leading up to Christmas off for vacation.  That left me, even when I had scant seniority, open to get the week after when I wanted it.  So for most of our lives, we usually had the whole week after Christmas off together - at least until the boys grew up and got jobs and their own schedules.

But the day after has always been our big 'kick back, relax, enjoy the fruits of the day before, and chill' day.  So much so that there have been times when the boys said they were prepared to work Christmas Day itself at long as they could get the day after off.  

Which is to say, it is on the precious Family Day of the Year, the day after Christmas, that the concert is taking place.  I wasn't sure about saying yes, and first checked it with the family.  But we concluded he probably could use a little bit of an outlet this year, and some company.  A concert with me, like the olden days, might be the ticket.  So breaking a thirty year plus tradition, I agreed to take our big Day After and go with him to the concert this year.  Christmastime, the two of us hanging together, going to a concert - it will be like old times.  Hopefully it will give him a bit of a boost after the year he's had.

Oh, and I'm still not a fan of loud music or big crowds.  But you do for family.