Reflections on Connections
When I was a senior in high school in 1983, I reached a point late in the school year where I had burned all my bridges with my family. I had moved away from my mom years earlier after getting suspended from school for being caught with the very first joint I had ever bought. From there, I went to live on my uncle's farm, which I loved. However, after discovering that I was going to be a teenage father, I let that relationship sour too. My dad had just moved back to the state, and I tried living with him for a while, but that didn’t work out either. I was a stressed-out 18-year-old, trying to keep up my grades, support my pregnant girlfriend, work an after-school job, and fulfill my obligations to National Guard drills one weekend a month.
My best friend during that time was a guy I had gone to church with. He worked on our farm and had always been a stabilizing influence in my life. When I played football, he gave me the shoes I needed to participate. When I made some foolish decisions and needed money to fix something I had broken, he would lend it to me from what he earned working at the local movie theater.
One Sunday night, late in the school year, I called him after hitchhiking from the town 20 miles away, where I had been drilling with my National Guard company all weekend. He got permission from his mom to come pick me up, and that was that. I stayed with them until we graduated. His mom was wonderful to me; she was the kind of mom who cooked breakfast every day, even though she worked.
I have stayed in touch with that family off and on for over 40 years. My buddy is now an Army Colonel and a chaplain, and I’ve kept in contact with him as he has traveled the world and been deployed to combat zones multiple times. I may go years without seeing him in person, but we text and email from time to time. Today was his mom’s 90th birthday, and Wonder Woman and I attended the party held at the assisted living facility where she resides. I missed her husband’s funeral a couple of years ago because I had COVID, so I was really glad to make it today. She told my wife that she helped raise me, and she wasn’t lying.
Even though I live in the same city where I went to high school, I seldom see anyone from that era of my life. Our city is very transient, and most of my classmates came from military families. I occasionally run into one guy I served with, but we aren’t close. The jobs I held throughout my twenties didn’t yield any lasting friendships. I do have several people from my career in public schools that I still talk to, but of course, it’s not the same as seeing them every day.
There are plenty of downsides to social media, but at least we can use it to keep track of the people from our past with whom we still maintain some semblance of a relationship. There are some individuals from my past whom I wish hadn’t slipped away, but for the most part, life just unfolds as it does—unpredictably and without a plan. I’m grateful for the friends I’ve made through my recovery group and my time in activism; some of them I’ve known for decades now. It’s always a joy to see one of them unexpectedly (or intentionally). It’s just that you never know when it could be the last time you see someone, and I find that kind of sad.
As I reflect on these connections, I realize how important they are in shaping who we are. Here’s to cherishing the friendships we have and making the most of the time we share together.
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