This Blessed Life

Jonathan was one of my best friends from the age of ten to fifteen. In the late 60’s and early 70’s, we attended church together. A whole social life grew out of that, church league baseball, boy scouts, youth fellowship, which, since we were Presbyterians, meant there were youth fellowship parties with music and dancing and some first kisses. I say some because few know what really occurred in the awkward 30 seconds of cohabitation in a dark closet shared with a member of the opposite sex.  Predestination aside, slow dance and kissing partners were chosen by the random spin of the bottle. Of course, a good Presbyterian would say that the bottle was predestined to land the way it did.

 Jonathan, a year older, got to experience these adventures a year ahead of me and always kept me informed of what I could expect. He was one of those lucky daredevils. He routinely escaped relatively unscathed from the incidents of mischief he conjured up. I was a consummate follower, a delighted observer of pure folly, so we were a good match. Girls liked Jonathan and fathers tended to trust his good nature and politeness. He was a good dancer and an excellent pool player for his age. There was a little Eddie Haskell in him, though. He could look anyone in the eye and tell a lie and never be doubted.

Jonathan could fight, too, if the cause was just. Jonathan was loyal and among all of the other things I picked up from him, that respect for friendship is something I still hold dear.  I was getting bullied at Boy Scout camp one summer and after the first couple of days Jonathan told me to stand up for myself.  I told him I was scared of the kid. He didn’t say anything but the next day when the boy started in on me again, Jonathan went over to the larger and older boy and said, “I am going to teach you to stop being mean.” With that he just started pummeling the kid, no headlocks, no adolescent preening before the fight, just, here’s the reason, boom. That kid didn’t come near me or Jonathan ever again.

As we got a little older we took bus rides across town to the ‘negro’ retail stores in “Deep Ellum” and Oak Cliff areas of Dallas to buy records, white shoes and pork pie hats. We hung out in our white shoes and hats at pool halls and at the arcade at Big Town, an early version of a shopping mall.  We went to sock hops at Broadway Skateland and went on hayrides.  When I hear “Funky Broadway” or “Born to be Wild”, I think of Jonathan.

Though it had been several years since we had been really close, I was 19 I guess, it was like old times when I ran into Jonathan at a community college we were both attending.  We ate lunch together a couple of times and recalled some of the crazy stunts we got into over the years.  They were funny only by virtue of the fact that we were alive and had avoided death or serious injury, in some cases, by seconds or inches. We laughed hard in reverie of the times we had… when we set our giant Christmas tree fort on fire with us inside…the time Jonathan slow danced with a local hood’s little sister at the sock hop and then we had to run through yards, over fences, and down allies to escape a 1966 Mercury Montclair full of legendary Mesquite, Texas toughs.

We recalled with slightly more trepidation the spree of late Friday and Saturday nights we’d spent together in our early teens, sneaking our parent’s cars out and joy riding after they have gone to bed. There was one incident where we lost control of the car on a curve and slid off the road, up an embankment, narrowly missing a couple of large oak trees. We leapt out of the car to survey possible damage and realized we had missed one tree by about a foot on the front of the car and missed the other by about a foot at the rear of the car. We laughed that we had perfectly parallel parked my mom’s 1968 Plymouth Satellite between two old oaks, while sliding sideways at  50 m.p.h. 

Finally, there was the incident where we had Jonathan’s mother’s car and met up with a car load of girls we knew, who invited us over.  The house had a big playroom with a pool table. It seemed very kid friendly and we had no idea of our offense until the girls suddenly alerted, “Quick, it’s my dad!! You’re not supposed to be here! Hide in the closet!” Jonathan and I lived on adrenaline rushes and this seemed like the start of some fun. The large walk-in closet had room on either side to push back and hide from the shaft of light that poured in when, just moments later, the door opened.  Jonathan and I looked at each other wide eyed. The first thing we saw was not a human head looking in but the probing cold steel of a double barrel shotgun. Terrified, we shouted out to take it easy, we would come out. At gun point, we were marched downstairs. Parents were called, arrived, and the whole sneaking the car out adventure was exposed. That was the beginning of the end. Eventually, Jonathan and I grew apart. We were starting to get into the kind of trouble where our parents were doubting whether we should be hanging around together.  In retrospect, I felt like Jonathan knew he was starting on a more reckless and dangerous path and it wasn’t fair to drag the kid along.

The community college semester ended and I transferred to a state university. The last time I talked to Jonathan, he had some plans, but was still trying to find his way. If I had known how lost he was I like to think I would have done more. Five months later, I got a call from my mother telling me Jonathan had died, choking to death on his own vomit due to an overdose of downers. I was slammed hard by the news and went sort of numb. One word questions filled my mind:  Why?  What? How?  I think my mother sensed the heavy weight descending upon me.  After the funeral, I was about to head back to school when she sat me down. She wanted to let me know that I had reached that point in my life when death would become a more frequent visitor.  She said it would happen about every 5 years, then, every 3 years, then more and more frequently, the older I got.  I had entered the cycle of adulthood and loss would become more prevalent, as would genuine and lasting joy. Despite loss and sadness she counseled, try to always focus on the joy that a life shared with the world.

It was just about 5 years later when I lost another friend, Kendall, in a car accident. Alcohol was a factor in the wreck, and the effect of his death still reverberates through his family and friends, all of these years hence.  A few years later, it was my Dad passing, then quickly my mother’s Dad, who was like a father.  Mom was right. The list of family and friends has steadily grown. Mom passed away in 2002. Because of her, I have a healthy relationship with death.  I acknowledge death’s power to invoke deep emotional pain through the physical absence of a loved one and death, in turn, yields to my ability to embrace the eternal, joyous spiritual presence of those passed. Some things, death can’t take away.

This year has been a tough one, though.  All of the good stuff, and there has been plenty of that, has been shaded by unexplainable sadness. The wonder of the season will be filled with prayers for the peace of those who are suffering and for the restoration of joy in their hearts. I am a tough old boot but my heart aches for others who may be immersed in grief and not yet know their way.

Back in mid-October, my oldest son, Caleb, lost one of his best friends, James, who inexplicably died in the swimming pool. They say he drowned but this is almost impossible to believe. He was a college swimmer who had just completed his eligibility and was due to graduate about now.  James spent a few weeks with us summer before last. He helped me get started on the still uncompleted landscaping of our back yard.  When my back started to act up, James carried on working through some brutal Texas heat to get the area for the new patio dug up and ready to lay the stones.  James and Caleb shared a number of non-swimming interests, particularly music. You can still hear James singing a song he wrote, with Caleb on guitar at: http://www.muziboo.com/jrigg/music/the-place-where/ . It is an ominous and foreboding song about the loss of a friend, something James had recently experienced in his life. James reminded me of someone, though, at the time, I couldn’t remember exactly who. Later, I realized his loyalty, his twinkle-in-the-eye, mischievous, risk taker, personality was like a couple of people I have known, Jonathan and Kendall.

A couple of weeks ago the entire city here was shocked to learn of a street race that resulted in the death of a young man, Collin, a swimmer, an honors high school student from a good family, a musician, about to receive his Eagle Scout. Yet, he decided to take a terrible risk, racing at speeds approaching 100 mph, until he lost control and crashed. The next morning I found out that I vaguely knew the boy. I had been one of the last people to see him alive. My middle son, who just happened to be at the pool where I coach, and where Collin’s High School was temporarily practicing, heard Collin and a team mate joke about racing home. My son felt guilt for not having said something to discourage them.

Now, I teach my sons the lesson my mother explained to me 35 years ago. It is as difficult to teach as it was to learn. I admire my mother’s grace in handling it the way she did. It seems important to point out that Jonathan, Kendall, James and Collin are not defined by their last act of poor judgment. They had each done much good, shown kindness, worked hard, in their too short lives.  People think the old worry and fear death. I can’t say that’s true for me. Like anyone my age, I am not thrilled with the uncertainty and indefiniteness of the time we are allowed but I accept it as part of the deal: Live as fully as you chose but the end is beyond your control.  I wish young people worried more about death and feared the unfulfilled life instead of living as though they were indestructible characters in a video game.  Watching this is painful for those of us who are aging. We remember all of the risks we took, we think of those we lost, and we pray for a safe way home tonight and every night for all of those who are foolish in just an instant. As the year wanes, it is time to go forward with hope and prayer.  Hold your loved ones close and may the angels be with you in comfort and joy. Tis the season, may the love of the miracle of the world shine a light of peace and comfort to all who hurt and may we sing praises of thanks for the goodness of this blessed life!