growing up

I’ve been talking with some very old friends lately, guys I lost touch with 30+ years ago, and it really got me to thinking about my personal chronology in a general way. Like when I have driven past the house I grew up in, which doesn’t happen much anymore because I moved far away many years ago, but when I am back up that way, it’s irresistible to go by at least once. It always strikes me as to how small it seems. I know that everyone says that, you know that when you are little everything is bigger, etc. but this house IS really small. I could fit 3-4 of them in my current address. And that’s not being a smart-ass or elitist, just offering the facts.

To say I came from humble beginnings is a little generous. We weren’t destitute—there was always food, toys for Christmas and all that, but it wasn’t until I reached high school that I realized how much more other people had. And they all seemed to wear it well; I guess being born to comfort, leads to comfort. But still, going to a private boy’s prep school that cost my family and me dearly, and to spend the better part of the day around what I considered the privileged, which earned and spent rather freely, certainly had its affect. While they were going to ski trips and the prom, I was busting my ass working in kitchens and stealing art supplies. I never really belonged in their world, nor they in mine.

And so it goes on. Through hard work, perseverance, a little luck and a lot of love, I clawed my way up and out. But never too far out. The fact is that over the years I have had to spend much of my time around the very type of people I eyed with such contempt in my formative years, but I still retain the simple old me from ago. I’m not wearing a badge of humility here—noble in the plight of the have-nots—nope, I am quite happy that I can sleep soundly and secure. I may look back with rose-colored glasses from time to time, but now is good. Still, I don’t ever expect to vie for the cover of GQ; I feel much better in t-shirt and jeans as opposed to suit and tie, thank you very much. Besides, facades bore me and hanging around with the suits slapping hands and lying to each other is a criminal waste of time and energy. Me? I never want to forget how to struggle. Because you know what? Struggle is good. It is rewarding in its self, and nothing of value has ever been obtained without it. Having to make an effort to attain is exercise for the character and should be required living for everyone for as long as it takes for them to appreciate the exchange.

A lifetime has been lived since last I talked to my dear old friends. And like the beat up old sweater that my Grandmother gave me 40 years ago that I still wear and cherish, it feels good on my skin again. We have all grown, sired offspring and built our little fiefdoms, but it is sooo good to renew the emotions. Damnit, I love these guys! And it’s nourishing to know that we all made it. Many, many others did not, and while I mourn them all, I celebrate the survivors.

So I raise a glass of good consciousness, fraternity and truth to renewed friendships.