Wednesday, November 29, 2017
I haven't seen Ed in twelve years - he was thoughtful enough to come to my mom's funeral services. Before that? Don't know, but I'd say in the last thirty-five years I've spent no more than a few minutes with my old high school pal, Ed Dockal.
Why then when my wife walked into the room, and I attempted to inform her of the news did I barely make it into her arms before I broke down sobbing like a baby?
Why this persistent welling of tears as I remember our times together so long ago? How to explain this profound feeling of loss and diminishment?
It's taken me these three days to figure it out:
In 1974 at Freshman Football tryouts a month before ninth grade was to start I was befriended by a friendly (if a little bossy) kid with a bad haircut, Kurt Rambis eyeglasses and a goofy smile. He was my first high school friend, and we remained close until I went off to college in 1980 and then moved to Texas in 1982.
So ages fourteen to around twenty-one ... man oh man, did we do and share a lot. And with the passing of time all the mistakes, miscalculations and experience painfully gained recede ... and as Tom Petty sang, "We remember the good times with just a little bit more importance."
What's my point? See, it wasn't the Adult Ed that died early this past Sunday morning ... I didn't know the Adult Ed.
It was that kid that I lost on Sunday.
And I loved that kid.
