Chapter 14 . Only Way to be a Friend...

                  Chapter 14

 

                     “The only way to have a friend is to be one.”

                                  - Ralph Waldo Emerson                                                                                                

      Boys will be boys.  Let’s face it...that hasn’t changed much over the centuries. We, as boys, belong to the same, unique fraternity with the same quirky needs, growth spurts, peculiar idiosyncrasies and DNA... Don’t kNow Anything... and have so, since cave boys entered the picture.  No one really tells us how to behave in social situations, how to make and keep friends, how to socialize, interact with the opposite sex, experience and handle death.  If you’re lucky, you’ll have a parent or two to help guide you, an adult who may take you under his or her wing, an older brother or sister you can emulate and/or mimic.... someone to guide you through those magnificent, complex, scary and often awkward passages through life. That’s if you’re lucky. But even if you are fortunate enough to have one or all of those guides.... it is impossible to cover every eventuality.  Some things you just have to experience on your own and learn from your decisions and mistakes...and lessons.

     Toll house Lane and Stevenson Road were separated by a strip of wooded area, perhaps twenty feet across which eventually cascaded into an area known as “the park”. The properties from each street abutted the path so you could see the opposite house from the back of yours. From my backyard at 291 Tollhouse Lane, I could see the park and literally walk to it in less than a minute.

      In July of 1957, “The Park” consisted of barren land with rock and dirt hills piled 20 feet high, strewn about the wasteland. These mounds patiently waited to be used for foundations, driveways, or lawns.... but for now they were there for my playing enjoyment. My imagination would run wild as to how I could use these structures, these mountains, for my entertainment.  I was, for all I knew, the only boy in town and I needed to find ways to amuse and distract me.

     On this broiling July day in 1957, I decided to play the adult version of cowboys and Indians.  I found a nice size branch that had fallen aimlessly and purposelessly to the ground.  It meant very little to most living creatures, but to this adventuresome, creative and yes, imaginative 7 years old, it was a tube of metal, waiting to be forged into a Winchester rifle.  This process took only a few minutes to defoliate the twigs and sprigs until it was a clean machine.  Once this was done, I needed to explore the mountains for hidden dangers; whatever sizes or shapes they might be. 

     Deliberately and surreptitiously I began my exploratory climb, up and down and all around the Black Hills and Stone Mountains of the Tollvenson Range.  I periodically picked off an unsuspecting cougar or a newly awakened bear, and of course thwarted bands of Indians that would try to prevent me from reaching my destination. However, I never expected what was about to appear over the next ridge.  In the distance perhaps two hills from where I stood, were two unrecognizable figures. My make-believe adventure had suddenly turned real and my heart began racing as my gut started churning.  My eyes focused on these two beings.  What, or better yet, who was I looking at and more importantly, why were they peering menacingly back in my direction. 

     For some unknown reason we continued walking in the same direction toward each other, not really knowing what to expect.  We reached the center and largest hill together and by now could determine we were all three of the humanoid variety.  As we got closer, we simultaneously reached for a handful of gravel as we prepared for battle. I was ready and expecting a fight, and I wouldn’t, I couldn’t back down, even though I was outnumbered.  This was my territory I thought, not theirs, and if I had to fight to my death; then so be it.

     “Hi,” the first and taller boy said. 

     “My name is Donald, What’s yours?” The taller of the two blurted out.

     Whoops, I gulped.... I may not have to do battle after all, I surmised, as I slowly opened my hand to let all the stones slide down my leg to the pile of stones I was standing on....

     “ Hi, I’m Allen.” I gulped.

      I always called myself Allen, since it was the only name I was known by at that stage of my existence.  Later, I ran the gamut of names from Al to Smuck to the infamous Schumuck and everything in between.  But today, I was Allen.

      “I’m Jimmy,” the heavier but just as friendly boy chimed in.

      “I live in the corner house.” Jimmy continued, as he pointed back in the direction of his house.  You couldn’t see it from where we were, but I knew the house he was talking about.  It was the green cape and was the first one built in the development, which made his family and him, the first on the block.  I always thought that was so cool…to be the first one of anything.

     “We were the first ones to move in,” He proudly boasted.

     “Don was the fourth.”  He stated matter-of-factly.

     “Do you know what number you are?” He queried, as if he was a history teacher waiting for a researched answer.

     “Um…uh…no I don’t." I meekly confessed.  I actually hadn’t thought about it.  I didn’t think it really mattered.

      “You’re the eighth house.” He proudly offered, as if he had just discovered plutonium.  There are going to be eighty-one houses when they are done.  I knew already that Jimmy and probably Don had counted the number of lots and partially built homes.  How else would they know? 

     We stood, walked (actually strolled), tossed stones, sat and talked for hours. There was, after all, years of experiences to discuss, our favorite things to do, our favorite baseball (Yankees) and football teams (Giants), the developing neighborhood, and most importantly, planning for the immediate future.  We talked about the Mill River across the street and all the activities that awaited us.  They had already discovered the best places to fish and the various swimming holes and hideouts along the way.  It was a thrilling time for me, and my heart pounded in anticipation of all the great times we would share.  Life was good and I didn’t have a care in the world.  We were becoming friends and I couldn’t control or hide my excitement, nor did I want to.

     “Donald!” His Mom yelled from the red ranch on Stevenson Rd.

     The house was in clear view but his mother was calling from the back door facing away from us.

     “Dinner!” She completed, as if she knew he would hear her voice, no matter how far away he was.

     “Coming.” He responded. “I have to go,” he stated.  “Want to have a catch after dinner?” he asked, looking right at me.

      “Sure.” I answered, without thinking of asking my mom or knowing if I could or couldn’t.

     “Yeh, sure.” Jimmy agreed

     And so, it was a plan.  After dinner we would meet back at the park with our baseball gloves.  Donald would bring the hardball.

    When I finally raced into the backdoor of our house, I couldn’t control my excitement.  My mom had just arrived home from work and was tired but she patiently and lovingly listened to my rambling about the two “new” boys I had just met. I jabbered on about everything we did and talked about. I was thrilled at the prospect of having mates to play with and couldn’t gulp down dinner fast enough.

     “Slow down!” Mom cautioned, “You’ll choke on your food.”

     “We’re going to have a catch after dinner, mom.” I stated rather than asked, as I totally ignored her last comment about slowing down.

     “Allen, it’s getting late and dark, outside.” She said, as if outside was the only place it was getting late and dark.

     “And, I said to slow down.” She repeated.

     “ Tomorrow’s Saturday, and you’ll have all day to play.”

     Ker Plump, I heard and felt my heart drop.

     “Tomorrow’s, tomorrow!” I pleaded. “They’re both going to be there NOW, and I told them I would MEET them!” I said half screaming and half whining.

     “Ok, 20 minutes, but when I call for you, no arguments”. Mom relented.

     “Fine.” I conceded. Half a loaf of bread was better than none, I thought in so many words.

     I arrived back at our original meeting place, expecting Donald and Jimmy to be there having a catch, but instead saw nothing and no one, but mounds of dirt and rocks.  I slowly and inconspicuously strolled around each mound not wanting to look desperate, but still no Donald or Jimmy.

     “Allen!” I heard my mom yell in the distance.

     That sure didn’t feel like twenty minutes. Oh well, I bravely and strongly thought. 

     “Time!” seconds later.... she completed

      “Darn,” I whispered to myself.

      But even this disappointment could not dampen the euphoria and excitement I felt for today’s events. There must be a good reason, I reasoned to myself.  It really didn’t matter, I believed.  Donald and Jimmy were my first real friends in this new community, and there’s just something cool about being first.

 

 

 

Author's Note

Its been a while I posted a chapter, but I have begun in earnest to finish it and this is a motivating force...

Reviews

[Mockingbird]

captures a seven year old's reality and experiences. i enjoy your writing. everything always comes together cohesively. you have the ability to make one feel nostalgic for that time in our lives...times that are buried and never thought about these days. it even evokes smells if you can believe it.

[Eve]

great message here, the impatience of the boy with his mother felt genuine, wonderful story.

[Leslie Philibert]

Allen is both an excellent poet and a fine writer of autobiographical texts. And this is
excellent, up to his usual high standard. He is able to recall his childhood with the writers eye, with intelligence and quality.

[Becky C Strukamp]

Good to see you back posting Allen. What a delightful chapter of meeting new friends. As youths we are so apprehensible about who these strangers are and if they are here to cause harm or to be trusted. When first realize these could very well be individuals who might become long life friends or friends in our lives for a period time that we shall learn lessons from as we travel into adulthood.

You delightfully compose your childhood memories. They are enjoyable to read. Anxious to read more. Well done Allen, or Al or Smuck! LOL> Sorry I couldn't resist Allen. You are a delight to read.