The older I get, I should (somewhat...) come to expect the kind of news that floored me this morning, a friend, someone I've known for over four decades, passed away this morning. There's never a good time to deliver such heartbreaking news, but it's the last thing I expected while scrolling through Facebook on Christmas Eve morning.
Because of my brother Alan, I loved my freshman year of high school. I remember dreading the very thought of being fifteen-years old and sharing the same halls and classrooms as literal adults, eighteen-year old adults. I heard rumors of hazing, pushing pennies, getting shoved in lockers. Yes, it happened to others...
But not to me.
No, I had friends, and one of my good friends way back in 1980 was Ted. I looked up to Ted, literally as well as figuratively. For some reason, he didn't mind having a freshman tag along when the gang did cool stuff. Looking back as a sixty-year old, it seems silly. Then again, much of what we felt was important in high school was silly.
Which brings me to Ted. He was a photographer and I showed an interest. Because of that, he mentored me and gave me confidence that I could take great pictures, too. He loved rock bands...so did I. He loved Volkswagens...so did I. We even double-dated on my very first school dance. Wonderful memories.
Then, as people do over years and years, we took different paths. Because of social media, namely, Facebook, we kept in touch. Our correspondence only increased when I moved to the valley where he grew up. As I posted photos and stories of this beautiful part of the state, he would comment--almost every time--telling me about a house, or a street, or a memory from his youth, from before we met in the halls of Davis High School.
From those posts, I saw a man who was fiercely devoted to his family, his children, his wife. We would chat electronically about photography, music, VWs, even a shared Scandinavian heritage. I got to know him all over again. He posted of health issues, but like the stud he was, he never sought pity from others. He accepted his future bravely--at least, publicly. He faced his mortality in a way I can only hope to emulate. He fought it to the end.
On Christmas Eve, the news cut extra deep. But, it forced me to remember those wonderful days of my youth, when a senior didn't care for such immature labels and befriended a geeky, skinny, shy kid who just wanted to fit in. Those are the people who change lives. I will miss my friend, miss his humor, his rebellious spirit, a spirit that can now soar free in the halls of Valhalla.
Rest now, my brother. And thank you for so much.
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