Remembering S

Today is the 17th anniversary of S’s death.
S was one of the funniest, most obnoxious people I’ve ever known.
He could make me laugh and laugh,
even when I didn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

But S was also fiercely loyal.

I went through a rough time when I was eighteen.
I’d just finished my freshmen year of college
and wasn’t sure where to go from there.

One particularly difficult night
there was a lot of drama
involving an apartment lease and some so-called friends,
and I just needed to get away.

I called a cab and S left the group to come with me.
But it wasn’t until we were somewhere in the boondocks outside Madison
that we realized we didn’t have much money.

After a somewhat panicked, whispered consultation
we asked the driver to stop.
We gave the confused man all the money we had and got out.
Then S and I walked.

I don’t remember all the remaining details
but I know there was swearing.
And laughter.
Followed by more swearing and laughter.

But at no point was there finger-pointing, blame, guilt or shame.
S was my friend.
My best friend.
He knew I was already hurting enough.

The next day, though,
there was undoubtedly hell-to-pay.

S could only rein it in for so long.
              

Why I’ve Always Loved Pippi

kellyrfineman got me thinking about books I loved as a child.  She’s currently going through some old favorites, identifying those positive story elements that might shape and inform her own writing projects.  

As I read her posts, I wondered if I could remember why I connected with certain books.  Some of those books and the person I was as I read them, feel so long ago and far away.  Those connections feel faint.

Except for one character who stands out:  Pippi Longstocking.

And this excerpt from Pippi in the South Seas by Astrid Lindgren says it all:

The arithmetic lesson was interrupted by Captain Longstocking, who came to announce that he and the whole crew and all the Kurrekurredutts were going off to another island for a couple of days to hunt wild boar.  Captain Longstocking was in the mood for some fresh boar steak.  The Kurrekurredutt women were also to go along, to scare out the boar with wild cries.  That meant that the children would be staying behind alone on the island.

"I hope you won’t be sad because of this?" said Captain Longstocking.

"I’ll give you three guesses," said Pippi.  "The day I hear that some children are sad because they have to take care of themselves without grownups, that day I’ll learn the whole pluttification table backward, I’ll swear to that."

That pigtailed, free spirit made me laugh then, and she makes me laugh now.  All hail Pippi!

                      

How many Whiteheads can there be?

Zebu is home with the flu and is listening to the audio version of HARRIET THE SPY.  I loved this book as a child and read it over and over.  However, Zebu just asked a question I don’t think I ever pondered:

What relation, if any, is there between Harriet’s classmate, Pinky Whitehead, and their teacher, Miss Whitehead?

Do you know?

             

         

What Book Are You?

Okay, I usually avoid these quizzes but this one appealed to me and not just because I ended up with this:


You’re Watership Down!

by Richard Adams

Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you’re
actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their
assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they
build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You’d
be recognized as such if you weren’t always talking about talking rabbits.

When I was fifteen, my parents let me skip school one day to wait in line for Bob Dylan tickets.  He was touring for the first time in years and it was a huge deal.  I’d requested permission to camp out but the best they could do (which was still pretty cool) was let me get in line at 5:30 in the morning.  My best friend, S., and I got to the Dane County Coliseum and were amazed by the many tents and the many, many bedraggled people who’d been waiting in line for several days.  Bottles, cans, paper bags, and sleeping bodies were scattered about.  Among all that general debris was a copy of WATERSHIP DOWN.  It didn’t seem to belong to anyone so I picked it up. 

After hours of anxiously waiting and hoping, S. and I got tickets just minutes before they sold out (we felt bad for but were also grateful to the “disoriented” folks who hadn’t made it back into line).  Our excitement was temporarily dampened because our tickets were stamped “Limited Vision” and were for seats behind the stage but then we decided to just be ECSTATIC.  And when the time came, Mr. Zimmerman didn’t let us down.  He turned and played much of the night to his fans seated behind him, giving us nearly front-row seats.  The show was phenomenal.

Well, somewhere in that timeline I read and fell in love with my newly adopted copy of WATERSHIP DOWN.  And I guess after that maybe I did a lot of talking about talking rabbits because S. and other friends started calling me Bigwig (which they continued doing throughout high school).

My ticket stub is in my scrapbook.

That copy of WATERSHIP DOWN is on my bookshelf.

And S.?  He’s in my heart.

  

Revisiting High School and a Friendship

Last night I finished reading TIPS ON HAVING A GAY (EX) BOYFRIEND by

.  Throughout the book, I thought of S. who was my best friend and then in seventh grade, briefly my boyfriend.  We broke up a few days later when we realized “going together” had flipped some sort of switch so that we no longer talked and had fun.  We remained best friends throughout high school. 

In the ten years after graduation, S. and I were in and out of touch.  He once sent me a letter written on toilet paper, another scrawled on the back of an old history quiz.  At one point I tracked him down and we had a marathon phone conversation.  He told me he was gay.  I said something like “Really?”  He said something like “You must’ve known.”

Did I? 

Like Carrie’s character, Belle, maybe I did and maybe I didn’t. 

All I knew was S. was loyal and funny, charismatic, sarcastic.  Smart.  He was my friend and that was all that mattered.

Dylan’s sexuality, however, is much more an issue for Belle.  She and Dylan are in love, they’re physically intimate, and plan on getting married someday.

As I read Carrie’s book and took the journey with Belle in the week after she learns Dylan’s truth, I suffered alongside her as she faces one new painful reality after another.  I wondered how Belle would survive.  How Dylan would survive.  How anyone survives high school which is an excruciating experience for most everyone, no matter who they are. 

We’ve all had Mimis and Eddies in our lives.  People driven by fear and ignorance, anger and frustration.  Carrie’s words put me back in the high school hallways filled with those whispers and rumors, intimidation, ostracism, and peer pressure.  S. and I grew up in a small community, much smaller than Carrie’s Eastbrook, and TIPS ON HAVING A GAY (EX) BOYFRIEND helped me understand even more than I already did how very difficult it was for S. in that setting, and why (maybe) it was too scary for him to tell me then about his sexuality.

Thank you, Carrie Jones, for writing this story.  I lost S. fourteen years ago to AIDS just four months after he performed my wedding ceremony, but your words have given me another window into his life via Dylan and Belle’s story.

Dylan is Belle’s friend, always was and always will be.  And that’s all that matters.

  

Gals Write for Gals Read – ?


I bought this book at my son’s school book fair and everyone in the household (me plus the three males living here) has read at least portions of it.  (For those even more behind the times on their reading lists than me, GUYS WRITE FOR GUYS READ edited by Jon Scieszka (2005), is a compilation of stories/memories from 90 male children’s writers and illustrators, including our own[info]davidlubar). The project is part of Scieszka’s literacy initiative designed to encourage boys to read.

It’s a great book.  Now that I’ve finished all the stories, I plan on taking it to the library and looking up some of these writers’ books so I can expand our household reading horizons.

But . .

This book makes me wonder what a GALS WRITE FOR GALS READ compilation would look like.  Guys’ childhood experiences are by no means universal (okay, maybe farts are a common thread) yet there’s this underlying “guy code” in the book that makes every male a member of the club. Even those boys who weren’t classic guys’ guys knew what was expected of them, and while some didn’t speak the language, they all understood it.    

Would it be possible to have a gal edition of this book?  Do gals have a universal language?  Universal expectations? 

 While society does place all sorts of expectation on females, females have much more leeway than males in terms of sports (athletic girls are admired but it’s no big deal to be unathletic); the cars they drive (Hummers or VW Beetles are equally acceptable); the clothes and colors they wear (pants or dresses are fine, black, brown,  pink, purple – every color in the spectrum is okay); make-up (women are free to wear it or not but men are denied one of society’s greatest inventions – lipstick!).  In terms of careers, plenty of men are still intimidated by female doctors, scientists, and race car drivers, but there isn’t a majority unspoken opinion that a woman embarrasses herself by being, say, an astronaut.  However, there is a prevalent attitude that men shouldn’t be nurses or dancers.

I grew up with two brothers and two sisters.  I was a “tomboy” who threw a better spiral than most boys on the playground but also played with dolls.   I climbed trees and sledded, built forts, pushed my cat around in a baby buggy, played dress-up, had pinecone fights, sang into my hairbrush along with the radio, wore lip gloss, laughed at fart jokes, read books.

Maybe my childhood is a representative snapshot of what a GALS WRITE FOR GALS READ story would offer: girls exploring different interests and attitudes.        

And perhaps the GUYS WRITE participants would disagree with me, but as I read their stories I wished for a little more flexibility in their lives.  Opportunities for them to be true to the real guys inside, whether that meant jumping off barns, composing musicals, designing clothes, or Xeroxing their butts. 

Either way, I absolutely want that flexibility for my guys.