A couple of weeks ago a person I knew died. I hesitate to use the word "friend" loosely, so I just kept thinking of him as an acquaintance at this point. Then, at his funeral on Friday, someone who spoke said that if you knew him, you were his friend and he was yours. And I smiled. I felt selfish and presumptuous thinking "friend" up until that point. I call him "friend" now.
I met him at a dance club 20 years ago. One person I mistakenly called a friend referred to this club as the place the losers went to. Well, if these people are the losers, I'll take them. It is probably the source of the most people I keep in contact with (over my schools, family, and previous jobs.) He was one of the people on the after-closing diner trips. You know, the ones where you drive home and the sun is coming up and the birds are waking up. I'd get cinnamon toast and and and egg cream because that's all I had money for. He got a full meal. Always with bacon.
When that club burned down, sister and I saw him at another club. We all seemed to relocate, en masse. Then I stopped going for a variety of reasons. Yet every time I saw him, he gave me a big hello and bear hug. His hugs could lift you off the ground. He had a big laugh. He wore shorts no matter the temperature. He danced like a silly goofball, but so did all of us. His mohawk was really quite pristine, even when it became dappled with grey. He was the kindest, happiest, most free person I have ever known. He was child-like and incredibly mature at the same time. At the new club I go to, I had been secretly hoping I would see him walk in whenever I knew he was back in the state. That never happened. But at least I bumped into him now and then.
At first glance, one would think he was immature. He was not married. He did not own a home. He skated, rode motocross, loved loud punk music, moved around wherever the work was, ate like hell, and was quite the dancing fool. At first glance, he did not seem to take anything seriously. Yet, during his eulogy, things that I had completely forgotten about came flooding back. Any serious issue conversation you had with him was intense and meaningful. He was generous without the flash of drawing attention to it. His presence made you happy if you were down, and I think that was no accident on his part. When seeing pics online, I realize his path probably nearly crossed with mine a few times before the clubbing due to his presence at the Totowa ramp and that skate crowd as well as the music he liked. I am really lucky that I did finally get to meet and be friends with him.
When I teach and work, I do my best to make all my kids happy. I also do my best to be friendly to my co-workers. Some have noted how happy I am in the classroom. I have done my best to be loving, funny, and generous. It has not always been this way. I was working my first teaching job when I met him. Through the club, I got out of that place and got my next teaching job. My teaching style changed. I became happier and tried to make my students happier. I think I was copying him a little bit. When you see someone like that week after week, you are bound to learn something. I learned a lot from him, I just didn't know it.
I have vowed to keep his spirit alive in my heart. He had no college degree. He had skills but not that paper. He did as he pleased. He didn't hurt a soul. He was what I want to be and what I will now encourage all my students to be. He danced with reckless abandon, traveled, treated people with kindness, didn't tell others what they should do, and did as he pleased. He didn't play the game, he was happy, and had a positive impact on the people who met him. His wake was at the same place as a friend of my husband's was almost 20 years ago. Both died doing what they loved. New Jersey traffic kept me from getting there before my niece's birthday party but the funeral the next day was packed to the rafters. Both had unimaginable crowds for that last visit, with people coming from all over the country to pay their respects. I still think about my husband's departed friend Joe to this day, I will keep thinking about Skippy for a very long time.
#WWSD, indeed.
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