In 8th grade I was one of the smallest kids among my peers, yet I loved sports. I was by no means brilliant at any of them, I just loved the comradery, the tension of winning and losing, and being out there with friends. So I was in every sport offered to us.
With one exception: ice hockey.
Watching the 2010 Winter Olympics stirred up a few tangential memories…
When I as in the 8th grade my parents sent me to the “International Music Camp” at International Falls, MN. I asked them to sign me up for the guitar sessions as I had been taking classical guitar for years.
Those next 2 weeks were remarkable and unexpected in two ways.
Remember I was a boy growing up in a Mennonite prairie town: truly pure, straightforward; no school dances; no liquor store. No one was dating someone else in the 8th grade, unlike today. My friendships we akin to those in Stephen King’s breathtaking novel Stand By Me. Clean sublime experiences, not exposed yet to so many of life’s ways.
The camp held 2 surprises. The 1st: my first crush, to another camper, Brenda Bonogofsky from Carson, North Dakota, and this on its own was enough to make an indelible mark upon me. I mean, that’s what such initial experiences do, no? (That is a story for another day.)
The 2nd surprise was discovering such greats as Joni Mitchell, to whom I was introduced thru the pot smoking, laid back but hard rocking teachers of our guitar session. Classical guitar, this was NOT. And to my delight. Boy was I glad my dad didn’t know what he was signing me up for!
I learned that guitars were like fine wines, such as the 12 string Ovation one classmate carried. We journeyed thru the lyrics of such American poets as Neil Young, Crosby / Stills / Nash, and Joni. The words were like nothing I had come across before and it’s taken years for their meaning to come into view, starting with long meandering discussions with the instructors, with classmates and Brenda.
Here’s one I just heard at the Olympics’ opening ceremony that I always loved, by the inimitable Ms. Mitchell (video below too):
Both Sides Now
(Joni Mitchell)Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons ev'rywhere
I've looked at clouds that wayBut now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on ev'ryone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way
I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at allMoons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As ev'ry fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that wayBut now it's just another show
You leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself awayI've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It's love's illusions I recall
I really don't know love at allTears and fears and feeling proud
To say "I love you" right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that wayBut now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living ev'ry dayI've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all
I've looked at life from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all
Thank you, Joni, my goodness, what words these are.
A follow-up to this post…
Sometimes one’s pen and paper captures their voice well. All too often what drove the clarity in the writing is a powerful topic. Below is a letter from my dad along with my 1st passport that he dug up and sent to me. The passport was originally needed so I could be chaperoned by an Air India hostess from Cochin, Kerala, India to JFK, NYC in May of 1966. It was shortly before my 4th birthday and it was the 1st time we were meeting, as my dad had left India when my mom was 7 months pregnant to land an elusive surgical residency in the US. My mom joined a couple of years later and I was expertly taken care of by grandparents who had raised a whopping 21 children between them. My dad's letter goes as follows:
Murphsyboro, Oct/31/2009
Dear Santhosh,
Enclosed is your first passport. I remember coming to JFK Airport to take you to Cleveland. I was waiting on a balcony of JFK airport. I saw you coming down the staircase from Air India holding the hand of the air hostess who was assigned to you. You were walking into the airport on the ground. Dr. Sebastian and Shanti were with me at the that time.
When you came out of the customs you were weeping saying “that man took away my peraka” (Goa fruit). Ammachi gave a few Goa fruits to you in a bag to eat on the way. They were grown on the Thodupuzha property. No fruits could be taken into the U.S.A. by law.
I gave you a small electric car and you were very happy. We flew to Cleveland.
Dad
A mountainous moment in my life, to say the least. But arguably a bigger day for the more aware and nuanced parent of the toddler. God bless moms and dads, and the many sacrifices they make for their families’ futures, eh?
My 1st Passport… and Visa…
There is something unnerving yet spell-binding about the non-complacency of people when they are drunk, particularly in a group.
Back in my East Lansing days, Mikey, Jim and I would occasionally sojourn up to the Windy City and stay at Grady’s palatial 3rd floor flat (we are talking 3,000 square feet, 4 BR, 4 bathrooms in an indestructible grand building). On one of those trips, we joined a Christmas party I remember well.
Two guys at the party who were proud of their wrestling pedigree (and a bit drunk) got into a well meaning wrestling match, feeling the need to represent their high school names (to the entertainment of a few others.) They slammed into Grady’s king sized waterbed at one point, creating a small rupture. Not a big tear, so not a big problem; literally a contained one, as the mattress sat in a liner that sat in a wooden frame. But 50+ lubricated onlookers simply could not ignore this. It needed a “NOW” answer.
Someone did actually attach a hose to the mattress’ main drain hole, hang it out the window and let the water siphon out using gravity. A simple, dry answer, brilliant given the situation, but slow. Hard to demonstrate progress to all the people watching. Drunks want action, now.
After 10 minutes the hose had steadily drained perhaps 2 gallons of 1,000 out the window but the onlookers had drank another 25 beers and arrived at a clear conclusions: slow answers are not good enough. No way.
A “tiger team” of savants had a better idea: pass the mattress out one of the 3rd floor windows to the driveway below. It will: more visually show success; use the energy of at least 15 people; and “solve the problem” in a few minutes, right? A much better idea. Disregard the weight a king size waterbed, the collateral damage to the carpeting, the difficulty in just getting it out of the frame, or the cost of fixing vs replacing a king size mattress they were not paying for anyway. ACTION = SMART.
Even before the team of Einsteins had pulled the mattress out of the frame, Mikey in all his insouciance said, “hey mush head, let’s get a good view from the next window , this is amazing!” And it was. Weird visions came to mind: here were 15 people hell-bent on teaching a baby blob to walk. Initially, getting the mattress up and thru the window’s opening was tough going. But it became less resistant as it's own gravity drew it out into the frigid winter night, slithering out on its own weight.
Unfortunately, no one had “looked down” from the window for anything below. So it was with horror that we watched as this large creature hurtled downward, indiscriminately ripping out the power and telephone lines for the 1st and 2nd floor flats. At each level the mattress met with a burst of electricity as cables were ripped from the building. Building lights flashed dead on the 2nd, then the 1st floor. Finally, the mattress sprawled on the floor, a dead blobbish creature, while the electrical cables writhed around, momentarily arcing electricity and then going dead. (To make matters worse, the 2nd floor unit’s new owner had just moved in that day).
"Oh shit, you guys, oh shit" was the basic reaction three floors up.
People’s true character shines thru in times of conflict. And clearly, the party goers were seasoned pros. “Hide the evidence” was the call to action. "Hey let's just chop it up and throw it in the different dumpsters, all that's left is a bunch of water in the morning." Without any more discussion a dozen single minded partiers raced to the kitchen, then brandishing the knife of choice but without waiting to don coats for the numbing January air they thundered down the stairs, out to the alleyway and hacked the mattress and its patent-pending “wave-neutralizer” filler into pieces. It was a bizarre scene. At the time impressive for their speed and pragmatic approach. But now looking back it's more chilling memory. The tossed the mattress’s “remains” into dumpsters across the nearby buildings, and the came back in with proud grins for solving things so fast. And the water, well it blended into the snow and ice. What people don’t find cannot cause problems, right?
A few mins after the party has resumed a knock emerged from the door. Brian was summoned as one of the hosts, the music was muted. "Hi I just moved to the 2nd floor and my power just died - any idea why?" came the question from the new tenant. "Hmmm, gosh I wish I could help, would like you like to join us for some food or beer?" replied Brian in his trademark helpful manner. His gambit worked, the tenant declined as it was late for either but used the phone to contact CIPS.
I came away with two observations: perhaps what had transpired is a version of what must occur more often than we care to believe in terms of impatience and alcohol; in this case, the drunk cohort iterated two different solutions, from a better, slower one to a faster, much much dumber one.
