My Best Enemy

They moved into our neighborhood when I was eight, a couple and four kids. Eddie was the oldest, at seven, and I immediately took a dislike to him. He was living in the house where my best friend Keith had lived until his parents decided to move to another town. Therefore, I could not like him. It didn't help that his dog would poop while running down the sidewalk.

For a couple of years, we got in the occasional wrestling match, or would simply bristle at each other, but it was never anything serious. We both tired of having each other as enemies, and started saying "hey" to each other when we passed. We started getting along, but we really didn't have much to do with each other.

One day, though, Eddie saw me in the front yard, and he wanted to talk. He talked about what he wanted to do when he grew up. I remember how excited he was, how focused, how hopeful. What I don't remember is what he'd chosen for his future career.

The next day, I yelled out a "hey" at Eddie as he rode down the street. He rode like a wild man, zigging and zagging across the street, like he was daring cars to get in his way.

An hour later, Eddie was in a coma. A car had run into him, and he smacked his head on the pavement as he went down. We didn't wear helmets back then; that would have been weird.

Later that day, Eddie died. He was ten years old, the age of my son today.

He popped into my mind this morning. I wondered what he would be doing today, where he would be living, how many kids he would have.

But for some reason, I can't remember what he'd planned to do for a living when he grew up. Maybe it doesn't matter. After all, he never grew up. He never got the chance.

Still, it bothers me that I can't remember Eddie's chosen career field.

I'm going to stop now, and watch my son sleep.

Steve Brewer: Nest is never quite empty

Steve Brewer posted this on his blog today. Geez, when I read it, I felt the need to go outside away from Dylan. As my friend Dave would say, "damn sinuses."

I was digging around in a file cabinet in my home office when I found a cowboy tucked into one corner of a drawer. He's quite the frontiersman, armed with a rifle, a pistol and a knife, and crouched in a kneeling position perfect for sniping.

Been a long time since our sons -- ages 21 and nearly 19 -- played with little plastic cowboys. Wonder how long that cowboy has been waiting in that drawer for someone to rescue him?

You can't tell it from my stellar cellphone photography, but the cowboy is pretty detailed, with windswept bandana, fringed shirt and the words, on his base, "Made in China."

I'm keeping him on my desk, a reminder that my sons are never as far away as they seem.

photo by Steve Brewer

Heavy Light Reading

Do we really know someone we've only "met" online? Yes and no, I think. I think we know them on a different level, somehow. Not necessarily better or worse, just different.

I've never met Thom Gabrukeiwicz. He's a friend and former coworker of my good friend Ian, who presides over a fun blog titled Uncle E's Musical Nightmares. They both worked at our local paper in Redding, the Record Searchlight, but they both left--along with a bunch of other senior journalists and staff--with the downturn in the paper's fortunes. Thom strikes me as someone who would make a good friend, even though he'd thoroughly piss you off now and then.

In addition to his blog, Thom has a site named Three Word Wednesday. Once a week, he offers up three words as writing prompts. Folks create poetry with the words, or short stories, or "flash fiction." Thom presides over the site like a kindly uncle, and his own submissions show how much can be conveyed with few words.

Perhaps because I'm in aviation, where divorce seems as common as the common cold, Thom's post yesterday really got to me. For National Guard and Reservist folks who've been deployed to Iran or Afghanistan, the divorce rate is strikingly high. That's probably another reason why Thom's story wrapped me up: I've heard similar stories over the intercom. I hope you'll give it a look.

Thom worked as a journalist in the midwest until recently. On his deathbed, Thom's dad encouraged him to go to New York to pursue his love of writing fiction. I wish Thom loads of luck, and I hope he'll do his best to see to it that his first novel is released on Kindle.

What Goes Around

I mentioned in a Facebook exchange with fitness writer Lou Schuler that I'd stopped watching VH-1 several years ago, after watching a string of "Behind the Music" episodes. "Behind the Music" often had a "where are they now?" theme, but heck, I'd never heard of most of the acts in the first place. And that was several years ago.

In response, Lou wrote, "It's funny to see my kids get into music that was new a decade or two before they were born. One of their Kidz Bop CDs has a cover version of "Time Warp," from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. They were absolutely shocked when I not only knew the words, but vaguely remembered the dance steps. I tried to explain that it was fun to go see it at midnight when I was in college, but I didn't get far. They refuse to believe any story that involves their dad being awake past 10 p.m."

In related news, Dylan is now referring to me as a "walking fashion crime." Geez.