Sometimes in life, we need to be humbled
and brought back down to the real world. That happened to me tonight, as I sat in deep cerebration. I was pondering about the motivational book
that I hope to write one day, and how I was going to dedicate it to my best
friend, who died a month before September 11th.
In life we usually only have that one best
friend that stands out over the rest of the scoundrels that don’t give a damn
about you or me. My best friend, who I
will call Tommy, had epilepsy, and battled with it most of his life. We had a lot in common, as we both had
seizures as a child and young adult, but I eventually outgrew them and he did
not.
We both aspired for the greatest
achievements and acknowledgements that one could hope for, especially with all
my problems, and his epilepsy. He won
awards in sports, while I won awards in the academic field. Mind you, I did win several American Karate
competitions, when I was a wee youngster. He and I both graduated high school. I went to work for the family, and he got married and divorced
twice.
We were like two peas in a pod. We met in what us Americans call a Learning
Disability class, I was in second grade, and he was in fifth grade. I was a little bitty squirt and he was
massively tall; in fact, he was about five feet tall in fifth grade, so he
stood out from the crowd. He made sure
that nobody picked on me, while I helped him with the schoolwork. He was a smart chap though, he could memorize
numbers, and what numbers went with those letters better than any computer
could ever hope to do.
He never gave up on his dreams, and he
always had a positive attitude, even when the epilepsy was giving him the most
horrid bouts of seizures. He never would
hurt anyone or anything. I remember him
accidentally killing a caterpillar when we were kids, and how he wept over it,
so when I say that he wouldn’t harm a soul, I bloody mean it.
He was always my guardian angel. He dragged me out of the alcohol-infested
life that I had made for myself at one point. The only confrontation we ever had was over a woman. We stayed in touch, calling each other every
few weeks, after he got married and I started running the family business. I couldn’t lie to the man, for he had some
secret insight into my soul. Insight,
which I don’t want to see for myself.
I remember vividly the last conversation we
had. He was excited about going back to
school, he wanted to be a sports broadcaster, and how thrilled he was to be
getting his drivers license. He also
talked about visiting his mothers’ family in England. Of course, I talked about some useless
political pundit, and I uttered something about some new computer part I just
purchased.
As I began to recollect all of this
information, I realised that I was living his dream, a dream that was cut
short, and a dream that should have never ended for such a brilliant and
talented person. I recognised that I was
being an ARSE, for I was going to school, I had just received my driver’s
license, and I had visited my ancestral homeland of Ireland. I am an Arse, there is no question to ponder
here, I’m an arse.
I had started getting a big head, but thanks
to this cerebration, I’m back down-to-earth now. Life is so short people, so we must do
everything that we can in life and learn all that we can. Don’t get pigheaded. Remembering my friend and how I am living his
dreams, brought floods of tears. Perhaps,
we need humbling at times.
If you like this story, I’ll write more
about my dear friend and our adventures. I hope all of you folks out there in the interwebs can learn something
from this little story, for it is 100% true…
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