Jerry* and I became friends probably by default. One, we lived within three to four blocks of each other throughout our childhoods. Two, another neighborhood friend that I had, Jonathan, moved away to Bethesda, Maryland, and I had some time to spend elsewhere after the Murrays left Bloomington.
I am not sure how long Jerry and I hung out on a daily basis, maybe during a portion of summer before 4th, or maybe 5th grade. That was mostly before Pete moved in not too far away from my house and the boyhood relationships on the southside of IU campus continued to evolve . There were still lingerings of friendship after 5th grade, but things tailed off by middle school.
As I have expressed before in other venues, Jerry was not the easiest guy to get along with. Sometimes his mood swings were inexplicable, and many of us, from popular Jake to Patrick and Pete and a couple others tried to hang out with him but we all ended up quitting in our attempts.
It seemed to be him. We would make us mad.
I did enjoy some times and hours over at his house.
Some distinct memories:
Playing Dungeons and Dragons with groups of other friends.
Being silly in the Rumpus Room, calling the local pop radio station WBWB on the wall phone for requests.
Playing outside and flinging things like faux spears, sometimes with less than stellar results.
Listening to the Who and strange songs of that ilk, even the Beatles.
Looking at some comic books, some combinations. There were some toys, maybe some Star Wars figures or vehicles.
There was a fun bouncy riding ball, a Sit'n Spin.
We got some pyro burning of some plastics out of our system, mostly in his rarely used basement.
Ahh, memories of youth.
Thanks for those nostalgic memories, Jerry. And maybe your ghost will not let me rest. But perhaps your soul in present rest does give comfort. How to measure such intangible gifts?
Be at peace. You and me. And the rest of humanity, like your father, and your mother, and your sister, and all those taken too soon. Your dad passed too soon, and you certainly did.
If I were Chaim Potok I would draft up a great character to sing a kaddish for them all.
And keep on singing across the decades, the centuries.
Did you ever make it to Jerusalem? Did it matter to you? Did you make it where you wanted to go? There are still places to go, young Jerry, still people to meet, still conversations to share ...
Friends like you come and go. But never forgotten. Sorry for not being better myself.
I am trying to get there. I have faith that we will.
*Not real name, in order to keep some privacy and discretion.
I am not sure how long Jerry and I hung out on a daily basis, maybe during a portion of summer before 4th, or maybe 5th grade. That was mostly before Pete moved in not too far away from my house and the boyhood relationships on the southside of IU campus continued to evolve . There were still lingerings of friendship after 5th grade, but things tailed off by middle school.
As I have expressed before in other venues, Jerry was not the easiest guy to get along with. Sometimes his mood swings were inexplicable, and many of us, from popular Jake to Patrick and Pete and a couple others tried to hang out with him but we all ended up quitting in our attempts.
It seemed to be him. We would make us mad.
I did enjoy some times and hours over at his house.
Some distinct memories:
Playing Dungeons and Dragons with groups of other friends.
Being silly in the Rumpus Room, calling the local pop radio station WBWB on the wall phone for requests.
Playing outside and flinging things like faux spears, sometimes with less than stellar results.
Listening to the Who and strange songs of that ilk, even the Beatles.
Looking at some comic books, some combinations. There were some toys, maybe some Star Wars figures or vehicles.
There was a fun bouncy riding ball, a Sit'n Spin.
We got some pyro burning of some plastics out of our system, mostly in his rarely used basement.
Ahh, memories of youth.
Thanks for those nostalgic memories, Jerry. And maybe your ghost will not let me rest. But perhaps your soul in present rest does give comfort. How to measure such intangible gifts?
Be at peace. You and me. And the rest of humanity, like your father, and your mother, and your sister, and all those taken too soon. Your dad passed too soon, and you certainly did.
If I were Chaim Potok I would draft up a great character to sing a kaddish for them all.
And keep on singing across the decades, the centuries.
Did you ever make it to Jerusalem? Did it matter to you? Did you make it where you wanted to go? There are still places to go, young Jerry, still people to meet, still conversations to share ...
Friends like you come and go. But never forgotten. Sorry for not being better myself.
I am trying to get there. I have faith that we will.
*Not real name, in order to keep some privacy and discretion.
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