Recollections of Chris Lawson and Seth Berry

    I often do not use real names when talking about some real-life stories, but this rumination involves a couple of people that I may talk to or communicate with someday--we never know--before things are all said and done. (And when will that be?) Perhaps in our older ages we can have some conversations about the past, which I am open to, or at least I am curious enough to further discuss some of these matters if the opportunity affords itself. 

    Some people say that the past is dead, but like some dreams or nightmares, some events or memories linger and comingle in both the conscious and the subconscious, or unconscious, so I wish to throw a few things out there. It sort of has to do with basketball, but may not be so much about that sport so revered in Indiana, as much as psychology, personal and general. It might have more to do with human nature, or perhaps it is mostly just about my quirky mind. So here it is, people.

    In middle school I became friends with Seth, an aspiring basketball player. He was already tall, maybe 6'1"; he thought that he would grow to be close to seven feet. We played basketball at his house and mine, we talked basketball, we watched it. From sixth to eighth grade, Seth and I were pretty close. He was close to my longer time friend Jake also, and we all could hang out and have some good times. I was not the best friend to him, I admit, and when I abruptly left the Dungeons and Dragons group that I had begged him to join (I was upset that we did not play more by the rules) one hot summer day, I know that was not a good lookk or impression. Yeah, my mea culpa. I could have been a better friend, in a few ways.

    I almost picked Seth to go with me on a big holiday trip midway through our 8th grade year; I chose Patrick instead. Jake also would have liked to go. Patrick was my man in the middle. ( I am leaving out Jake and Pat's last names, this is about ballers. However, Pat and Jake lived close to me, on 1st street and Henderson and Maxwell.)

    Seth and I kept our friendship the summer after the last year of junior high, but things would change. He now was bonded to his basketball buddies from Binford and Batchelor Middle Schools, which was probably more Batchelor, a group of kids more from the country, the surroundings outside of Bloomington in Monroe County, Indiana. The Batchelor students got to know us Binford townie kids a year earlier, and then on to the four years of high school at South.

    Chris Lawson was the big, tall, held-back-from his 8th grade year another year red head basketball stat. He was destined to be one of the better players in the state, and eventually played for Bob Knight at IU. 

    Seth gave up on me that freshman year, and I reciprocated the sentiment. He said he was coming to my house, and when he was not there 20 minutes later, I called him to confirm, he said again that he was going to show up soon, and then never arrived. That was that. We still saw each other at school, including at least one class, but he was with the basketball group, and the longtime group of elementary and middle school guys who sat together at lunch, no matter how much we were drifting apart, no longer included Seth.

    One time in Mr. Zager's computer class big Chris came up to my desk on the top floor near the stair well and pounded my shoulder with his big fist. I cannot remember if I said anything in reply. I think he was silent. I let it die.

    I thought about this years later and had the primordial urge to sock him back really hard in the arm. And maybe say nothing, as he did to me. But his buddies would not be around like they were in 8th grade. Jerk. I guess. Whatever.

    We were figuring each other out, the country kids and us townies. He was figuring me out, probably a lot about himself. I bet he was bored that second time going through 8th grade.

    He moved on, so did I. I rooted for Seth and Chris throughout our whole high school careers. Our senior year we were upset by Bloomington North at the home court of them on the north side, in the sectional at the end of winter of 1980. Chris and Seth's last go round together after five years of playing together.  Our Panther team was a top 20 group in the state; I tried to yell and distract the rival's free throw shooting. To no avail, the Purple Panthers would not advance to regionals. The years of glory had ended.

    We lost. Lawson ended up at Vanderbilt after transferring from Indiana, and then did some Taiwan pros, and Seth was at Holy Cross as a walk-on on their team, I guess. I still have not communicated much with him. I friendship ended in an odd and sad way, I feel. We saw each other at a YMCA a few years later, but we did not talk. Both our prides speaking louder, or at least mine.

    I saw the Seth on Linked-In, I suppose. Decades later. He seems to be doing well; now all of us in our 50s. Do either of them, Lawson or Berry, still play basketball? I do. I still play it, discuss it, watch it.

    And I still think about a few questions from the past.

    And that is most of what I know.

    May we meet again, gentlemen. On good terms, I hope.

    And yeah, I do not need to pound Chris on his shoulder as a I felt and urge to do years later, after joining the Army, and spending some time in training how to fight and being defensive about it, also spending time alone and perhaps dwelling on many things a lot. I would like to ask him if he remembers that day and act, when he aggressively struck me, and maybe more importantly: why did he do it?

    And: why should I care? Should anyone still care? Why ask why? (A beer advertisement slogan). Why should I think of you? Why would you want me to? (These lines of Sting are about someone he loves).

    Why did we go are separate ways? It seems natural. Why did a guy a foot taller than me, and a year older than me, with whom I barely ever talked to, hit me so hard?

    You tell me.