1996 Changed Everything: Pt. 5 - We'll Meet Again Old Friend

This is part of a series of articles about 1996, as it holds significance for me since it was the year I graduated high school. This fifth article is all about the friends we make, the friends we lose, and the friends we keep.

Thirty years ago I walked across a stage, strutting like pro wrestling icon Ric Flair, grabbed my diploma, and began the slow walk from childhood to manhood. My sister Kate recorded much of that graduation ceremony on my old Sears camcorder. I cherish every second of it.

Even today, as the young faces pass by the camera on that tape, I remember so many of them like they are frozen in time. I feel as though those people who held the greatest importance in my life back then still do today.

The classic 1986 film Stand By Me has an iconic quote at the end that sticks with me to this day. Richard Dreyfuss as Gordie types: "I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12. Jesus, does anyone?"

I wasn’t twelve when I graduated high school, but that line perfectly encapsulates how I feel about the friends I had back then. I’ve never had any like them since.

We were all learning and experiencing life for the first time together. We were succeeding, failing, laughing, loving, achieving, hurting, rebelling, being overwhelmed, and clinging on to each other as we rose and fell with the waves of teenage life. Those friends I made were not just friends; they were lifelong brothers and sisters.

When looking back at the people I called my friends as I graduated high school, I don’t look at a strict timeline. Many of those I’d have taken a bullet for I had already known for years by the time of caps and gowns. It was as if I already knew I’d found my tribe.

Doing some work in photography class.

Making friends is hard at any point in life. As an adult, it can feel like you’re applying for a job. As a kid, you’re putting yourself out there hoping that a stranger finds you worth getting to know better.

Being as shy and introverted as I was during my childhood, it’s a wonder I made any friends at all. Without luck, I’d have had to wait for a kickball to roll my way and use that as the opening to befriend whoever retrieved it.

My two oldest friends, Barry and Matt, came into my life through luck. Matt grew up across the street from me, and Barry happened to live a few doors down from my aunt. I’d go and visit her and invariably end up with Barry. I met both of them around the age of seven. Barry ended up being one of the most important and influential people in my life.

It’s interesting, as I sit here mining for memories going back 40 years, how I can’t remember those first meetings with people who went on to become chosen family. Oh sure, I can give you the Cliff’s Notes version of when someone crossed paths with me. I can share some early memories. However, the first meeting is a blur in virtually all of these cases. I guess you don’t realize that someone has become an integral part of your life until a certain amount of time has passed.

Hasan lived a few streets over from me. I know we bumped into each other during the summer before 6th grade. We built a bond like steel. He came from the city to Cape Cod and taught me about late 80’s/early 90s Hip-Hop. We played basketball. Rarely was it one-on-one because he’d crush me every time. So we’d do these two-against-zero games against opponents we called the ‘invisible ghosts.’

Tim lived further away, but our origin story is similar, revolving around a shared love of basketball. I remember sleepovers at his house often being punctuated by freshly made donuts the next morning by his parents. It was the Jerky Boys, walks through the woods to get to a nearby strip mall, and countless hours of me trying to figure out how to defend his patented ‘Fishy Swim’ fallaway jumper.

John I had seen around in middle school, but only when we sat next to each other in Freshman English did we connect. It was our just slightly wacky sense of humor that made us friends. I wish I still had my English notebook where we’d one-up each other with foolish lines and drawings, rarely paying attention to what the teacher said. To be honest, I would have had an easier time hearing an ant speak than that teacher, though.

Rob, much like Matt, happened to live close by. Our families were heavily intertwined, but it was only when I entered high school and bought a camcorder that we truly connected. He and I were the typical feral Gen Xers. Out all day on our bikes, going places we’d probably have needed permission to go, junk food, caffeine, crazy ideas, and laughs that brought tears.

Liam was another stroke of luck. We happened to work at the same job at the same time. Standing side by side with him, preparing food while music blasted loudly off the walls, ended up becoming some of my fondest memories of high school. Some funny lines we said back then we still bring up to this day.

There was a massive influx of new friends when I got to high school. My high school saw two neighboring towns’ middle schools combine into one blended family. It was an interesting transition. I played for the basketball team in middle school. A few of the new faces in the halls of the high school were once rivals on the other middle school team. It took a minute to realize we were all on the same team now.

New faces like Steve, Greg, Mike, Kevin, Pete, and others quickly went from strangers to major parts of my crew. Our interactions varied depending on the person. Greg, Mike, and Kevin became frequent subjects of photos during senior year.

An attempt at an artsy photo of those three.

I was taking a photography class and had to practice using a film camera. Those three would pose, or something like that, in the middle of classes. It was my job to hit up the darkroom and develop the foolishness that we created. To this day, Mike insists he wasn’t in any of those photos. The joke is on him, though. He has aged very well, so he looks almost the same today.

During high school, I was at the mercy of my bike, walking, or occasional rides to hang out with friends. I didn’t get my driver’s license until senior year, and even then I had infrequent access to a vehicle, what with me being one of five kids and having a mother working full-time and going to nursing school full-time.

It was a different era in the 1990s. You didn’t sit inside on a phone, playing video games, or watching television. Well, sure, we did all of those things to a degree, but for the most part life consisted of calling friends, quickly getting off the phone, and getting out of the house to have some sort of an adventure.

You quickly learn who your ‘ride or die’ friends are based on the level of stupidity they were willing to join you on. Wandering through the woods? Sneaking into a construction site to explore half-built houses? Hanging out of the back of a station wagon riding a skateboard? Drinking Jolt and creating caffeine-soaked skits with a bulky camcorder? These were only a few examples of what I’m talking about.

Yes, we drove something like this while someone rode a skateboard out of the back.

A classic ride-or-die story happened freshman year. Hasan and I went to a party at another friend’s house. It was in the next town over; we must have been dropped off there. It was populated by probably 8-10 more kids, but it was over thirty years ago, so my memory is hazy. What’s not hazy is how the party ended.

I am sure we were loud. I think there was at least some alcohol there, but I don’t think Hasan and I had more than a few sips at most. It was when the red and blue lights started flashing that we knew the jig was up. The police were there.

All of us 15/16 year old kids scattered. People were going in all different directions. Hasan and I though stuck together. One wouldn’t leave the other. We ran through yards, behind houses, tearing through trees and bushes until we were safely behind a nearby strip mall. It was part terrifying and part exhilarating.

At the strip mall, I called my mother to come and pick us up. We stood in front of a darkened store and waited, letting our heart rates come down. The fact that we hadn’t drunk worked in our favor. When my mother showed up, we didn’t reek of alcohol, so when we told her the story of what had happened, it was believable.

I feel like growing up in the 90s, I had a lot of near misses when it came to danger. I don’t think I’d have gotten in much trouble if the police had snagged me, but who knows? Being a minor, I knew I could do nearly anything I wanted with little repercussions.

That doesn’t mean that I went out defacing people’s property, or starting fights, or stealing. It just meant that the voice in my head telling me something was dangerous kept quiet a lot of the time. Maybe it wanted to see how I’d react to adversity?

I find it interesting that I didn’t go out drinking, or smoking, or partying until all hours of the night, and yet I feel my high school years were filled with adventure. That comes down to who my friend group was.

What the ‘cool kids’ would have thought of as adventures I saw as dangers not worth the time or risk. Now I can’t say for sure that if I was asked to go out drinking and partying and randomly hooking up that I would have said no. I can say that, looking back at the classmates who got DUI’s before they were of legal age and those who held their own children before holding a diploma, I am happy with my choices in friends and adventures.

I chose wisely when it came to friends. I also didn’t restrict myself to any certain subset of people. Only in the last few years have I noticed just how all-encompassing my friend groups were. Yes, I said ‘groups.’

I can rattle off a handful of different groups of friends. These had very little, if any, cross-pollination with other groups. I tried to be friends with anybody who wanted to be friends. It’s the way I was raised by my mother. I tried to fit in with anyone while also staying true to who I was.

Being seen as a poser is a kiss of death in any generation. If you lose your authenticity, you lose credibility. At least that’s how it was in high school. The way I navigated those waters was by amplifying traits around certain groups. I never hid who I fully was; I just shined a brighter light on the things I had in common with the people I was with at the time. Does that make sense?

I must have done a good job in my choices of friends because, as I said earlier, I still consider many of those same people my friends to this day. There are also no friends, not acquaintances but friends, that I regret knowing or having in my life. I think it’s rare to look at your friend group and not find someone who turned out to be a bad apple. I mean, unless we all were bad apples and none of us noticed the difference?

Friendships in high school changed and evolved along with all of us. You start with needing rides to someone's house to using your bike or your own car. Adventures go from walking to the corner store on a summer afternoon to driving to Boston for a killer, loud, AC/DC concert. Relationships could come and go, but friendships tended to stay.

A replica of my concert T since I have no clue where it is.

In my life today, I have more than a handful of friends of over thirty years. Now we don’t get to see each other all of the time due to work, family commitments, and location. That being said, if a friend reaches out to get together, I try my best to move whatever I need to see them.

I still remember inside jokes. I still remember certain foods certain friends liked. I still remember who was in what class. Mainly, I still remember how these people made me feel and why they became my friends in the first place. I think that is the most important thing.

Over time, specific memories might fade. That’s just the price of doing business in life. Feelings remain, though. If I hear any of a few dozen names from high school, whether they are still fixtures in my life or not, I get a smile and a blast of warm positive feelings.

We were all teenagers. We all went through the experience of finding ourselves in the world. If we are lucky, we have a solid crew of friends to navigate the choppy waters with. Very few grow up on one straight, clear path. It’s typically filled with twists, turns, dead ends, heartbreak, confusion, anger, and possibly, if a Gen Xer, indifference.

To wrap things up, I found one song that stuck out to me as far as my high school friendships went. Not surprisingly, it is a Red Hot Chili Peppers song. They were a band that made you cool if you listened to them, along with the Beastie Boys. At least it was in my circles.

The song is My Friends off of their less-than-stellar One Hot Minute album from 1995. The entire song weighs heavily on my memories of high school. The hook, I guess, is the lyrics I gravitated toward.

I love all of you
Hurt by the cold
So hard and lonely, too
When you don't know yourself




It’s a perfectly fitting sentiment. We were growing up, trying to find ourselves, but also knew that even as alone as you might have felt at times, if you were lucky, you had some friends to stand by you through those formative years.

In my next post, I will take a look at my family dynamic during senior year and a look at the role of family in the life of any high schooler. All families are created differently, as was mine.

2004: My Life In Poetry Form (Part 3) - Throwback Thursday

 

This is a recurring series featuring five poems all written within the same calendar year. They capture a sense of what my life and mind were like at a certain age and show the evolution of my life, mind, and writing style. We return to 2004. I was 26 years old. I had met one of the most important people and was in the midst of an important relationship in my life. It highly affected my writing.

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Raindrops

Staring out of my window, the raindrops changing shapes before my eyes.

I’d love to watch the sunrise, I’d love to see some blue skies, but I haven’t got past this rain-soaked window yet. Turning to my wall, headlights flash a tearful rain shadow. It could be the angels' tears for me; someday I will know. Sitting on the bed unmade, on the spot where last night I prayed. For a voice, a sign, a reason or rhyme, for some raindrops in my head to wash clean my mind. It’s silent in here now but for the rain, like pebbles tapping a prayer for me. Looking at the ceiling, through it up and away to where I know you are. The distance in miles and years doesn’t seem so far. I know you can hear my whispers through the falling stars. Staring out of my window, 

the rain rolling down reminds me of me. 

Soon those drops will dry, so in time, I hope, will mine.

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The Art of Losing

Tell me, my baby, where did you go?

I woke up this morning, and everything was gone.

It's so cold, the world is dark, without you in my arms.

Can I find you? Will you come back?

Everything is blue, 

from my eyes to the sky and every inch in between.

Inside I'm wasting away, crippled and broken-hearted; 

it could be my last day.

I'm tired from tears, weak from chasing answers, 

lost in all my fears.

Why can't I find you baby? You used to be everywhere.

There are no words I can say. Look into my heart, 

you'll find it all in there.

I love you so much it hurts, now the pain is all I have left of you.

If I could paint a picture of me without you, 

all I'd need is gray and blue.

Can you hear me calling you baby?

I went to bed last night, 

and your name was all the night could hear.

The sun rose black as coal, my mind is a winter storm, 

no one can find me.

Only you can save me from this lonely road I'm on.

You hold the sweetest verse to my most beautiful song.

I've lost my voice, I've only got one choice, to admit I was wrong.

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Under the Streetlight

Spinning slowly around.

Slow dancing with my baby under the streetlight shining down.

I can smell your sweet perfume when I close my eyes.

In my ear you sing a soft lullaby.

I could stay here forever, as long as we're together, I'll dance with you wherever, the streetlight is shining down.

Rest now, our dance floor is quiet.

Hold me tight and feel my heartbeat.

Never has my life felt this complete.

Here slow dancing with my baby on an empty street.

We don't know why, but here we are.

Weaving in and out of the headlights of passing cars.

Eye to eye and cheek to cheek, still a little too far.

No need to look up, I'm face to face with my own beautiful star.

I could stay here forever, and as long as we're together, I'll dance with you wherever the streetlights are shining down.

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Your Eyes

I’ve been thinking about you, all the time, and every day. Something you do to me makes it so I can’t turn away. I’ve been wondering could this thing so beautiful be true. It’s your eyes; I’m hypnotized. There’s magnificence I see in them exotic rains enhancing the flames. It’s your eyes. They’re shining peace through the storms. Those eyes and what they give, I want to see through them. I want to see how the world’s beauty looks, like the ocean waves melting away.

I’ve been seeing you, walking endlessly inside my mind. You’re just a daydream, but something remains. You’re playing me like a song I can’t stop. Should I turn this melody up? It’s ringing in my ears all night. Your voice keeps me hanging on, singing through the night until dawn. It’s your eyes. There’s a sensual mix of crazy and love. It’s your eyes. They’re the deep end of the ocean, they turn my stone to clay. Those eyes and how they make me feel, I want to see through them. I want to see how they separate you from the rest, how they capture hearts and minds.

All that is mystery is in your eyes. All that is heaven on earth, all that keeps me going. When I have no direction, it’s where I look. When I feel too cold to move, it’s where the warmth lies. They hold back the hurricane, but could bring the storm at any time. They hold back the river, but could flood my mind in a wink. They could break me, but they hold the strength to save this falling man. It’s your eyes, I’m speechless. It’s your eyes, it’s hopeless. It’s your eyes, nothing less. I want to see inside; I must confess. I want to see you through your eyes. I want to see me through your eyes.

I want to see through your eyes.

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Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog #131: Finding Balance, Traffic Sandwich, Somewhere New, etc.

1. My life over the last few years has been a constant push and pull. I am always caught in between working as much and as hard as I can on creative projects, trying to build a better life, and stopping, relaxing, and trying to appreciate all that I do currently have. I feel as though if I work too much, the important things in life, like family, friends, and enjoying every moment I get on earth, will slip by. On the other hand, I feel as though if I stop and relax too much, the opportunities that are flowing around me like fish in a stream will also get away. This push-pull keeps me motivated and engaged, but it also can get exhausting. I feel like a few times a week I am stopping and asking myself in which direction I am leaning too much. As of this writing, I feel like I am leaning too far into the working side. As soon as I think that, though, I can picture the projects I want to work on or start to work on, and it pulls me back the other way. There has to be a happy medium. I want to find the balance between work and being present for those who truly matter. That is probably the true secret to happiness in life.


2. I wish burning calories was as easy as my Fitbit made it seem this week. Monday Runday was another fun one. 4 total miles on a perfect afternoon weather-wise. I track my runs using both my Fitbit and Map My Run, the running app I’ve been using since 2011. Most of the time, the numbers on both don’t match. Typically, my distance is less on the Fitbit because it tracks distance based on arm movement. If I run relaxed, I don’t swing my arms as much as I’d do when walking. Then again, my calorie burn is typically higher on the Fitbit because it tracks calories based on my heart rate, while the running app does not have that connection. That being said, the difference in calories burned between the two trackers is usually not that far off. This week it was insanity. Map My Run had me at 508 calories after running 4 miles. That’s a good, pretty accurate number. The Fitbit? It had me somehow burning 3,111 calories over the same distance. Yes, 6x as many calories. Obviously this was a glitch. I hope it’s not a sign of an issue with the Fitbit. If you were wondering, yes, I have burned over 3,000 calories in a single run. It was while running a marathon, a full 26.2 miles. During that, I burned over 3,500 calories. Like I said, I wish burning calories was as easy as running 4 miles, at a relatively easy pace, and instantly getting rid of over 3,000 calories.


3. You never know how something you do will affect others. This week I got a comment on Spotify for my podcast. It was from someone who said they found my GenX nostalgia podcast in the last month or so. They have been suffering through a bout of severe depression and said that my podcast is one of the bright spots in their lives. They said they look forward to it each week. It ended with them saying if I ever wonder if my show makes a difference, they wanted me to know that it matters a lot. Being someone who has battled their share of depression throughout my life, I know how important having something that makes you feel ‘normal’ is. I always joke on the show to lean into the things that make you happy, like favorite people, foods, and of course podcasts. I am humbled and grateful that my show actually does help someone feel like they’re escaping their depression even briefly. Things like that comment only strengthen my determination to keep creating the best content I can, whether it’s podcasts, blogs, videos, or books. Ironically, that comment brightened my mood in the way they said my podcast does for them. Of course, here’s the link if you want to listen to my show: In My Footsteps Podcast


4. Heavy rain and summer combine on Cape Cod to make a traffic sandwich. One day this week, a line of heavy thunderstorms rolled through the Cape in the late afternoon. Now, I could have probably looked at the traffic on Google Maps and decided to take a different route, but come on, then I wouldn’t have as much to write about. So I took a longer route that took me past a supermarket with a good selection in their deli. That right there was all it took to tempt me. The trip to the supermarket was fine. Only when I started home on the main road, Route 28, did I realize my error. It was bumper-to-bumper traffic as the skies opened up. A trip that typically takes me roughly 30 minutes took me closer to 55, with the majority of that being after I left the supermarket. Eventually I just had to throw my hands up and accept it. Luckily, I had a good podcast on, so it kept me from going crazy. At least I didn’t have any left-hand turns to try to make; I might still be stuck in traffic as you read this.



5. This week ended up being a huge boost to my confidence. I mentioned the really nice comment about my podcast. When I shared it on social media, I was blown away by the nice comments and messages. I had total strangers telling me that my content has helped them navigate hard times. I had people remark about my outlook on life in general, which I was thrilled to hear. It continued with my boss putting me over for my work as a trainer. The irony was that the only area he felt I needed work on was my confidence. This week is a great help. It concluded with what I will talk about next, but I will just say thank you to everyone who sent nice comments. Those messages make me feel that what I am doing and how I am living are how they should be.


6. The great week continued with a really fun author event at the Dennis Public Library. As per usual, I got there about 45 minutes early. I get there early to make sure that nothing goes wrong in my setup. It stems from an event many years ago at the Cotuit Library. For that event, I got stuck in summer traffic. This had me arriving at the event about 5 minutes before showtime. I walked in, and the room was full, which was great, but I felt it made me look unprofessional for showing up so close to the start. On top of that, once I got set up, there were issues with the projector and the show began late. For every event since that one, I make it a point to get there super early. The funny part is that I haven’t had any issues, so I just end up standing around waiting for people to show up.


7. As for the event itself, it was a great gathering. I enjoy speaking about Cape Cod history in connection to me being a 12th-generation Cape Codder. The sounds of reacting to each of the 12 different stories I shared never gets old. I could have done without one person who interjected themselves into the presentation a little too much, but it wasn’t malicious, so I let it slide. I did have to interrupt a bit to move the presentation along, though. It’s not lost on me that I was, and to a degree still am, an introvert. Being a public speaker and doing it confidently and comfortably is something I have worked at for years. I have another event coming up in the fall, but this was the last for the summer since I need to keep the rest of summer free for things to do with my upcoming film. Thank you to everyone who came out to my Dennis event; it was a lot of fun.



8. The biggest joy of that event was the family element. Not only did my mom and sister Ashley come out, but my cousins Dale and Richard did as well. This was very special. My mom and Dale hadn’t seen each other in close to 40 years since my mom and biological father got divorced in the early 1980s. Dale specifically asked if my mom would go to the event and to tell her because she would want to go. I am sure she and Richard would have come anyway, but my mom’s appearance made it a must-see event. This is where the final piece of my week of building confidence came to a conclusion. Doing a good show in front of family is one thing, but having Dale tell my mom that a big reason she came to the show was to be able to tell my mom face to face how proud she was to be related to me was almost overwhelming. Dale and Richard are my 2nd cousins on my father’s side. I don’t have relationships with many on that side of the family for various reasons. Having family from my paternal side be so supportive and kind and loving is even more important to me at this point in life when I don’t have, or want, a relationship with my biological father. My hope is that it is not a one-time thing and that my mom and Dale, and more of us in the family, can get together for gatherings going forward. If my author event is the conduit to that, then it truly was one of my best.


9. Going to a place I’ve never been to on Cape Cod is increasingly difficult. Sure, technically I could go to some random side road, but that’s not what I mean. This week I bit the bullet and went to check out the Cape Cod Rail Trail extension into Hyannis. This is the furthest western point of the famed bike path, which extends on the eastern end through Wellfleet. What makes it interesting is that it is part of a larger extension. There is probably 1.5 miles or so of new trail in Yarmouth that winds through woods behind Bayberry Hills golf course. It ends at Willow Street, which is a pretty busy road. Then directly across is another roughly 1.5-mile stretch of newly paved trail ending near Independence Park, the back way to the busy business section of Hyannis. The problem is that in the middle there will eventually be a bridge connecting the two sections, but that likely is quite a way away from being put in. I had to drive around to the other end of the trail on Mary Dunn Road. They are beginning to build a parking lot there, but of course it’s also likely to take ages to be finished. Luckily, there is literally one spot to park next to where the parking lot is being built. Since that section of road is really quiet, I knew it would be open, and it was. Having never left my car in that area, I just hoped that it would be there when I got back.


10. The run itself on the trail was sunny, warm, and very hilly. My friend Mike, of Monday Runday fame, told me it was hilly, but I needed to experience it. The trail hugged the highway on one side and the airport on the other, so there was a hum of activity. It was an interesting contrast with the fact that I saw absolutely no other people on the trail. Obviously nobody in their right mind is going to cross the busy Willow Street from the other side, and since I took the only parking spot at the other end, I shouldn’t have been surprised. One thing I found was that this Hyannis stretch of trail has little, if any, shade. Running up hills with no shade made me feel like I had taken a shower in my clothes. In total, it was 3 miles of new trail I ran. This meant that as of that run, I had been on every bit of every bike path on Cape Cod. Of course, 3 miles wasn’t enough for me. I extended my run by going down Mary Dunn Road, past where I parked, and to the backside of the airport. Despite waiting for a few minutes, no planes landed or took off. On the way back, I took a detour to Mary Dunn Pond, a spot I had never seen before. It was serene and filled with wildflowers. All in all, it was a perfect afternoon of new sights and exercise. Yes, I made sure to create a video to capture it and to share.



11. Where I live, there is a little puffball of a bunny that lives inside a bush that envelops the front light. I see it almost daily, especially near dusk when it sits near the bush eating clover and grass. Cute, right? Yes, but also there is a dark side. You see that little puffball is rightfully skittish around anything it perceives as a predator. That includes people. I have never tried to approach it or domesticate it. What the bunny does, though, is take off running when I get near. Most of the time this occurs while I am coming up the walkway to the front door. The bunny will be somewhere in the front bushes. I can’t see it, but it sees me. Rather than hiding and hoping I pass by, it invariably comes charging out of the bushes to get away. You can imagine my surprise when it’s a quiet evening, and suddenly this puffball comes dashing out and scaring the hell out of me. I have taken to jingling my car keys when I come up the walkway to flush it out before it can give me a heart attack. I can see it now: I drop dead in the yard, and I am found with that little bunny sitting on my chest eating grass like a hitman.


12. The past month, maybe 6 weeks, have seen me running more consistently than I have since I had a bad sprain of the left ankle last summer playing basketball. There was a time, especially over the winter, when I felt like running at all was going to be a thing of the past. About 2 months ago, a few things came up that started making positive changes. First was my boss, Dr. Mike, testing out that left ankle and recommending a strap to wear right below my left knee. This would help keep my lower leg stable. After that, one day I was sitting and thinking about the things I did when I was at my peak as a runner. What did I do then that I could bring back now? I started taking more than the recommended dosage of glucosamine, a supplement for joint health. It took a few weeks of the strap and glucosamine, but I started slowly adding running back into my workouts. In the past 2 weeks, I have consistently run 5 miles in under an hour. It’s nothing like what I did at my peak, but it’s slowly getting better each time. I liken this recent return to running to getting back together with an ex. Things feel familiar, but now you have learned the things you can and can’t do. Okay, maybe it’s not quite like that, but I am happy with how things have gone in the last several weeks.


13. While out for a run this week, I saw a guy ‘walking’ his two dogs. One was on a leash, and another was not. Already this guy can’t figure out if he wants to obey leash laws or be a selfish, entitled dog owner. The dog that was off-leash was barely the size of a football, and the one that was leashed was only slightly larger. My opinion is that if you have a dog you can fit in a shoebox or a purse, or could be plucked from the yard by a large bird, then you don’t have a real dog. A real dog should be able to protect you from intruders, not be stuffed into a microwave with room to spare.

Alternate Life Timelines. #2 - Moving To New Orleans

This is the second in a series of articles looking back at moments from my nearly 50 years of life. These are moments where I zigged. But what if I had zagged instead?

In some ways, life becomes like one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books. The decisions you make have ripple effects throughout your life. If you do this, then that happens. What about the decisions or events that could have happened but didn’t? That is going to be the purpose of this series of articles.

The first article saw me reflecting on my decision to not go away to college and, in fact, take a semester off before continuing my education at all. It had a huge effect on my future.

In this second article, I am looking at another moment that had a major rippling effect on my future. This one, when changed, could have resulted in this never being written at all.

These articles won’t be so much about rehashing regrets. They are more of an interesting look at how many times in life you are faced with the potential of a big change. What do you do when the opportunity arises? Let’s try a different path.

In the spring of 2004, I was a mess. The three years since I had returned to Cape Cod after living in Las Vegas had not been kind. Yes, I had graduated from college with a 2-year degree in communications. However, the stink of failure, in my mind at least, was hard to wash away.

I was meant to succeed in Vegas. I was supposed to have gone there, finished college, gotten a good job, and moved Cape Cod into the ‘completed’ chapter section of my life. That did not happen. It will also be a future ‘alternate timeline’ article, so you will get the full story then.

All you need to know for this piece is that I did not succeed in Las Vegas. I came home with my tail between my legs. I went back to cooking, then left for landscaping, then returned to cooking. My most taxing job was battling the overwhelming depression that hovered over me for years.

I was working as a cook in the spring of 2004 when one of the most important moments of my life occurred. I saw her. Through the rectangular-shaped window of the swinging door to the kitchen, I saw the most heart-stoppingly beautiful girl. My world was never the same.

The view from 2004

I officially met her a few days later. She almost immediately cured my depression with the confidence of someone scaring off a bear with a stick. I was in love.

We spent much of the summer together. I felt this unusual feeling of wanting to be my authentic self around her. I always had a tendency to keep at least a little bit of my guard up around people, but she was different. It was like every rom-com rolled into one and gently placed into my hand like a butterfly.


Now, of course, we all know that if something seems too good to be true, it usually is. My summer romance in 2004 was no different. It had nothing to do with her. It had to do with her situation. She didn’t live full-time on Cape Cod. She was a live-in nanny for a family, and they spent winters in New Orleans, Louisiana.

It was a hurdle for sure. At first, it was not insurmountable, though. She would leave with the family back to New Orleans in October, but then return to Cape Cod the following April. The confidence I had in our relationship told me to just relax; good things would be waiting on the other side of a harsh New England winter. Silly me.

In one of those ‘of course’ moments, the husband and wife she nannied for split up shortly after they returned to New Orleans. This meant there was no return trip to Cape Cod on the horizon, because why would there be? Sure, maybe she would have come up for a week to vacation, but our relationship had hit a crossroads.

I had never felt love like I did for her, before or since. I had given her a placeholder ring during one of her last weeks on Cape Cod. Along with it was a promise of a real ring and a potential real engagement when she returned the next year. I don’t think she believed me, but I was deadly serious. She had changed my life so deeply that my focus turned to building on that life with her.

There was a big problem in the way. New Orleans is more than 1,500 miles from Cape Cod. It is not exactly somewhere that you can drive to easily. What was I to do?

In reality, I kept in regular contact with her, typically daily. I slowly felt the distance winning. To try to combat this, I booked a flight to New Orleans in January 2005 and stayed for four days. She and I got to spend a lot of time together seeing the sights, meeting her family, and enjoying each other’s company. It all felt right again.

A collage of memories from that New Orleans trip

I had to act. During a drive around New Orleans, I came clean. I was seriously thinking of moving down there permanently. To my surprise, she seemed shocked by this news. I told her how I felt and how I wanted to at least give our relationship the full chance it deserved.

She didn’t outright reject my plan, but it wasn’t the overwhelming success I'd hoped for. The rest of my time visiting went well. I flew back home fully intending to follow through on my idea. I even began voicing it to my family and friends as if I were trying to make sure I was held accountable.

Weeks passed, and little was said of the potential move. I don’t know if she was hoping I’d forget about it or wanted to see if I was serious or just all talk. When her birthday drew near in April, I again broached the subject. She was not into it.

Unbeknownst to her, I had begun scoping out apartments and jobs in New Orleans in anticipation of relocation. I had begun contacting an art gallery that was looking for a host.

My family saw how serious I was and supported me. Everyone supported me, except for the person I was going to move for. She backed away. She felt things were going too far too fast. Looking back now, her being 23 and staring at a man she had known for a year, planning to move 1,500 miles to be with her, must have been a lot. It was a lot. I know that now, but in 2005, I was as crazy in love as Beyoncé and wanted to finish my story.


What happened in reality?

In reality, I dropped my plans. She and I took a break. I don’t know if you’d consider it the official breakup, but we went from being frequently in touch to being more intermittent. I was hurt and confused. I am sure she was as well. The best of intentions cannot overcome some things.

A few months passed. Then a major event threw us back together. On August 29, 2005, Hurricane Katrina decimated New Orleans and much of the Gulf Coast of the United States. All of my hurt over not getting the storybook romance I wanted went out the window. It was replaced with fear over her safety.

I reached out and got the update. She and her family were safe. They ended up being evacuated and relocated to Houston, Texas. To this day, she still lives in a suburb of Houston.

The relief over her safety morphed into wonder about my own timeline. As is the title of these articles, I was already thinking of what could have been had I gone through with my move to New Orleans.

So let’s take a look at it over 20 years later.

My original plan was to move to New Orleans, likely sometime in early June 2005. In this timeline, I follow through with getting the job working in an art gallery and also get one of the apartments I had been looking at. I would have driven my Saturn sedan the 1,500 miles from Cape Cod to New Orleans. Fine, so I am there.

The Saturn model I planned to drive to New Orleans

Perhaps the fact that I actually went through with it and uprooted my life in the name of being with the girl I loved would have changed her mind. The odds of that are probably 50-50. New Orleans is a big area, with the metropolitan area being home to nearly one million people. I believe that the apartments I was looking at were between 10 and 15 minutes from where she lived with her family. I’d be there, close, but not right on top of her.

In all honesty, I’d have been trying to court her from the time I got there. After all, she was why I moved. When we were together, we had a chemistry that was undeniable. That was when we were physically together. Apart it was different, like she needed to see me to remember she had feelings. How much would I encroach on her life to be seen?

Not to have rose colored glasses, but I do think we’d end up together, at least to start. Dating is one thing. Being in a serious committed relationship in close proximity is another. How much would she bend to fit me into her life? The bigger question is how much I would bend?

She was, and to this day is, extremely religious. In fact, she and her husband (spoiler) run a church together. Would I have moved things around in my life to accommodate a hefty dose of religion? I honestly don’t think so. Having date nights always consist of church would start to wear on me. I’m not anti-religion, but I am wary of those who make their religion the overwhelming defining characteristic of their lives. It’s the same way I feel about people who do that with politics.

So, we’d probably have had some sort of relationship. To what degree, I don’t know. Looking back on it, I feel like it would have been an uphill climb to get back what we had when she was on Cape Cod. I would have tried, though.


We then get to the bigger issue: Hurricane Katrina. I highly doubt that I would have given up on us by late August. I would have probably stuck it out through 2005 in the hopes of my birthday in November, or Christmas, tightening our bond. This means I’d have been living in New Orleans when the storm hit.

That statement in and of itself is chilling. Knowing how serious that hurricane was, the fact that I would have likely been in its path is crazy. The first question is, what happens to me? I’m grateful I don’t have to find out, but 1,833 people died in that storm.

Even if I were in a relationship, that wouldn’t have meant she and her family were obligated to take me with them. I’d like to think the offer would be made, but who knows? Would I have been fine in my apartment? Would I have been relocated to the Superdome? Would I have ended up in Houston? Or somewhere else?

My honest opinion? I’d have hoped to go with her family to Houston. If that wasn’t an option, I’d have gone back to Cape Cod if possible. To pick a path, I’d say I'd go to Houston, too. Here’s where it gets interesting as far as the future goes.

If I went to Houston, that would mean I was indebted to her family. I’d have been more likely to bend my life around theirs. I could see myself, out of respect, becoming way more involved in religion than I normally would. I’d have sacrificed my interests to stay close to her.

I can’t say if we end up together and I am then the husband she runs a church with. Maybe so. Or do I become resentful and end up leaving her and moving back to Cape Cod, or somewhere else? I was never great at openly discussing serious issues, so I’d have probably simmered until I boiled over.

At some point, we would have ended our relationship, and I would have probably come back to Cape Cod. In reality, once the plans to New Orleans blew up, I still had the itch to move and ended up doing so.

I moved to Florida in September 2005. It was very brief, lasting all of two months before I went home. Ironically, it was because Hurricane Wilma tore through and washed out all of my job interviews. Once out of money and patience, I went back to Cape Cod.

The reality, when I moved to Florida in 2005.

In reality and in an alternate timeline, I don’t think my relationship dream works out. It’s sad but an honest reality check. I end up back on Cape Cod before my 30th birthday, and we go from there.


One thing that I haven’t mentioned yet that I need to mull over. My writing career, beyond this blog or anything amateur, got its start due to my relationship ending. I processed my pain through writing. It led to my blogs, which led to my first book, and eventually ten published books. Everything I have done creatively since the end of 2005 is because of her and our relationship ending.

What if that relationship came to a natural end instead of feeling like the distance was the killer? Do I have the same sadness to overcome? Do I write a fictionalized version of our relationship that becomes my first ebook? I don’t know.

Maybe the extra time we have together opens my eyes to some other career path I end up enjoying. Maybe I could build a successful career running art galleries? That’s the intriguing thing about these articles: it’s all just informed speculation based on what I know of the situation at the time and of myself.

I do believe that everything worked out as it should. It’s funny how each of the first two alternate timelines ends with me believing that I ended up on the right path. Maybe it’s just my way of coping with unknowns and unfinished business.

In reality, once my girl moved with her family to Houston after Hurricane Katrina, we slowly lost touch until one day it was the last time. She was beginning to move on and mentioned meeting someone. That was a bridge too far. I didn’t want to be a pen pal hearing about her new flame.


My biggest regret of this entire story is letting go. Once we lost touch, and I lost her phone number, that was it. She was never on social media, and thus I had no way of reconnecting. If we had stayed in touch, maybe a day would come when she wanted to give it another try? I’ll never know.

As I said earlier, today she is married, has no kids, and runs a church with her husband. How do I know this if we lost touch? I am a master internet detective. I found a shared social media profile she has with her husband. There, I got my closure. I had no need to reach out. I saw her. I saw her life. I saw her happy. That was enough.

Do I wish we’d ended up together back in 2005? Yes. Nobody has made me feel what she made me feel. But she did make me feel it. That means there’s always a chance I could feel that way again about someone else. Or, if someday her profile isn’t shared anymore, all bets are off.

She and I were good together. She and I are good apart. She changed my life more than she will ever know. She continues to do so as all of my creative endeavors trace their origin back to her. So in a weird roundabout way, she is still in my life.



“There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more
Than to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking apart
My pictures of you.”

Pictures of You – The Cure

See you in the next alternate timeline

The Life of an Uncle

I am not a father. I am, however, writing this on Father’s Day.

It’s fitting because it is a bittersweet day for me due to the lack of a good father in my own life. I am blessed to have had several second fathers, though. Positive role models that showed me that although many men are awful, it is not all of them.

Although I have no children of my own, I have had experience in putting the lessons my second fathers taught me to use. For despite not being a father, I am a proud uncle.

I have six nieces and nephews. Kaleigh, Emma, Liam, Landon, Lucas, and Sylvie. Three boys, three girls. I have been an uncle for more than half of my life and cherished every moment.

I was there the day that most of them were born. I was there for many birthdays, holidays, and other important moments in their lives. I did my best to be a fun and positive presence any time I was around them. That deep emotional connection with them as children is a double-edged sword, though.

As I said, I am not a father. This means I am none of their fathers. I am an uncle. Sure, it’s an important role, but it’s not THE important role. Only time will tell if any of the three men who are the fathers of the six nieces and nephews turn out to be positive or negative. It doesn’t look great, but there is still time.

I don’t know the pressures or the life changes that come from parenthood. I do know that no child asks to be born. It is the responsibility of the parents to care for and nurture their children. You don’t have to be the greatest parent ever to be a net positive in your child’s life. You just have to start by showing up and showing you care.

As an uncle and the child of a terrible father, it hit me on two fronts. I wanted to show that I was a positive role model. I also wanted to show that I was a better uncle than my biological father was a parent.

The double-edged sword I mentioned a moment ago comes from attachment and remembering your role. For as much as I loved spending time with my nieces and nephews, it was always a bit superficial. Not like I was pretending to love being around them, but more that things were meant to stay fun and light.

I am not their fathers. I am their uncle. Growing up, my uncles were fun distractions from daily life. They didn’t tackle anything serious. Those problems were for parents to help with. An uncle needs to know his role and be a fun distraction, but in the end, that’s where their role typically ends.

When I was a kid, I remember fun times with my uncles, Bob, Eric, Steve, and John. As I grew up, though, I started seeing them less and less. Not because of anything bad, I just wasn’t their kid. They would be at holidays or other random occasions, but in my teens and early 20s, I was focused on getting my own life started. My uncles and aunts were seen far less than when I was little. That’s just the way it goes.

I was lucky that my oldest nieces, Kaleigh and Emma, lived in close proximity to me when they were growing up. They were either right down the street or right down the hallway. I was able to share probably hundreds of memories with them.

Walking the mall with little Kaleigh in her stroller. People would stop and mention how cute she was and what proud parents my sister Kate and I must be. I would laugh, Kate would be grossed out.

Sitting on the floor of my bedroom with my laptop open. Little Emma sitting beside me as I showed her classic McDonald’s commercials from the 1980s. In the days when she was hesitant to get close to anyone besides her parents, I took it as a major badge of honor that she liked spending time with me.

My nephews Liam and Landon were born at different times in my life. Liam lived further away. Landon was born as I was moving into a new place. Thus, I was more disconnected from them. This always made me feel bad. I wanted to be the fun uncle, the favorite uncle, to all of the kids. Feeling more connected to some than others was never something I intended. Life just happens that way.

When Lucas was born, I made it a point to set things right. I was there when he was born. I did my best to visit him and Liam at my sister Lindsay’s house, even though it was a bit of a hike to get there.

Time was ticking away. I was 33 when Lucas was born, and I had my doubts as to whether I’d ever have kids of my own. I tried to be the fun uncle. Always looking to make the kids laugh, do stupid voices, and tell funny jokes. These were the things I had learned from my Uncle Bob. He was and still is the gold standard of the fun uncle.

I always had to remind myself that I was the uncle, not the father. If I disagreed with something one of the fathers did, it wasn’t my place to say anything. I never wanted to hear someone tell me to mind my business because I wasn’t their father.

That reality led to my having less of a role in the lives of my nieces and nephews as they got older. Much in the same way that it happened with my uncles, and probably a lot of your uncles. You don’t lean on an uncle for answers to difficult situations as a teen and young adult. That is what parents are for.

I’d watch, so close, but so far away, as the kids grew up. They started and finished high school and college. They got their first jobs, cars, and relationships. As proud as I was, and still am, it comes back to that bittersweet feeling. I am not as important to them as they are to me.

That’s not unusual. It’s just something that uncles and aunts have to cope with as the kids get older. They stay closer to their parents because that’s how it should be. Being an uncle means your seat gets further from the stage, the older the kids get.

My youngest niece, Sylvie, was born when I was 41. She is almost 8 years younger than Lucas. It was like starting the clock over again.

Having children in your life can make you feel young and old, all at the same time. You feel young because you watch them learn and discover, and start to become who they will be. You feel old because, as they grow up, you feel your own clock ticking.

I try to be the best uncle I can be to Sylvie, who is 7. She’s my final excuse to be a foolish man-child for a little longer. I know that eventually she will drift away, not from anything bad, just because all kids grow up and develop their own lives. It might not be tomorrow or the next day, but it will come someday. I just have to enjoy each moment as they come.

It happened with Kaleigh, Emma, and Liam. It’s happening with Landon, who just graduated from high school. It’s like I want more time with them all, but I’m lower on the ladder of importance. Parents, grandparents, friends, partners, they all occupy more important real estate in the lives of my older nieces and nephews. That’s how it should be, and I have done my best to accept that.

Despite being an uncle for more than half of my life, I still don’t have a clue what it means or what I should be doing. I never went off on adventures with my uncles, except for rare times when my Uncle John took me to Friendly’s. I don’t know if I should have done more as the kids grew up, or less. I don’t even know if I was or am good at whatever an uncle’s role is.

What exactly is an uncle anyway? The brother of your parent. They are adjacent to the important stuff in your life. Maybe they were there a lot more than you remembered as a kid. Maybe they were more like a guest star who showed up every now and then.

Maybe it’s not about the quantity but the quality? I don’t remember meeting my Uncle Eric until I was 12 and my cousin Patrick was born. He went on to be someone whom I told I wished had been my father.

My uncles Eric and Bob have each attended more of my author events than my biological father. My uncle Steve was by my side for several grueling road races. These men showed up. Sometimes, as a human, no matter your age, you just want someone you care about to show up. They did, my father didn’t. I try to do the same for my nieces and nephews and hope that I have succeeded more times than I’ve failed.

I am not a father. I am, however, a proud and grateful uncle to six wonderful people. They are all different, unique, and special. They are all at different points in their lives, but all have blue skies filled with hope and opportunity ahead of them.

As an uncle, you have to know your role. It’s to be a positive presence above all else. You want the kids to be glad you were there and waiting in anticipation of when you’ll be back. That’s a big reason why I tended to rile them all up and then leave. Fun uncles gotta fun.

Decades from now, when I am old and worn out, I hope that my nieces and nephews reach out every now and then to make sure I am still alive. I hope they do a better job than I do at keeping in touch. Uncle Bob I hear from a few times a month. I haven’t seen my Uncle Steve in many months. My Uncle Eric sadly passed 3 years ago, before I could say goodbye.

You only get one life. I’d much rather be the fun uncle who gets steely-eyed glares from parents and grandparents because I let the kids do whatever they want. It beats being the lame, boring, or worse, absentee uncle that doesn’t know the kids' middle names.

I hope that my nieces and nephews know that even as my role in their lives gets smaller, I am still cheering as loudly from the nosebleed seats as I was on the sidelines. I think it is important to make that known rather than just hoping that it is.

I have been an uncle for more than half of my life. I will be one for the rest of it as well. Being a positive male presence in their lives is very important. If they need me, I am there. If they don’t, I will be first in line to hear all about how their lives are going when they do.

Kaleigh, Emma, Liam, Landon, Lucas, and Sylvie. I am so proud and blessed to be your uncle and to call you family. Just know that I am never far if you need me, and your fun, some might say crazy, uncle loves you very much.

1996 Changed Everything: Pt. 4 - Love, High School Style

This is part of a series of articles about 1996, as it holds significance for me since it was the year I graduated high school. In this fourth article, I look at how a significant relationship influenced decisions whose ramifications I am still feeling to this day.

Love is a wonderful thing. Michael Bolton said so in his 1991 hit song. Hey, it ended up in the Top 5, so he must have been on to something. Before you truly know what love is and what love feels like, love can take many different forms.

It can take the form of innocent crushes on girls in your class, like I had several of during elementary school. It can take the form of infatuation and pining like I did for a girl who used to visit my neighborhood during the summers of my formative years. When you are chasing the type of secure love that your life has not given you much of, you start to settle. You start to think that maybe you should say yes to whoever comes knocking.

Looking back thirty years, I can say in all honesty that during the nearly three years I dated my high school girlfriend, I thought I loved her at some point. Using my wisdom and experience from those years that have passed, I can say that, no, I never truly loved her. At least not in the purest form. Not in the way that I would want to be loved.

We came together mostly out of convenience. She literally lived next door to me and was friends with my sister Kate. I hardly had to do any work in terms of courting her before we were together. In fact, it was Kate who bluntly stated that we both knew we liked each other and that we should just get together.

I remember on that cold winter evening in February 1996 thinking to myself: Wait, I like her? I think my reservations were overruled by the thought of actually having a girlfriend, which was something I’d been wanting for years. A girlfriend in 5th grade, or a brief connection over a summer or two, was not the real relationship I was looking for.

I decided, why not? Soon we were hanging out and getting to know each other. The time together grew, which meant that my time with my group of friends shrank. In my mind, I thought if they were really my friends, they’d be happy that I had a girlfriend. Maybe that kind of justification to myself should have been a warning sign.

I was a senior while my new girlfriend was a freshman. It was not ideal. It actually made me feel a little less-than. Sure, a freshman who dates a senior would be seen as stepping up. A senior dating a freshman? It was more of a ‘what you couldn’t find anyone in your grade?’

Her reaction to us being together was to sweetly say, ‘I can’t believe I’m with you.’ It appealed to my ego. Yeah, I am a catch, I knew it. But it was also a lot of pressure to live up to. Also, in the back of my mind, I should have read it as it was: I had settled for less than I should.

Now, don’t get me wrong, this is not a knock on her. She was sweet, funny, kind, and supportive. I’m looking at it from my perspective. If I felt the same way as she did, then I wouldn’t have opted against going to my Senior Prom. I couldn’t let my friends and classmates see I was dating a freshman. That’s on me, not on her. My insecurities and low self-esteem kept me from going to one of the milestone events of high school life. Maybe a few people would have cared. Looking back, I think that my group of friends, many of whom I am still in touch with today, would have been happy I was there.

I’m sure the next logical question is, why did you date her in the first place, then? Convenience, the desire to have a girlfriend, and an inability to say no. I should have said I didn’t have those same feelings. I didn’t want to be seen as the bad guy. Plus, the fact that she was so damn into me was intoxicating to a teenage boy who had not felt much love or appreciation at home for much of my childhood. I needed that validation.

Celebrating moments after my high school graduation in 1996.

The way that I viewed love and relationships as a teenager is far different from the way I view them today, as it should be. In my immature mind, it was about the fooling around every bit as much as it was the emotional connection. It was about availability over compatibility.

I know it was a me thing. Growing up, I was not taught how to give affection or express emotions. Vulnerability was weakness, at least in the presence of my first stepfather. I lost my ability to trust new people, always figuring they had an ulterior motive or were waiting for the right time to hurt me. I had done two bouts of therapy as a younger kid and probably could have used more.

For my girlfriend, I was the prize she couldn’t believe she’d won. She only wanted to be with me. I can’t speak for her, but I know that to any fully functioning adult, this would have spelled a perfect relationship. Unfortunately, I was the awful combination of an immature teenage boy and an abused child with emotional issues. I was broken, and she couldn’t fix me. She shouldn’t have had to.

An unexpected revelation about myself from this relationship was finding out just how broken I was. When senior year was still ongoing, I had structure. I couldn't spend unending amounts of time with my girlfriend, so I think things were masked. Once school was over, we spent more time together, but it was all pretty smooth. It wasn’t until my friends went off to college while I took a semester off that things started to go off the rails.

It wasn’t long until I felt I had made a mistake. Not so much in dating her, but making choices in my life based on our relationship. I had decided to take a semester off before going to college. Not only take a semester off, but also not go to, or even apply to, colleges that would have been off of Cape Cod. I still believe this to be one of the worst decisions of my life.

Despite it being more about convenience than actual feelings, my girlfriend made me feel important. We had some fun times. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy being with her, but our interest levels were far apart. I wanted to give it a chance, though. If I had left for college, then that would have been it. We’d have been a quick fling to end my high school days. Perhaps it should have been.

Dating in high school is a trip. Maybe you have a car. Maybe your parents have to be your driver. Maybe you have money for dinner or some sort of activity. Maybe you can only afford to go for a walk. Maybe you hold hands and talk on the phone. Maybe you go all the way. As a teenager, the possibilities were seemingly the entire spectrum of what life could throw at you.


That semester off to end 1996 was sobering. I went from a high school senior with possibly limitless potential to a lowly dishwasher/prep cook living at home. I can remember my life becoming a routine. Work, hanging with my girlfriend, rinse repeat.

I would drive us around in my mom’s station wagon, or later, my first car, a Pontiac Grand Prix. We’d find secluded places to, well, you know. We’d hit up Taco Bell and Burger King. It was being a teenager, but doing so while my future was slowly fading off into the horizon. It’s like I was blissfully ignorant.

A 1982 Pontiac Grand Pirx, my first car.

When my girlfriend was all that was left in my social circle, I started to cling tight. Familiarity was something I desperately needed as the rest of my life was descending into chaos. My mother wasn’t happy that I was spending all my time hanging out with my girlfriend and eating fast food, going so far as to point out the weight I had gained since summer ended.

Now I needed my girlfriend to become my anchor. What started as convenience morphed into toxic desperation. I felt less-than in life. I felt weak and powerless from years of abuse and neglect at the hands of my father and first stepfather. Having a girlfriend who idolized me made me feel strong and important. I began to lean more into that.

When you start to believe your own hype, it can prove to be your downfall. I have been a mix of different issues for so long. I have an avoidant attachment style. It’s a fear of intimacy and vulnerability stemming from my childhood. I also crave the closeness and safety of a real, loving relationship. It is two opposing forces colliding.

Now, in my late 40’s, I can see this and express it. When I was 18, 19, it was all there but also wrapped up in immaturity and teenage angst. I wanted my girlfriend to be there. I’d sing songs to her, and we’d go on late-night walks through our neighborhood. Then, if I felt I was lowering the mask too much, I’d flip on a dime and become cold and callous. It had to have been incredibly frustrating and confusing for her.

I look back 30 years, and on one hand, I am embarrassed at how I ended up becoming a bad boyfriend. Instead of saying no to the initial meetup, I became drunk on the attention this girl gave me. If my life were out of control, I wouldn’t just talk to her or someone else about it. I would lash out or be cold and distant as a way to express my inner turmoil. I probably trashed her mental health and self-esteem as she wondered what she was doing wrong. In reality, I needed therapy badly. I do wonder if it would have been the same result even if I were dating my biggest crush I had back then. Maybe nobody would have been able to make it work.

Then again, I look back to 1996 and step back to see a broader view of me, my life, and my mental state. I was 18. I knew nothing of real intimate relationships. It was all new to me. I didn’t go into that relationship seeking to hurt anyone. That’s not me making excuses; it’s me going a little easier on myself because of where I was in life at the time. When you don’t have a reference point for how to cultivate a relationship, or even how to properly express yourself, you are destined for trouble.


A lot of this particular post about 1996 is me admitting my faults and trying to atone for my actions. Today I am my own harshest critic. I was not the greatest high school boyfriend. Yes, she and I lasted a little over 2 ½ years, but honestly, the relationship should have ended a year before it did. We even had a brief split, but I went back to rekindle it. I guess I was desperate for any sense of normalcy. It ended up being a big mistake. In fact, that final year of our relationship might be why I look back on its entirety with such a bitter taste.

We were never meant to be a long-term thing. Statistics show that less than 2% of high school sweethearts end up getting married. So it was a near-certainty that I’d be writing about our relationship in the past tense as of now. I don’t know what the best-case scenario was, but I do know that in a different timeline, we’d have been joined together forever. There was a brief moment, a week at most, when I was 19, where we had to wait with bated breath for her to get her period. I have no idea how my life would have looked if that scenario had happened.

When she had finally taken as much of my bipolar attitude as she could, she ended things. Ironically, I was caught off guard and desperately clung to her to not leave me. Imagine that? I had spent nearly all of our relationship wondering if I’d made a mistake, and when she finally confirms my belief, I couldn’t accept it.

Today, I am single and have been for years. I would love to have the relationship of my dreams, but something holds me back. I feel today much like I did in those final months of 1996. I want the relationship, but also want my independence. That type of thought process is fine when you’re a teen. It’s not as good when you’re nearing 50. So I look at dating sites but stay in the background. Perhaps I am worried that version of me I’ve spent this blog talking about is still in there?


To tie a bow on this subject, let me flash back to 2012. This girlfriend and I had broken up in the summer of 1998. We had not spoken or even seen each other since. I was in the middle of training for my first marathon. I was out on a long run. Once I had put in enough miles running, I stopped, shut off my running app, and prepared to walk the remaining mile or so home. Then I spotted her.

She was standing outside her car in a parking lot. We both looked at each other. She seemed hesitant. I was exhausted, basking a bit in the runner’s high. I approached her, and we began creating some small talk. As we spoke, something was weighing on me. Knowing I might not get the chance to have her in front of me again, I finally gave her the vulnerability that she was owed from me.

I told her I needed to apologize to her. She said it wasn’t necessary and seemed like she didn’t want to go there. I needed it badly, though. I told her that my life was a mess then, and I took out my anger at that on her, and she didn’t deserve that. She deserved better, and I was sorry that I treated her that way. I was literally shaking from the nervousness of truly exposing myself.

She could have told me off, but she didn’t. She accepted my apology, which made me feel better. We left things off cordially and parted ways. I remember being in tears for the rest of my walk. It was a huge weight that was lifted off my heart. Yes, I had been a bad boyfriend, but I had grown from it, recognized my mistakes, and apologized from the heart. In life, that’s all you really can do.

1996 began with me at 18, single, in my senior year of high school, counting down the days until school was out. The year ended with me at 19, in a relationship that I wanted but also didn’t want. It was at the same time fun, exciting, a bit sexy, and a lot of confusing. It was all a part of the experience of growing up.

In the next post, I will go into detail about the other important type of relationship I had in 1996: my friendships. These were the people who shaped who I was, what I liked, and some of the fun memories that still hold a special place in my heart.

Home in 1996