A couple of years ago Em and I attended a wedding on Long Island, were I grew up. The groom was JM, an old friend from High school. Many of the guests were friends from that part of my life, along with many people who knew my parents (read, my Mother).
During cocktail hour I struck up a conversation with a woman who asked me how I knew the happy couple.
FAU: The groom and I went to High School together, I grew up here.
Woman: Your name is FAU...aren't you Nancy's son?
FAU: Yes
Woman: Oh...[long pause]…you are Nancy's son. [Second long pause as she turns to her husband.] Honey, this is FAU [pause for dramatic effect] you know…Nancy's son.
Husband: [Thinking] Are you the one that got struck by lightening?
Yes, yes I am.
There is a very clear line of demarcation in my life. You either knew me on August 27th 1990, or you did not. On that day, unbelievably now 20 years ago, while standing on top of Pamola Peak on Mt. Katahdin in Maine I was struck in the back of the head by a bolt of lightening and was knocked unconscious for several hours. There’s a very good chance that my heart stopped for a few moments, but began beating again thanks to some quick CPR. I was very lucky. My dear friend Dave was not.
Most of you reading this have heard this story in one form or another as I have told it more times than I can count. Each time I relate this tale it's a little different. Some times I get into all of the details, like how I had hypothermia and another hiker, someone I didn’t even know, lay next to me naked under a blanket for an hour to raise my body temperature. Or how when I woke up totally deaf, the adults used pantomime to tell me what happened and I screamed so loudly that my skull rattled, yet I could not hear my own voice. Or how I walked off the mountain that night, mostly on my own two feet, because they couldn’t risk an airlift in that weather.
Because I suffered permanent hearing loss in one ear that day, there’s really
no way to avoid telling this story. I have to tell co-workers, clients, new
friends, people at a dinner table and even people at parties about my hearing.
I’ve tried to avoid it, but then someone will have a whole conversation with my
right side and I won’t even know they are there.
Sometime people ask why I am half deaf, sometime they don’t. Sometimes I just say that I had an accident as a teenager. Sometimes they ask what it was and I tell them. Sometimes Em tells people, she has heard it more than anyone else, so she knows it almost as well as I do.
Many times I don't mention Dave. When you have a personal narrative like this, you learn to read your audience. Are they going to think it was "cool" and compare me the “The Flash”? Do they see it as a horrific and scary event? Do they ask about how I felt? Do they ask if I was alone? Based on the initial reaction (and how well I know them or want to know them) I judge if it's appropriate to mention that I lost a friend that day. People that know me longer, often get that detail on a second telling.
For some of you reading this, my story is not my own, it is ours. Unlike the people who met me after, you lived through that with me. You knew Dave. He was your friend as well as he was mine and we all had to process his death together. I never really had to tell you this story because you experienced the most painful details right along with me.It was not until I left home and had to introduce myself to hundreds of new people that I really began to process it all. On Long Island people knew me like the man at the wedding, as "the kid who got struck by lightening”. In college I was just a guy, until you asked about my hearing.
My parents moved away from Long Island 16 years ago, around the same time I left for school upstate. At that point I almost cut myself off from High School friends except for a select few. In 1994 you could still do that and in many cases it was kind of normal.
There was an initial relief for me being free of my label. I was just a person like anyone else and now the narrative was mine to control. So I got good at telling this story and trusting the people closest to me with the most personal parts.
Years later I moved to The City and reconnected with several old friends. Then came my 10 year reunion and more reconnections, and then, inevitably, Facebook where I have reconnected with dozens of you from High School. After all those years of having to share this memory with people who knew me after, I found a lot of comfort in once again being around people who had their own memories and perspectives on that day, and especially memories of Dave.
Dave and I didn’t know each other long. We went to different Elementary Schools and he joined Cub Scouts later (or was in a different Pack, I can’t recall). I think we met in 6th Grade and then ended up in the same Boy Scout Troop. There were only four of us at the same age in that Troop, myself, Dave, Mike and Tony, so we were all close.
There are three things that I remember most about Dave: his love of the "Bash Brothers" era Oakland A’s, his reverence to guitar rock, especially AC/DC, Steve Vai, and Stevie Ray Vaughan (who, in an insane twist of fate, died that same day), and his florescent green turtleneck. No joke, it was bright florescent green and it made his face glow.
One day in the cafeteria he was eating a bag of cheese doodles while reading a book or a magazine and wearing that shirt. After shoving each handful of the snack in his mouth he would, without thinking, wipe his fingers on his right shoulder. He did this a few times before I noticed and started to laugh. He had fluorescent orange crumbs all over his fluorescent green turtleneck. For a couple of 8th grade boys, it seemed like the funniest thing we had ever seen.
Anniversaries are times of either remembrance or celebration. Today I have to pause and do both. I remember the friend we all lost, far too early in his life, but I also choose to celebrate his life and what he and I shared. And I want to celebrate all of the people who have helped and supported me over the last 20 years.
Thank you all, no matter when I met you.
[this is good] Thank you, FAU. I am a better person because of the 16 years we have been friends. As someone who has heard this story, largely in parts, over the last 16 years, I am glad that you decided to share your perspective.
Posted by: AngryYoungDem | 08/27/2010 at 12:16 PM