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Last night I went to another happy hour party on the beach. This is starting to feel like the most splendid summer I’ve had in a long time. Didn’t think I would ever love the beach any more than I did as a kid, but I think I love it more now.
Pizza, beer, chocolate chip brownies, easy fare, sunshine, umbrellas, chairs, sand. Friends, though not just any. Lifelong friends from way, way back.
You can picture it.
I mean friends from way back in second grade now pushing sixty and above. Nancy, good old Nancy. Looking quite a bit older like the rest of us, way beyond a teenager, still smiling, as tan as she was in high school. Feels like I’ve known her forever, which is almost literally true, seemingly.
The guy I didn’t see coming at all who did, and I still have no idea how he knew about this event or where he lives or what he did with his life, was my somewhat distant but intriguing high school friend Tommy H. Dude struts onto the beach like it’s just another beach party when, in fact, I hadn’t seen him in at least 30 years, probably 40.
But oh were those some times with Tommy H., right after high school final exams, in Ocean City, MD, listening to Tommy H. talk about how he saw things, what his views were of people, how he could get things done, his commentary, his words, his mischievous smile.
An all-time conversationalist of the highest quality, a wonder with the one-liner, a world-class quipper, just the best guy you ever want to hang around with for non-stop amusement. Unbeatable personality and that’s saying a lot given the cast of charismatic characters sprawling all over my childhood.
And there he was, last night, standing right in front of me, talking about his brothers and how he proud he is of them. Sadly, two of them have passed on, but he reminded me they made big marks with their lives, and he was right to speak highly of them.
Tommy H, there he was, all sun-tanned and with his light brown wavey hair, thinning but not at all bald, blue eyes, a more slender version than I remembered, a bad ass cool dude when you really boil it down.
“Give me your phone number, Chuck,” he said. “I want to connect more with you.”
It’s amazing sometimes when you go to some party and somebody shows up seemingly right out of nowhere, and it’s so astounding and makes you think about where all the years went between the time you saw this guy and why you hadn’t stayed in touch and, well, it was for a lot of reasons mostly kids and stuff like that but also just a matter of losing touch, geographic distance, just getting through the days and months and years, surviving.
During our twenties through forties and early fifties we seem to lose touch with friends because we’re buried in responsibilities, many financial and parental, that just don’t leave much time for keeping up with friend and, besides, they’re busy too. Bills to pay. That shit.
Tommy H. has been doing what he’s been doing – I still don’t know what — and I’ve been doing what I’ve been doing and somehow we both made it to last night, on the sand, with so many friends from our childhoods, and we were glad to see each other and everyone else.
Seeing old friends you laughed with so much earlier in life – it’s wonderful, stirs your soul, makes you think about the passage of time and what your life really means if anything at all. Seeing these old friends you feel sure your life has meant something more than nothing.
Tommy, you were a very funny dude and you showed last night you still are. Jesus, I swear, one of the most amusing and charismatic people I’ve ever met.
The party continued. I talked with Margaret who one night in high school conspired with my girlfriend to pour me way too many screwdrivers, orange juice and vodka, that I drank too fast and ended up with a rapid head spin underneath a dining room table at some unmanaged high school party, knocked off my feet, beaten by booze.
I threw up by some tree while my girlfriend actually felt sorry for me. Never have I been so sick from drinking.
Margaret, a warm-hearted person, didn’t intend for that to happen and, besides, it was a lifetime ago and she’s got nine kids and lives in Jacksonville, Florida so things are so, so different now. I never blamed her. It was me who guzzled the godawful beverage designed to burn your brain cells until you feel like puking your intestines out of your throat.
But we remembered each other and it was fun catching up. A very good high school hooper, by the way, and humble about it. And one of 16 kids.
Wild things happened in my circle of friends growing up – parties, misdeeds, love affairs, misdemeanors, a few felonies I suppose, some big wins on the basketball court.
Families packed with 16 kids, and 13 kids, and 11 kids, and 9 kids. Too many gigantic families to keep track of the numbers.
Kids we were, and a bundle of us there were. Several of them showed up last night. I like them all and loved seeing them all especially Tommy H., who after dropping some witty and mysterious words on me said he had to go and turned towards the boardwalk and strolled away from the scene.
Just like that.
I sure hope that’s not the last time I ever see him because the dude cracks me up and inspires me – and always has.
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Sammy Sportface, a sports blogger, galvanizes, inspires, and amuses The Baby Boomer Brotherhood. And you can learn about his vision and join this group's Facebook page here:
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