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Within the past few years, my father died and the friends who attended the funeral were those I would have expected to be there.
Except for one guy.
He sat in the back of the church. A friend of mine I had not seen much since 8th grade some 35 years earlier.
At that stage of our lives, at the end of grade school, we went down different paths, ran in different circles, and made new friends. He went to Georgetown Prep High School in Rockville, Maryland. It’s one of the best high schools in the Washington, D.C., area – with one of the most snazzy campuses. High tuitions. Big money. An Ivy League feeder school. Two graduates are now Supreme Court Justices.
I remember thinking in 8th grade that this guy was chasing the money or some future networking opportunities and I gave him a hard time about it because I was a little envious that I wouldn’t be going to that elite high school.
To help his chances of becoming admitted in a rigorously competitive admissions process, he started lifting weights to position himself as a possible football player at the high school known for being good at that sport.
I made fun of him for doing this. I am not proud of this. My bad side came out. This guy was becoming a threat in some way to me, showing ambition and a desire to make something of himself in high school and beyond.
And he did.
For years we didn’t talk much or hang out. I mean for many many years. We weren’t really friends anymore. Mostly because of my envy that he had gone to a more prestigious high school than I had.
Then about two weeks ago I was sitting on the beach and received a call from this guy. He was checking in. Standing on the sand near the water, we talked about our lives, what we were up to, when we might retire, and how our lives had unfolded. Not since grade school had we had such a conversation and back then it was not mature conversation, just two insecure kids not knowing how to be sincere or caring. Now we are older men in the fourth quarter of our lives catching up on where our lives went.
This is a guy who countless times in the past several years has clicked the “Like” button after seeing the Sammy Sportface blogs.
Not because he had to. Not because I had been mean to him in grade school. I guess just because he was encouraging me that my writing was worth doing and worth reading. He was encouraging an old friend. Or maybe he genuinely liked what I wrote.
I don’t know why he attended my father’s funeral. I guess just to show support for an old casual friend who didn’t deserve his support because I had never done anything to support him and his ambitions in life. All I had done was try to tear him down, make him feel he wasn’t worthy of going to Georgetown Prep, and make him feel he was selling out by going to a rich kid high school.
But there he was at my father’s funeral. He may have been there for reasons that had nothing to do with me. Maybe he knew my brother or brothers better than me and was there to support them.
I still don’t know. It doesn’t matter.
What matters is we spoke recently and have reconnected as friends from childhood. Whatever high school he went to, however much money we made, whatever careers we pursued, none of that was as important as it once was.
We have lived the bulk of our lives, made those big decisions, and arrived at a stage of life when we could just talk as friends getting reacquainted. We talked about getting together sometime soon to spend time together, to be friends.
We will. I am sure of that.
I don’t deserve to be his friend given how much of a shallow cuss I was to him back in grade school and high school. I didn’t encourage him. Not once.
But he showed me by his phone call, his reactions to my writing, and by attending my Dad’s funeral, and by being a good guy whenever I’ve seen him over the years, that he’s a forgiving and loyal friend.
A better human being than me. A better person than I thought he would turn out to be. I was wrong about his motives and character.
I am writing about Mark Richardson, whom we called Spoog growing up. I am impressed with how he has lived his life, the person he has become, the career he has had, and the actions that he takes that show – without him saying a word – that he’s one of those people who has lived an admirable life.
You’re a great man, Mark Richardson. Let’s get together sometime soon and hang out, talk about all we’ve done, all we wish we had done, but mostly move forward embracing life as it continues to unfold, upbeat about our renewed friendship and the potential we have to make our most important contributions to each other and others in the days, months and years ahead.
Author Profile
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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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