Friday, October 12, 2007

"To wail friends lost is not so much so wholesome-profitable as to rejoice at friends but newly found." (Love's Labour's Lost)

I could never figure out why I always had difficulty making friends...that is, ever since I wore knickers. Before I moved to the Bronx when I was nine, I had lived in New Jersey and up until that age most of the few friends I had were girls older than I. In the Bronx, I had Charlie Krum, the kid who gave my gold ring to some scam artist in Central Park. And then there was Leo Hartman (who now lives in Boca and remains my friend). But Leo's friendship really goes back to our days on Kelly St. when we were madly in lust with Terry Greene. Lord knows where she is now. Both Leo and I were members of a gang called "The Apaches"; we had a stickball team and a cellar club. I became a member of that group, not because they were particularly friendly with me, but because I was a good athlete and stickball player; ergo, I could hit the ball "three sewers". Leo and I rarely see each other now. We grew up, went to war, raised our own families, had our own careers, and went into retirement. Leo lost his first wife to cancer, and I to divorce. And each of us has gone our own way. We do keep in touch with e-mails.

But now, I believe I know at least one reason why I've had difficulty making friends: I was in a minority group; I was "different". I don't mean because I was Jewish; we were all Jewish. It was just that I had flaming red hair and zillions of freckles, and this fact gnawed at me ever since I became aware of it when I first saw myself in a mirror. And so I developed an inferiority complex which crippled my relationships with most guys because I never spoke much. And I was usually depressed. It was a different story with the girls. I was used to speaking with them. And so, as the years went by, I generally had but one good friend, and no more. And now, in retirement for the past 25 years, I've only recently developed friendships that are close and satisfying. I no longer have red hair and freckles...but I do have a small beard so I can look my sons in the eyes. I suppose it took 25 years to find a few good friends because, in a sense, I was still "different". Most of the retirees in the condo were in business or some job or "position" other than teaching, and it was difficult for me to get into their conversations sitting by the pool and not understanding a word of what they were saying.

Now, however, I can truly say I have at least three very good friends whom I can "grapple to my soul with hoops of steel." Oh, I'm not saying that I only have three friends; I do have friends from Long Island whom I've known ever since we raised our families in the same neighborhood, and now several of these longtime friends actually live here, and they are not forgotten. And I do have a couple of lifelong friends who were my colleagues at school. I'm talking about my New Friends that I actually socialize with fairly frequently. Fortunately two of them live in my building, and one of them is in Building 36. Each of us shares things we have in common, and each of us would certainly come to each other's aid in a hurricane or other mishap. I certainly enjoy their company, because they are terrific guys; not to mention the beautiful and intelligent wives. Now, I can at least be assured that I have someone to speak about me at the ceremony that comes before they stick me into that wall.

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