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Old friends - Greg
Nov. 2nd, 2005 07:12 amGreg was an instigator. He had older brothers so he got to things ahead of his years. I had one too, but mine wasn’t as committed to delinquency, ‘70s metal, and cheap drugs.
Greg and I went to school from kindergarten on. Some years we were friends, some years we weren’t, and I think that was just based on whether we had the same teachers or not. We weren’t ever enemies.
We bonded over many things but the bonds were never tied very tight. I think in 6th grade a classmate’s mom yelled at both of us for making her son do all the work on a model of a castle we were making for a school project. The odd thing was that we weren’t. There were some son/mother dynamics going on that I was too young to understand. Martyrdom was learned early in that family and our classmate had complained about us to look good. I tried to protest but Greg just took it.
He lived just a couple of doors away from the martyr boy and Greg already had a reputation in the neighborhood as a bad kid because of his brothers. In retrospect I can guess at his motivations, but I think it just boiled down to the fact that he already knew he couldn’t win that argument with martyr mother so there was no point in fighting it. If he just let it happen there, safe in some other mother’s garage, he wouldn’t have to hear it at home too.
It was at his house that I learned a lot of misinformation about sex in exactly the way that parents fear their children will: National Lampoon, soft-core porn mags, and the bragging of older brothers trying to impress someone . All I can say about that is, parents, talk to your kids early.
I had an uneasy relationship with his brothers. I was intrigued by them and impressed by them but also a little scared of them. They got mad unpredictably. They broke things for fun. Greg, despite being years younger, always seemed to be smarter than they were and if they thought he was showing them up there would be a price to pay. Luckily Greg was always a good talker and only occasionally did we end up with smashed toys or balls thrown on neighbor’s roofs.
Greg and I wanted to start a band even in middle school. Unfortunately, we had neither dedication, talent, nor original ideas. It never got off the ground, but Greg had the name picked out. He would be Vern Davis and the rest of the band, ala the Ramones, would all be brothers* named Carrier. Yes, V.D. and the Carriers. We wrote that on stickers and post them up around school and mall bathrooms and other deserted areas of our hometown.
Greg was also the last person I fought physically. I don’t remember what the issue was but I do remember that for a little guy he hit hard and that after a few punches neither of us wanted to keep fighting. Unfortunately one of his brothers was there and kept egging us on. We couldn’t stop without losing his respect so we kept wrestling around in his back yard hitting each other sporadically. I remember being exhausted by the time that his brother finally broke us up, disgusted that one of us hadn’t knocked the other one out. We both ended up with black eyes and lots of bruises.
Just like I can’t remember why we fought, I can’t remember how we became friends again but we did. It was no big deal and we hadn’t really been that mad at each other in the first place. When we hit high school Greg was easily accepted by the stoners and metal heads, who knew of his brothers and probably bought, or wanted to buy, pot from them. He began pretending he wasn’t so smart, which previously he had only done at home. After he failed a couple of classes we ended up in different educational tracks. Just like in our younger days, when we stopped having the same teachers we drifted apart.
*The concept of women playing in bands hadn’t occurred to us.
(Note: yes, i changed the name of this one. I forgot I had used "Frank" already)
Greg and I went to school from kindergarten on. Some years we were friends, some years we weren’t, and I think that was just based on whether we had the same teachers or not. We weren’t ever enemies.
We bonded over many things but the bonds were never tied very tight. I think in 6th grade a classmate’s mom yelled at both of us for making her son do all the work on a model of a castle we were making for a school project. The odd thing was that we weren’t. There were some son/mother dynamics going on that I was too young to understand. Martyrdom was learned early in that family and our classmate had complained about us to look good. I tried to protest but Greg just took it.
He lived just a couple of doors away from the martyr boy and Greg already had a reputation in the neighborhood as a bad kid because of his brothers. In retrospect I can guess at his motivations, but I think it just boiled down to the fact that he already knew he couldn’t win that argument with martyr mother so there was no point in fighting it. If he just let it happen there, safe in some other mother’s garage, he wouldn’t have to hear it at home too.
It was at his house that I learned a lot of misinformation about sex in exactly the way that parents fear their children will: National Lampoon, soft-core porn mags, and the bragging of older brothers trying to impress someone . All I can say about that is, parents, talk to your kids early.
I had an uneasy relationship with his brothers. I was intrigued by them and impressed by them but also a little scared of them. They got mad unpredictably. They broke things for fun. Greg, despite being years younger, always seemed to be smarter than they were and if they thought he was showing them up there would be a price to pay. Luckily Greg was always a good talker and only occasionally did we end up with smashed toys or balls thrown on neighbor’s roofs.
Greg and I wanted to start a band even in middle school. Unfortunately, we had neither dedication, talent, nor original ideas. It never got off the ground, but Greg had the name picked out. He would be Vern Davis and the rest of the band, ala the Ramones, would all be brothers* named Carrier. Yes, V.D. and the Carriers. We wrote that on stickers and post them up around school and mall bathrooms and other deserted areas of our hometown.
Greg was also the last person I fought physically. I don’t remember what the issue was but I do remember that for a little guy he hit hard and that after a few punches neither of us wanted to keep fighting. Unfortunately one of his brothers was there and kept egging us on. We couldn’t stop without losing his respect so we kept wrestling around in his back yard hitting each other sporadically. I remember being exhausted by the time that his brother finally broke us up, disgusted that one of us hadn’t knocked the other one out. We both ended up with black eyes and lots of bruises.
Just like I can’t remember why we fought, I can’t remember how we became friends again but we did. It was no big deal and we hadn’t really been that mad at each other in the first place. When we hit high school Greg was easily accepted by the stoners and metal heads, who knew of his brothers and probably bought, or wanted to buy, pot from them. He began pretending he wasn’t so smart, which previously he had only done at home. After he failed a couple of classes we ended up in different educational tracks. Just like in our younger days, when we stopped having the same teachers we drifted apart.
*The concept of women playing in bands hadn’t occurred to us.
(Note: yes, i changed the name of this one. I forgot I had used "Frank" already)
