Someone I went to school with...

Today at the cross-town store I saw a guy I went to elementary school with.
I'd seen him once before at a baseball pizza party for our son. This guy was there, too, with his son's baseball pizza party. Our son's team wasn't a big winning team. L's son was a good player, really good. Our son was a musician, but none of us knew it at the time.

Our son, too, really liked sports. He grew to like sports even more as he grew up, but less with a team and more with friends. How many times did the guys break out the driveway lamp, right above the basketball hoop, before T put a steel cage around the light bulb? How many times did that ball BAM on the garage door? BAM! BAM!

The sound of happy boys.

What about the sound of the punching bag pounded on it's heavy chain. The garage reverberated with each punch. PUMPH! PUMPH!

Then there were the drums, too precious to put in the garage, so into the living room they went. RAP! RAP! Ratatatatat with a good military tattoo snapping out the rhythm, growing more accuate as time went by. Papoom! Papoom! on the bass, even faster with the double bass pedal.

Later soccer games with buddies, madly booting that ball down the field, with even the band guys and the surprisingly competitive music director.

And mud football. Literally mud! They brought a change of clothes to the birthday party and played in the lawn until it was smashed and clotted. The boys were hosed down with freezing water from the hose, they hopped one by one into the shower.

Booming boys shot and shouted out, in between cries of "Noooooo!" during raring good Nintendo bouts, even into the wee hours when volume was muted and competitive whispers and laughs quieted so parents could sleep.

So back to this guy, the guy I went to school with. He said his son is playing ball for Florida State. He was proud to tell us. He asked our son's name when we mentioned A's jazz hopes, because he, himself played jazz guitar, but then realized that NYC was pretty out of his way.

He saw me first, "Hey, J!" Luckily he clarified: "It's me, L O!" because I didn't recognize him at all. Except I had an inkling from the shock of seeing him 15 years ago at the pizza place.
Oh, yeah, how are you and this is the wife and this is the husband.

Now I'm wondering;
How could he recognize me?
Aren't I old and not so shy and cowering as I was back then?

He was tall and athletic and very boy-ish.
I was afraid of boys.
Intimidated.
I knew what boys were really like.
I knew two big brothers well.
And a father and let me tell you, boys were to be avoided, or at least anticipated because you never knew what could happen around them. Scary creatures, with untold wild impulses. You never knew what to expect and you'd better be ready for anything.

I din't know L even noticed me back then.
I thought I was invisible.
I was skinny and bland and shy and afraid.

L is now old and doesn't look so great.
But he boomed out his hellos and went on his way down the milk aisle.
I heard his loud comments further down in the store.
I put my arm through my husband's arm and breathed a little better.

What a funny interlude, breaking into my life and leaving again.
I'm glad to be here.
No more shyness, fear and anticipation.
I'm glad for family and friends today.

Aren't they just the best people!
I love them so much and feel loved back.

I'll take today any day.