russ
what’s up jack? was usually the greeting when we entered the house even though none of us were named jack. nothing much russ just getting ready to head out was usually the response. his son was part of our crew and his house was centrally located and therefore was usually the launching pad for our nights on the town.
having lived many states away for eighteen years and only seeing him a handful of times during that period does not diminish the day in and day out of the eighties and the good times in his pool and the hangovers slept off on his couch as he was as important as a supporting character could be.
he was unlike the other dads because not many of them were the mayor or hosted kickass crab feasts or crashed the july fourth parade by driving a go cart down main street. russ was the freewheeling dad in my father’s buttoned-down world.
and now we receive an email that russ is hospitalized with tumors in his back and then the follow up conversation with his son confirms that the mass is cancerous and this has hit me like other cancers have not. in a world where every day we are hit with the news that this uncle or that grandmother have been shot at by this bullet and either dodge it or not i cannot shake this one.
so while we all continue to pray i take the liberty of side trips to the bel air maryland of a quarter century ago and along with the thoughts of schoolbooks and ponytails and the orioles and colts are a tough little shit who drank natty boh and had a huge smile and loved us like his own.
best of luck jack.
having lived many states away for eighteen years and only seeing him a handful of times during that period does not diminish the day in and day out of the eighties and the good times in his pool and the hangovers slept off on his couch as he was as important as a supporting character could be.
he was unlike the other dads because not many of them were the mayor or hosted kickass crab feasts or crashed the july fourth parade by driving a go cart down main street. russ was the freewheeling dad in my father’s buttoned-down world.
and now we receive an email that russ is hospitalized with tumors in his back and then the follow up conversation with his son confirms that the mass is cancerous and this has hit me like other cancers have not. in a world where every day we are hit with the news that this uncle or that grandmother have been shot at by this bullet and either dodge it or not i cannot shake this one.
so while we all continue to pray i take the liberty of side trips to the bel air maryland of a quarter century ago and along with the thoughts of schoolbooks and ponytails and the orioles and colts are a tough little shit who drank natty boh and had a huge smile and loved us like his own.
best of luck jack.
posted by Hotwire at 1:33 PM
6 Comments:
It is more than a little sad when our childhood heroes become mortal...
You should let him read this.
I agree with b. It would be a tremendous gift to realize his influence.
As always when I read your pieces, I'm feeling the ache of time lost, and recognizing the painful truth of a lost immortality.
What a blessing to have had this man in your life. I am glad to read that you are getting down to this neck of the woods to offer support. So many people are too busy to make time for what is truly important. I hope you get some crabs while you are down here, even at $80 a bushel they are still worth it. Hey, and Natty Boh has made a big comeback you know, it is the real cool beer for the young ones to drink, the beer of their grandfathers. I'd rather have a Resurection Ale at the Brewer's Art myself, but that's just me. If you are coming down and want a heads up on something to do while you are here, feel free to email me.
Dealing with similar things now. My friend, who's 33, is battling for his life and has been for some time.
It's pretty amazing all the treatment options available these days.... I'll keep a good thought for Jack and realize he still may out-live us all.
The Naughty Boy
There was a naughty boy,
And a naughty boy was he,
He ran away to Scotland
The people for to see
Then he found
That the ground
Was as hard,
That a yard
Was as long,
That a song
Was as merry,
That a cherry
Was as red,
That lead
Was as weighty,
That fourscore
Was as eighty,
That a door
Was as wooden
As in England
So he stood in his shoes
And he wonder'd;
He stood in his shoes
And he wonder'd.
-----by aoc gold
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