Last night, I was at a party given by a friend of mine, Becky, whom I hadn’t properly seen (except for her father’s funeral) for about 25 years. And she invited everyone else from “back then” too.
You see, when I was a senior in high school, my mother and I were in our worst ever patch of fighting. Dad decided that, in order to keep the peace, or at least keep felonies from being committed, he’d take Mom to Florida for long stretches of time. As for me, I was packed off to stay at the house of some acquaintances of theirs, who had four daughters, one my age — Becky.
This turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me. Becky’s house was the opposite of mine: full of people and friends, always something to do or someone to talk to. Rather like Grand Central Station. It was also very close to my school, so I could sleep later in the mornings — always a help.
Becky was also a senior in HS, but at a different school, so my number of friends doubled. The whole family was also a pack of musical geniuses. They could all play several instruments, of which there were about twenty in the house, including a very beat-up tuba that could only play two notes. Only the youngest sister, though, could actually read any music. I learned to love Cole Porter and the Gershwins.
She lives out in Los Angeles now, very close to where I was staying when I was there for my birthday. I need to have another birthday party now, out there, so I can celebrate with her too.
So, wonderful times were had last night. I also now have phone numbers and email addresses, so I can keep in touch with my proper family. As I get older, this is more and more important to me… my real family.
white pebble 