It is why I don't compete much. Its why I never enjoyed sports, for I hated losing that much. It is my greatest weakness.
It is not that I hate admiting I am wrong. I will do that quickly and move on. I just hate being wrong, being the one that made a mistake, being the one who failed.
And I failed.
We were five great heros, noble in visage, honorable in dealings, brave and heroic in all things. We fought the Nazi's, and the Japs, and the Ceylons, and the Stormtroopers. Enemies more numerous and more villanous than these fell to our might. We beat them back time and again, perhaps suffering a tragic, heroic death now and again. But such overly dramatized scenes came and went.
We were Bionic and Jedi, Transformable and Wise.
There were five of us hero's. I was their wise elder leader. We rocked.
Luke was one, though that is not his real name. He was brave and strong, quick to temper and not the most sure of foot. He was, if not the brightest of us, the most passionate.
Tim and Tom were two others. Tim, the elder by a year at ages when a year meant so much, strove often for perfection. When the dice were rolled, he chose the Paladin. He was not the fastest nor the strongest. Except for Tom, he was the smallest and the youngest, yet he sought to be the best.
Tom was the youngest, but not the weakest. He was quiet and brave. He knew no fear and sought to prove it to us too often. He refused to accept the fact that we were older, wiser, smarter. He was right, but we never guessed.
My younger brother was the fourth. Of an age with Luke, he was second in command, and that second chafed at him. He wanted to lead, wanted to be the center. If I chose white, he pushed for black.
And there was I, elder by almost three years than either my brother or Luke. Sure, it would have been a bit healthier, I guess, to make friends with kids my own age, but where we lived, on that strip that borders Rural and Suburban, known existed less than 1/2 a mile away.
Except for the girls.
And the girls did not want adventure. They wanted to play house, and drink tea, and debate what names they wished they would have had.
The guys, we took the names we had and added to them. Super-Dan flew to defeat Doc Oc. We would not change our names, our selves, for we were the hero's.
Anyway, it was I, at the age of, perhaps 9 or 10, that found myself leading these other four hero's, and the occasional visiting allie. I looked down at my younger charges and sought to give them the advantage of my elder wisdom.
There was but one thing I truly believed. There were good people and there were bad people. It was best to be a good people.
So we played the hero's. We fought the drug dealers and the mafia, the super villians and the orcs.
And when we started to fight amongst ourselves, I intervened and dished out wisdom and justice. It was all the wisdom and justice of a 10 year old, but I offered it to my young friends.
For years we went on this way. I led and they followed. Finally, my brothers impatience to lead, and my discovery of the joys of driving, and extra-curricular activities and girls, plus the load of a summer job broke us apart.
The five hero's went their separate ways.
Luke died.
He died in a knife fight outside of a bar off of a military base in Louisianna.
It was many years ago. I was just getting settled in my life with my wife and my job when my brother told me.
It was expected. His anger and his passion would lead him to something like this. I assumed it was a stupid fight over a stupid name-calling. I may be wrong. Perhaps he died defending the honor of the woman he loved, or defending his army buddy, or perhaps it was just a random mistake.
Life goes on for the rest of us. It was not with Luke that I feel I failed, for Luke never really listened to my ideas.
My failure came last month.
My failure came in a news article in a small newspaper in a small town.
Tim and Tom were arrested for making Meth.
They had families of their own, but they did not leave the neighborhood where we had fought evil daily. There kids still ride super-intelligent-crime-fighting bikes on the same rock road that we had.
Yet they had joined the dark side. They chose to make the Drugs we laughed at, in their home, not far from where we had done our great deeds.
Then they would sell it to the kids we use to detest, the druggies and the bullies and the stoners.
Its sad.
Part of me believes that it is partially my fault. Part of me says, if I could have taught them better, shown them the right a bit more, kept in touch a bit more, been a better 14 year old.
Part of me feels like Obi Wan, staring at Darth and blaming myself for his dark path.
Part of me whisper in my ear, "You failed them." And in my righteous, light walking, caring and giving life, it is those first two words I selfishly curse.
Posts: 11895 | Registered: Apr 2002
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posted
It is always painful when people that you know/knew make bad choices (especially when you feel you were a sort of example to or were somehow responsible for them). I know that it has really hurt me to see people who have looked up to me (and who I have felt somewhat responsible for) make choices I can't understand (or approve of). It has made me doubt myself and my own abilities - that if I had been a better ______ , they would not have done _______.
It is both a wonderful and painful thing that we all choose what to make of ourselves and that ultimately who we are is not a reflection on anyone else but ourselves.
posted
"It is both a wonderful and painful thing that we all choose what to make of ourselves and that ultimately who we are is not a reflection on anyone else but ourselves."
I was trying to think of what to say, and I even had a somewhat trite Lord of the Rings analogy going, but then I read Ludosti's post, which sums it up for me.
I think you need to grieve for the young friends you remember.
In time, I hope you can let go - honestly - of what you have no share in.
People change all the time. The teenage years are times of great change. Early adulthood as well. Would things have been different if you'd stayed close? Maybe - unless paths they started to go down made them want to leave you behind.
It's possible - who can know - the only difference your involvement would have made is being a witness to a massive traffic accident you were helpless to prevent.
But today's a day for grieving - your friends aren't dead, but it is hard to think of the kids they were as anything but.
Every person takes in what lessons they can, and rejects those lessons they cannot take in. If not for you, your friends might've gone bad sooner. I can guarantee that they would've had a less full childhood to look back on.
Arrested isn't dead.
Maybe they'll use this as an opportunity to become the people they should've been.
And if they do, it'll be built on the stuff you did as children.
Do write to them. Tell them you haven't forgotten who they were. That you hope they won't forget either. Posts: 5509 | Registered: May 1999
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posted
Of course, you might not want to phrase it like ak just did.
Still, you can't beat yourself up for someone else's choice. Especially considering none of your actions lead them to that path, they found it on their own. You can't be responsible for the choices of every friend you make, nor should you feel you have to be.
But all that aside, I can't imagine how it feels. Take care of yourself, Dan. I'm glad you told us about it.
Posts: 3243 | Registered: Apr 2002
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You were a good role model, but you weren't the only role model they had. You can be disappointed in them, but there's no need for you to feel guilty or disappointed in yourself.
Posts: 1090 | Registered: Oct 2003
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posted
Dan, your sense of awareness that you might have been able to keep them from this end is proof enough that you are a good person. Even if you think some of the feeling stems from disappointment in your own abilities, this disappointment wouldn't exist if you didn't deeply care about them and what happened to them.
Obviously, in some sense, this is entirely their doing, not yours. They chose to sell drugs; they chose to abandon the dreams of their childhood.
But the act of contemplation, of asking yourself, "Could I have done something?" is noble in and of itself. It's a reminder that while each of us is responsible for his own actions, we are not excused from considering how we can help others meet their true potential.
Who knows where they would have been without you. Maybe they would have gone on a totally different path that never ended in drugs. Maybe they'd have sunk even lower without the memories of staring down the evils of the world over a pair of handlebars. Unfortunately, you can never know.
What you can know is that they were your friends, and at the time you were with them you did the best you could. And you're doing the best you can now - frankly evaluating not only your relationship with them years ago but even how you're reacting to it now.
Even if you reach no firm conclusions, you will grow and gain wisdom from this experience. And you'll be even better able to help someone else choose a better road in the future.
You were there and gave what you could when you could. It made a difference then and for some years afterwards.
But no matter the lessons one gives, the years roll on and life presents people with choices. Sometimes they do go against what they've learned in pursuit of a different goal.
They did not turn on you or the history you shared. They had turned, somewhere someday, on themselves.
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