Misty Years Ago
Went to a wake in my hometown this past week.
The thing about meeting at that particular funeral home is that when I arrive I only have one thought in my head:
How quickly can I get out of here?
And the thing about being from a small town where my family is well-known because none of us can ever be confused for being introverted or shy is that it's tough to just navigate my way through the people gathered.
"Which Fuzzy are you?" I usually get from my Mom's and Dad's friends.
"Just say 'Fuzzy'," I say, "We all answer to it."
And it's a lot sad.
Because I only see some of those people at the funeral home these days.
This particular wake was even more strange because the family involved lived in the house across the road from my parents home. I knew everyone in the family from birth, basically.
And I looked across the room and saw them greeting the people from town.
All grey...and wearing glasses...and wearing the years on their faces.
They looked good...mind you...but it was strange...because my mind played a little trick on me.
And I saw a few of them as young kids.
Throwing the ball.
Riding bikes.
Playing King of the Mountain.
And like me...they each have a family of their own.
A lot of days have passed...
...and yet...
...and yet...
There's a moment when the years gone by seem like one long day.
I greeted my friends' Mom. She was seated, and sad. She smiled when she saw me.
"Hi Cliff," she said - she knew exactly which Fuzzy I was - and I took her hand and said I was sorry for her.
But she was smiling through her tears.
"As soon as I saw you," she said. "I thought of you as a 14-year-old riding your bike down the street."
I knew exactly what she was talking about.
The bike in question was actually my sister Corinne's bike.
It didn't have brakes.
I wasn't wearing shoes.
We lived on a huge hill.
"You tried to stop yourself by putting your bare feet on the ground," she said, with a laugh.
"Yeah. That didn't work."
We both smiled, knowing what had happened next.
"And then you just cut the wheel," she said.
"And missed your driveway," I finished.
"And went right over the handlebars into the deep ditch."
We both smiled.
36 years had passed.
How did those days fly by so quickly?
"You Fuzzy kids were never boring," she said.
We shared another couple of minutes together and then I gazed across the room at the more than middle-aged men and women in the room.
They were kids just a moment ago.
And so was I.
As I drove home, I thought a lot about that bike trip to the bottom of the ditch.
And I thought all about the days in between then and now.
It really does seem like just a blink of an eye.
The thing about meeting at that particular funeral home is that when I arrive I only have one thought in my head:
How quickly can I get out of here?
And the thing about being from a small town where my family is well-known because none of us can ever be confused for being introverted or shy is that it's tough to just navigate my way through the people gathered.
"Which Fuzzy are you?" I usually get from my Mom's and Dad's friends.
"Just say 'Fuzzy'," I say, "We all answer to it."
And it's a lot sad.
Because I only see some of those people at the funeral home these days.
This particular wake was even more strange because the family involved lived in the house across the road from my parents home. I knew everyone in the family from birth, basically.
And I looked across the room and saw them greeting the people from town.
All grey...and wearing glasses...and wearing the years on their faces.
They looked good...mind you...but it was strange...because my mind played a little trick on me.
And I saw a few of them as young kids.
Throwing the ball.
Riding bikes.
Playing King of the Mountain.
And like me...they each have a family of their own.
A lot of days have passed...
...and yet...
...and yet...
There's a moment when the years gone by seem like one long day.
I greeted my friends' Mom. She was seated, and sad. She smiled when she saw me.
"Hi Cliff," she said - she knew exactly which Fuzzy I was - and I took her hand and said I was sorry for her.
But she was smiling through her tears.
"As soon as I saw you," she said. "I thought of you as a 14-year-old riding your bike down the street."
I knew exactly what she was talking about.
The bike in question was actually my sister Corinne's bike.
It didn't have brakes.
I wasn't wearing shoes.
We lived on a huge hill.
"You tried to stop yourself by putting your bare feet on the ground," she said, with a laugh.
"Yeah. That didn't work."
We both smiled, knowing what had happened next.
"And then you just cut the wheel," she said.
"And missed your driveway," I finished.
"And went right over the handlebars into the deep ditch."
We both smiled.
36 years had passed.
How did those days fly by so quickly?
"You Fuzzy kids were never boring," she said.
We shared another couple of minutes together and then I gazed across the room at the more than middle-aged men and women in the room.
They were kids just a moment ago.
And so was I.
As I drove home, I thought a lot about that bike trip to the bottom of the ditch.
And I thought all about the days in between then and now.
It really does seem like just a blink of an eye.
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