A Treasure Intangible – The Name of a Beautiful Little Baby Boy

I have a variety of little physical treasures, little things worthless to practically everyone else, that sit on the little two drawer chest in my study.  One, the red glazed ashtray that I made in kindergarten, my first ever Christmas present to my parents, of which I will also write, is broken and chipped and no longer intact, and only the not-so-flat bottom piece and a few inches of the rim, fashioned by little five-year old fingers and thumbs, survives.  And all these little physical treasures are treasures because of the person, or people, or event, or stories behind them, yes, but there are other treasures that also embody persons and events, but which are intangible, incapable of being touched and not physically touching one’s flesh, but all touching me deep within.  And, many times, these are much greater treasures than is anything physical, at least to me, for though one cannot touch these treasures, they can always be shared with open and willing hearts and minds, and they can never be stolen or taken away.

Some months ago, I received one such treasure in a phone call from a friend from both grammar school and high school days, Steve, who now lives in Michigan.  It was good to hear from him, very good.  We email occasionally and talk at least twice a year now, mostly to catch up and stay up, but this call turned out to be, and ended, very different from our other calls.

Steve and I attended the same Catholic grammar school, and we were very natural friends.  If we had both lived close to our grammar school, I imagine he would have been the friend I would have walked home with after school and we would have talked, as we always talked when we were together, and even though I don’t remember what we talked about, though in school, we probably just talked about “stuff”, whatever that was.  And from 4th to 7th grade, we were also in Cub Scouts together, though not in the same den until 7th grade when we were in Webelos together.  For Webelos, we met at his house on Friday evening which meant I missed watching the Flintstones on TV at 7:30 p.m. (funny the details I still remember), which I didn’t openly complain about as I knew I was already getting too big and cool to watch cartoons anyway.  He was an only boy with three sisters, and I was an only boy with five sisters.  We both were also second in birth order in our families. 

I was smart in school and so was Steve, and in 4th grade, we sat next to each other in the same row.  One day, on a history test we were taking, I didn’t know the answer to a question about one of the many ancient empires of the Middle East.  I was stumped which was unusual for me because I loved history.  Now, I had never before cheated or needed to cheat on a test, but after I made sure our teacher, Sister Noreen Joseph, was not looking my way, I looked over Steve’s shoulder as he was in the desk in front of me, and on his paper he had written, “Hittite”.  Now even though I didn’t really think that was the right answer, I wrote down, “Hittite” and I got it wrong, the only wrong answer on my test!  I was annoyed with Steve and told him about his wrong answer and he just sort of laughed and thought it was funny.  I actually liked that about Steve, he made my major school tragedies funny.  And since cheating that first time did not really work out for me, I also never cheated on a test in school again, and I have Steve’s wrong answer to thank for that!

I was definitely not a big kid, and Steve, though taller than me, was not really big either.  But Steve always seemed more capable and more willing to defend and take care of himself than me, and I always thought of him as being “scrappy”, meaning he was going to take on whatever came to him, which I admired and probably needed in a friend.  I instinctively trusted him and felt safe being around him, which was nice not having to be just by myself and on guard all the time.  And, as I mentioned, he had a sense of humor, still does, and I liked that, and he was normal and nice and just a good friend to have. 

After 7th grade, Steve continued on to Boy Scouts and I didn’t – it didn’t fit into my description of being “cool” and I think essentially I was also yearning for new ways to experience my life – so we no longer had that connection.  And also, though we were accepted to the same Catholic high school, we weren’t in the same section, and even with basically the same curriculum, our classes were at different times and we never had classes together.  So, I mainly saw Steve at lunch and not even everyday as I remember, but we were still friends and we still talked when we saw each other, and though our circumstances at high school and life in general were different, our basic friendship remained the same.  But then, tragedy, real tragedy, struck at the end of our sophomore year when Steve said that his dad got a new job in Michigan and that, as soon as school was over, he would be gone, and that changed the trajectory of both of our lives in difficult and lasting ways.

I remember where we were on campus when he told a group of his friends and me that he was leaving – we were at lunch, all gathered around a table in the shade of one of the lunch overhangs.  Steve was sitting on the bench, his back to the table, and I was sitting on the table next to him.  As Steve began to speak, I turned and looked down towards him.  He was just staring-off to one side, not really looking at or focused on anyone or anything, and he said without any apparent emotion, to no one in particular it seemed, that he wasn’t going to be at Alemany next year because his family was moving to Michigan where his father had a new job waiting.  To my ears, he spoke hollowly as if he was just repeating words he heard the night before from his father at dinner, who was probably all excited and happy, as he usually was.  After telling all of us this news, I remember the look on Steve’s face as uncomprehending, sad, and empty.

I was also stunned by Steve’s announcement and deeply emotionally uncomprehending.  I must have gotten off the table as I remember being in front of him and looking at him as I said to him that he was just going to be gone for the summer – even though I heard what he said – and that he was coming back after the summer and coming back to Alemany, right?  But he said, no, that he wasn’t coming back, and the incomprehensible that I did not know how to face was beginning to sink into me that I was about to lose the one friend that I still had who I didn’t have to always think about how to keep as a friend. And even though I was still looking for new expressions of my life, I knew even then that Steve was the friend that helped center and balance my life so that I could continue to explore safely and still always have something to hold onto, someone remaining in my life who somehow would always be there.

I was shaken and hurt and angry at the situation and devastated, and for the next remaining couple of weeks or so at school, Steve was sad, and I was just angry and I even once said something mean to Steve about his leaving, and Steve, being scrappy like I admired, said something back, and everything was all just so wrong.  I always felt bad for how bad I made Steve feel because I was so hurt and angry, and, neither of us, sadly, could make this major school tragedy funny.

Neither Steve nor I have a firm memory of us “formally” saying goodbye, though I have a vague memory/image of sometime after school ended for the summer, of me asking my dad to take me over to Steve’s house to say goodbye since I didn’t drive yet.  In my memory/image, Steve and his dad are still at the house with a medium-sized half-empty moving truck out front, and most of the house seems already packed up.  As our fathers talk outside near the truck, Steve and I are in the house in the empty living room saying only a few words to each other.  I do not remember what we said.  In this memory, I am sad and made even sadder by the fact that this last time with Steve was very short because we really did not know what to say to each other – I mean, how do fifteen-year old boys actually say goodbye for what was thought of as forever?  Whether this memory is completely correct or not, the ending of that school year was the same – Steve left for Michigan.  Bye-bye, goodbye and gone.

We wrote a few letters to each other while we were still in high school and then we basically lost touch with each other as we embarked on our own individual separate paths of life.  Then perhaps more than thirty-five years after he left, I tracked him down by phone in the city in Michigan where I remembered he and his family had moved to all those years ago and he was still there!  We have been in contact since, gladly, and Steve came out to California to visit and stay with us and we went to visit the houses he lived in and other old haunts including our old Catholic grammar school and parish church and what remained of our Catholic high school after the 1994 earthquake.  He and his wife also visited together once, and Steve and I have had phone and email contact ever since.

Then some months ago, Steve gave me a call, a bit unusual as I usually call him, but it was good to hear his voice and we had a wonderful much longer phone time than usual.  It was great.

As the call seemed to be naturally coming to a close, and I was about to say goodbye, Steve said wait, he had something else to say – the real reason he had phoned.  I didn’t know what this could be, and Steve then said that his son had just had a beautiful little baby boy and we talked in depth about this good news.  Then Steve said his grandson had been named Christopher, and that he had suggested it to his son because he was thinking of me and that he had always liked the name.  His son and his wife also liked the name and so Steve’s little baby grandson was named Christopher.  Our own infant son, who died the day after he was born, was given Christopher as a middle name, and now, because Steve, the grandfather of this new little boy, always liked the name and that he was thinking of me as his friend from long ago, a little boy born far away from me on the East Coast has my first name, in honor of his grandfather’s friend, me, a great honor and a naming to treasure. 

And now, this intangible treasure – which humbles and touches me deeply, and which, within me, bridges Steve and I even closer after all these years – I enshrine among the tangible treasures I have already inscribed in words and placed within my website, where now they will all await for other treasures thus honored, tangible and intangible, which will also be placed herein, cherished for as long as I write and have readers, for these writings, and my readers, are both truly treasures to me.

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