It Really Never Mattered: Step 116

My desire to be a high school athlete far surpassed any physical gifts, strength of commitment or aspirations I may have had to become one of the few who rise to the level of professional. As noted previously neither of my parents participated in athletics and though I distinctly remember them coming to see me in school plays I do not recall either of them being in attendance at any of the games in which I was involved. Maybe my desire stemmed from the fact that girls were generally drawn to three types of guys, rock stars, movie stars, and star athletes, and since I had not one ounce of musical talent and had blown my opportunity to become an actor, the only option left was to be a high school athlete.

Now, while my athletic prowess is rather limited it was always my good fortune to find individuals with even less ability to compete. To this day I do not think I have had the courage to ask M nor do I recall him telling me why he chose to endure running through halls and up and down stairs in heavy sweatshirts and sweatpants and then spend hours getting tossed around and climbed upon by acne faced dweebs with half his intelligence in a gray cement room with blue mats. But, he did.

Maybe his endurance wasn’t as great as I recall and like so many others he grew weary of the struggle, recognized better ways to spend time, and stopped going to practice after school. In any event, while he was attending wrestling practice I started walking over to his house two blocks away when we were done. Although his mother worked she was usually home when we arrived.

Unlike me stuck between my two siblings M was the oldest with two younger brothers and a sister stuck between them. Usually they left us alone, but occasionally the two youngest, Robin the girl or Terry the boy might need M to get something, attend to an injury, or settle a dispute.

While we would infrequently go upstairs to his bedroom to look at something new or actually work on some school work, most often we would head to the most popular room in so many Midwestern homes the basement recreation or simply “rec” room. As we came down the stairs the predominate feature of the room came into view. Smooth green felt covered the contours of a regulation size pool table.

M went over to the wall and grabbed the triangular rack and laid it on the table so he could put the balls in it while I grabbed a cue from the rack on the wall. He put together his perfectly balanced cue while I bounced the cue ball off the far rail to see how close I could get it to come back without touching the near rail. Then, M took his turn. He had no trouble beating me on this shot, known as a lag, nor did he have any difficulty beating me whether faced with straight shots, bank shots, or carom shots.

Then, when his mother called down to see if I would be joining the family for dinner he would turn down Wednesday Morning 3AM by Simon and Garfunkel, or whatever other album was playing, to let her know I would. It really never mattered what was for dinner the feel was always the same. His mother talked incessantly while his father said very little. If something was needed she told me as often as any of her own children to get it. She never failed to ask how I was doing and to remind me to be good to my own parents.

After dinner M and I might get in one more game of pool, but more often my mom or dad showed up to take me home.

Do you remember spending time at a friend’s house? Tell us in the comment section.