Has anybody seen my good friend …

Curtis & I met the first week of 7th grade, and by the end of the school year we were inseparable. For 5 ½ years the two of us were our own little clique, unaffected by the “jocks”, “hoods”, “hippies” or any of the other little subcultures of the time.

Together we explored nature, rock & roll, puberty, counter-cultures, and Christianity. We once tried experiments in developing ESP so we could communicate without talking, but gave it up because we already thought so much alike there didn’t seem to be any point. We made “bombs” together - very unsuccessful ones, fortunately (or unfortunately depending on your gender and age), played with knives, bows & arrows, swords - all the usual boy stuff. We joked and laughed together. Curtis introduced me to Bill Cosby on a sleepless night in the pitch black of a pup tent by reciting, verbatim, the entire “Bill Cosby is a very funny fellow” album. To this day, when I hear recordings of Cosby’s “Noah”, in my memory Curtis does it better.

Curtis lived and breathed motorcycles. He could tell me the make, model, and displacement of any approaching bike by the sound of the engine before it came into sight. After he got his license, I was attached to the rear of his BSA like a piece of velcro. If we weren’t in school, working, or sleeping, we were on that motorcycle going somewhere. The only exceptions occurred because of the occasional girl friend; not quite enough room on one motorcycle for 3 (or 4) people.

In the middle of our Junior year, Curtis’s family moved away. I was absolutely devastated, as if I’d been torn in half. I spiraled into a horrible depression and came within inches of committing suicide.

I saw Curtis only two or three times after he moved away, the last time in 1973; we eventually lost touch altogether. On a drive through central California many years ago, Yvonne & I stopped in his old home town and looked through the phone book, hoping at least to find a relative if not Curtis himself, but there weren't any Ellis's listed.

He has been on my mind a lot lately. Not sure why. But if you happen to see him, please tell him I miss him.

What goes around...

Our youngest, Megan, was born at home (an event that deserves a whole story), so we didn't have the usual data collected that a baby born in the hospital would, such as birth weight. When Meg was a couple days old, her aunts took her down to the local grocery store and weighed her on the meat scale. When I found out, I was horrified. It seemed so demeaning to take my little baby and put her on a meat scale! As I recall, I made a rather big deal of it.

So you can imagine my chagrin as, many years later, I'm reading my mom's entry under "Weight" in my own baby book: "Eight and one half pounds on the scale at Safeway"!