Peanuts In My Pocket

I’ve reached the age where I spend a lot of time reflecting on my past and the relationships that have come and gone. Some were lost due to death or misadventure, while others simply drifted away over time. One of my retirement goals is to reconnect where possible, or, if not, close out the relationship in a meaningful way. So far, I’ve found this process rewarding, though I’ve also discovered that many people have simply passed on.

One person from my past is Darryl, a guy I grew up with but eventually lost track of as we followed our own paths. Darryl was a friend of sorts from my youth—our parents were friends, which I think was the basis for our relationship. I don’t remember him being part of the neighborhood scene. It might have been a church or scouting connection, but I’m not sure.

I mostly remember Darryl because he was a ginger like me, and he was also a big kid. We both shared red hair and freckles, though I had a large, noticeable birthmark on my forearm, and he had a prominent cleft lip. Neither of us were considered traditionally attractive, and teasing and bullying were a constant in our lives. As we grew into larger men, the teasing subsided. With my temper at the time, teasing me was a mistake, and the same went for Darryl. That didn’t stop us from teasing each other, though.

“We do not remember days, we remember moments.” – Cesare Pavese

One of our last interactions sticks with me. During a youth group meeting at our church, he challenged me to a one-on-one game of basketball. I was good at the game back then and embarrassed him in our first match. The second game became more physical, with him knocking me to the ground several times and me retaliating. It escalated into an ugly fight when he tried to steal my basketball. I can still remember the youth pastor’s words after all these years—he told me I was a disappointment and should spend my time in prayer and repentance. Instead, I opted out of youth group. I don’t recall seeing Darryl again after that.

I’ve put Darryl in a category I call “odd friends.” Darryl and another friend named Jack were more or less forced on me by my parents, but they were both a bit odd. Darryl was socially awkward and a little creepy. Jack, on the other hand, was so overtly religious that talking to him in public was a chore, though behind the scenes, he was a hypocrite. Spending time with them when we were young was unavoidable. I’m sure they found me odd too.

“People will not look forward to posterity, who never look backward to their ancestors.” – Edmund Burke

I might have run into Darryl again at a pool hall in Long Beach about 25 years later, in the early 2000s. He tried to buy a drink for one of my friends. He was impressively fit and dressed far nicer than the setting required. There were several gay bars nearby, and I did the math—I figured he was gay. When I tried to talk to him, he bolted. I’m still not sure if it was him, though maybe my ginger presence repelled him.

Darryl eventually proposed to my sister Lisa. Like many of my childhood friends, he had a secret crush on her. He proposed marriage in the creepiest way possible, via a letter delivered to my mom’s house. The letter even included a drawing of his long-haul truck. He wasn’t the only friend who proposed to her, but his proposal was by far the weirdest. I’m convinced I only had friends because I had two pretty sisters and a swimming pool.

I’ve tried looking him up over the years and even asked mutual friends, but I haven’t found anything. I doubt I ever will, but the search continues. This one is tough, but not the toughest. My friend Chuck simply dropped off the map at some point, and we even went into the Air Force together after high school. Still, I’ll keep at it—I consider it one of my retirement hobbies.