I suppose the right thing to do in starting this letter, is to unpack the respect necessary to keep your name out of the press, so to speak. As I don't know you now (and really didn't know you then), I would feel a strong measure of guilt if you were pierced by the social media spears thrown so easily by those willing to rise to the defense of the injured. So, I'll call you Laurence: so named because I don't recall too many Laurences walking the echoing halls of my youth, and also a member of one of our mutually loved bands.
Yes, we knew each other in the most conservative sense. But the older I get, the more I comprehend that the spectrum of social interaction is utterly vast; sometimes, frighteningly so. I've known people for years, only to discover their dark side was perched on a high branch, patiently waiting to show the ferocity of its grasp, the depth to which its talons could sink. And as we only shared a handful of classes during the second half of our K-12 journey, I wonder if you will remember me. But what matters is that I do, and perhaps this letter will shake loose the attic dust of your childhood memories.
Before I get to spread a heavy comforter over an otherwise chilled and barren bed, I feel it necessary to address the strikingly cold room in which we currently find ourselves. While you and I did not speak much, many of your friends and I experienced what may be politely referred to as "unfortunate situations". Bullying today is fortunately far less tolerated than it was in the Reagan era and certainly, the pack mentality of most junior high/high schools is the stuff of legend. And it seems that not to be outdone in the puberty-crazed battle for social dominance, many of your friends saw me and my small cadre of companions as sufficient prey.
Why I never exacted a measured response to the rotting fruit basket of your allies' actions, is not clear. Maybe I was weak, afraid or just naive. Certainly, I have tended to rely on appearance over Aikido, to keep me from harm. And though I don't recall you ever directly harassing me, you often played 3rd chair in what I'd call the Orchestre d’intimidation. You were guilty by association, to put it plainly. Now, how to get past that difference?
I would like to think that the forgive-and-forget dogma that flavors most positive-thinking casseroles, is sufficient for a lifelong dining adventure. But it isn't. Even when scars fully heal, you can still feel their empty texture, reminding you of the damage done. But I'm tired of scar-gazing. So instead, I'm going to try other routes through the forest of my past.
Even when I was young and trying to assemble numerous irregular blocks into an acceptable puzzle of me, I tried: tried to assess why people were thoughtless or rude or cruel. And while I could dissect a frog in biology class, I suppose that ironically, I didn't have many tools for dissecting the teenage mind, despite being my age group. At least I know I've ventured to see the best in people, even if it took a microscope.
Fortunately, it didn't take much skill to find a positive side of you: one that poured lemon-scented bleach into the tetanus-stained garbage bin of teenage campus melodrama. It was your humor, Laurence. You wore it the way a sports legend should wear their fame: humbly, but always ready to share experience and insight. Proving even more worthwhile, yours was delivered with a deadpan speech that made nearly every sentence a delightful non-sequitur. Sure, your trademark sarcasm and silliness lacked the stripes granted by the military service known as maturity. Yet to young Richard, it had the makings of comedy gold. And I believe it was in those classrooms and hallways, that I started modeling my humor on yours. Maybe we simply shared that particular genetic disposition for expressing our views, or perhaps I just wanted to build a bridge where we could meet in the middle and share a pint of chocolate milk. Whatever the reason, it occurred to me that you deserve a letter, and I deserve to put part of my past behind me.
In the end, I hope you've changed; that the vindictive lava that flowed beneath your skin, has cooled to match the temper of your humor. I hope that wherever life has taken you, compared to the present, others couldn't imagine your teenage years. And certainly, that the friends who pepper your fondest memories of life at the lunch tables, have softened their blows as well. So, take care, Laurence: you were stranger and teacher alike.