One moment of thoughtlessness

Fule for Thought

 

His name was Dave, and he was my best friend growing up in Canmore. All through the elementary years, we rode bikes, played football, and read comics. It was the early 70’s, a time when it was great to be a kid in the mountains. It was a time of GI Joes, Major Matt Mason, and super heroes.

The odds were stacked against Dave at the start of junior high. He had become a bit chubby, had to get glasses, and worst of all, he was the principal’s son. We muddled through the start of junior high, and remained relatively unscathed. I knew what it was like to get called names. Like Dave, I got good grades, and typically the tougher and older kids let us know we weren’t cool. 

However we stuck together, and with my brother and a few other pals, we managed to dodge the worst of it. It helped that I was miner’s kid, because the kids of miners, saw that as a thing that somehow bonded us.

Grade 8 came along, and unfortunately it became more important to all of us to try to be accepted, and to be as cool as possible. I never saw it coming, and when it did, it pulled me in too fast. 

One day in my favourite teacher’s English class, some of the cool kids quietly got together, and wrote up a very fancy sounding document, concerning Dave.

Basically, it stated that our Grade 8 English class did not accept Dave as a fellow classmate, and that from now on, he was not wanted. 

This “contract” was silently passed around from person to person to be signed by everyone, and it eventually came to me! I had just started to become successful in sports, and other things that had made me become more “popular.”  

All eyes were on me, to see what I would do. To my regret, I signed it too. Even now, 38 years later … I regret it deeply.

I didn’t expect what would happen, but one of the meaner, “cool” girls gave it to Dave before class was over! He read it all, and the impact of this was written all over his face. 

In fact, he rushed out of the classroom, dropping this “document.” My teacher picked it up, read it, and with rage on his face, tore us apart with his words. I realized that most of his looks settled on me, and it made me wish I could be invisible. He even kept us after the bell, knowing we’d be late for the next class. He was going to ensure we knew how he felt about us. I had lost the respect of my favourite teacher, and all because I was too scared to do the right thing. I didn’t have to stand up to them. All I had to do was pass it on without signing it, but I didn’t.

As soon as I could, I found Dave and apologized, vowing I’d never do anything like that again. No one else said sorry, and Dave and I had to endure more names for awhile. As junior high melted into high school, I had mended our friendship, and something great happened for Dave. He worked out, lost some weight, and developed confidence, matched with a sharp sense of humour. We were co-captains of our high school basketball team, and Dave even set his sights on Military College at Royal Roads. There he would continue studying, and playing for their college team.

In September of 1979, he was driving his motorcycle through an intersection. A speeding truck with six people in the cab ran a red light, smashing into Dave. His injuries were serious, and he was in a coma for about 10 days. When we were told he was conscious, my brother, a couple of friends and I, drove straight from the University of Calgary to get to Victoria. We had to see him. What we saw was a shock. Dave was much more frail than we expected, and he was quietly talking to me about looking for my lost dog. 

“Rusty” had disappeared when we were in Grade 9, and I never found him. Dave was trapped back in a simpler time. He would never be the same. The brain injury changed everything for him. His short term memory was ruined, and he could not retain any knowledge he studied, after that brain injury. The confident, wise cracking teen had been reduced to a quiet and fearful shell. As time went on, he discovered he couldn’t keep up at college, and he was given an honourable discharge from the Military College.

Many years have passed, and Dave now lives in Montreal. We drifted apart, and I only got to see him once 15 years ago when he came out for a brief visit. He was very thin, weak, and cautious of things he said. The easy laugh was gone, and I felt (as I’m sure he did), that we were more like strangers.

Looking back now, I realize how fragile friendships and lives are. Both can be destroyed carelessly. We reminisced, but there seemed to be many things missing. I had to know if he remembered that day in Grade 8. He said he barely remembered it, and not to worry … it was in the past. I agreed, for him, because deep down I knew that I would never be that lucky. He deserved to forget that moment when friends betrayed him. My punishment is to never forget, and every now and then, like in this column, I get to re-live it. My saving grace, is that ironically, Grade 8 led me to work hard to try and become a better person. As a teacher, I have worked hard to watch out for kids being bullied … to protect them. I hope the rest of Dave’s life is kind to him … he deserves it.

 

(“Fule for Thought” is a slice of life humourous column that will appear in the Strathmore Times, written by long-time resident, town councillor, high school teacher, coach, husband and father of two – Pat Fule. If you would like to get in touch with Pat, you can send him an e-mail at Pat.fule@shaw.ca)