It is humbling to confront an important person from your past and realize he’s forgotten you. It happened to me a few days ago. A man from my past, a Christian youth counselor and backpacking guide, did not remember me. He eventually said, “You went by Joey, right?” I sighed deeply. It was like being forgotten by your big brother. The man, a few years older than me at the time, but much wiser, was a key adult in my life from ages 13 to 16. He guided me through the rough patches and gave me my first taste of adult independence. With him I biked down the coast of California, hiked the Sierras, played disc golf, and geared up to climb rocks. A few things stuck too. I used his Olympus to take my first photos. I’ve been an avid photographer ever since. I found my personal holy place in
Joshua Tree National Park. I can’t explain the hold it has on me. You must experience it yourself. And then there is disc golf, my sport, my odd passion, my alternative lifestyle so to speak. I owe it to a man who does not remember me. It blows my mind.
I don’t blame him. He is the epitome of today's professional clergy. 30-years later, a dozen churches and hundreds or even thousands of Joeys. How would he remember me? I was just your average troubled teen. One of his first, but only one in a long line of kids which followed. He may have forgotten, but I cannot. Take this story for example, I was climbing at Joshua Tree, 250 feet up a steep rock face and at risk for a nasty fall when a helicopter flew past. It circled while broadcasting an emergency evacuation warning. Joshua tree was burning. A raging fire was 15 minutes away. We needed to flee or we would die. He got us off the rock and away from danger in the nick of time. That night I took the best picture of my life. A sunset clouded by smoke and distant flames. It no longer exists, except in my mind’s eye. It seems fitting too. The photo did not survive my youth, just like our relationship.
We plan to reconnect. We’ll play disc golf for sure, but no talk of religion. I left that in my youth too.
Technorati tags:
Youth,
Memories
I don’t blame him. He is the epitome of today's professional clergy. 30-years later, a dozen churches and hundreds or even thousands of Joeys. How would he remember me? I was just your average troubled teen. One of his first, but only one in a long line of kids which followed. He may have forgotten, but I cannot. Take this story for example, I was climbing at Joshua Tree, 250 feet up a steep rock face and at risk for a nasty fall when a helicopter flew past. It circled while broadcasting an emergency evacuation warning. Joshua tree was burning. A raging fire was 15 minutes away. We needed to flee or we would die. He got us off the rock and away from danger in the nick of time. That night I took the best picture of my life. A sunset clouded by smoke and distant flames. It no longer exists, except in my mind’s eye. It seems fitting too. The photo did not survive my youth, just like our relationship.