By David Magallanes / Guest contributor
Most of us have friends. Some friends rank higher than others in terms of “specialness.” Some friends are transitory; we’re friends because we happen to work in the same office or attend the same class, but as soon as one of us is laid off or transfers, or when the semester is over, that connection dissipates as quickly as the fog on winter mornings in Port Hueneme. Some friends remain in our lives for a number of years, again until one of us moves away, or until events create hard feelings and we can’t get past them. Sometimes past lovers are friends forever, especially if they were broken asunder by forces beyond their control, or if they indeed go on loving each other and wish each other happiness, regardless of the fact that they are no longer an “item.”
Granted, some “lifetime friendships” (including marriages) last a month or a year or two, until the first serious disruption in the relationship. But the duration of some friendships with this label does in fact approach a lifetime, or at least a formidable portion of one’s existence. We know that when one of us dies, the other will attend the funeral — either alongside the family, or hidden from them, depending on the circumstances.
My brother, sisters and I grew up alongside our five “double cousins” — all boys. I label them as such because their mother was my mother’s sister, and their father was my father’s brother. We shared the same four grandparents. I consider them among my closest friends because no one on the planet (except, perhaps, the wives of the two who are married) comes close to understanding us more than we do. We started our lives together, and from all indications, will be attending each other’s “sending-off parties” over the next few decades. We share a bond that few cousins have because, despite our current great geographical distances from each other, we possess a psychological proximity that will endure as long as we do. And now we have chains of children and grandchildren that will carry on the closeness into time indefinite.
This past weekend, I was reminded of the specialness of “lifetime friends,” of which I count several in my life. I had dinner with my friend Roger, a physician and medical manager in another state, and his teenage daughter. Roger and I met the first day of first grade. Our mothers had taken us to school that ominous day. But we didn’t cry. We were brave young men. My mother and his “hit it off,” although his mother had a heavy European accent. Roger and I went through the first eight years together in the same classroom, the same teachers. We visited each other’s homes and got to know each other’s parents and siblings. We shared much time with a mutual friend who lived next to Roger, a young man our age, but who died many years ago. Roger and I had several common interests. His parents were political refugees from Europe and suffered greatly during World War II. My grandparents were political refugees to this country escaping the turmoil in Mexico.
When it came time to attend high school, Roger and I parted ways. He received a classical education, whereas mine was very technical. During his college education, he went off to study in Europe, from whence his parents had originated, only to have to escape himself from more modern political turmoil. I had spent some time studying at a university in Mexico, though at the time the country was not roiling with the societal problems it now faces.
Roger and I kept in touch, sometimes between gaps of several years. He married (and remains married) and had children. I married (for a while, anyway) and had a daughter who is now eleven years older than his. I had first met his daughter, now 18, when she was barely old enough to navigate around the restaurant table when I dined with Roger, his wife, and their children. She’s now old enough to understand that her daddy has an enduring friendship with someone he met when we had been out of diapers for only about four years. I can see her resemblance to him, her similar mannerisms, her easy, relaxed, humorous style of conversation, just like her dad’s. I showed them photos of my daughter and grandsons. Roger and I had met when we both had parents and grandparents. They’re all gone now, except for my father.
And then there’s “Dave,” a local Oxnard resident that I had met in Biloxi, Mississippi, of all places, when we were in radio school together as new recruits into the U.S. Air Force during the Vietnam era. At the time, I didn’t know where Oxnard was. But we were among the few Latinos in that radio school at the time, and we shared a common heritage as Americans of Mexican descent. He invited me to Oxnard when we first left the military some years later. I came to know his parents, who are now gone, and his siblings, who are still around.
Dave was one of my “drinking buddies,” though neither of us “drinks” much anymore. Except maybe coffee, orange juice, or sparkling water. We don’t do prune juice. Yet.
After we left Biloxi, he went to a base in Turkey; I went to the Central Coast of California to a large base. He later spent time in Germany; I was sent to Okinawa. We lost contact over many years. But eventually we reconnected. He now lives within minutes of my home; I drop by typically on the holidays or for family birthdays. For his 60th birthday, I gave him a blown-up photo of the two of us, along with a couple of our “Mexican” buddies, in front of a barracks on the base where we trained. We were barely 18 and had our entire lives ahead of us.
I have other friends that I consider “lifetime.” Our friendships may not have started as early as those with Roger and Dave, but I’m honored to have them in my life for the duration. I strive to maintain those relationships. One that I admire for his accomplishments in the world of journalism I met recently at a dinner supporting the local arts; he encourages me to continue writing and doing something with it. Several of them are colleagues with whom I’ve worked as many as twenty years, in some cases. Even a couple of former girlfriends are among my lifetime friends. Former dance partners are included in this exclusive circle. With them I shared a love of dance and the thrill of moving together synchronously on the dance floor. Our flirting (sometimes feigned — though sometimes not) and romantic movements on the Latin or ballroom dance floor, even if they were technically a form of “play,” gave us a connection not possible in the “real world.”
Lifetime friends are priceless treasures. Let’s treat them as such, try to invest time and emotion in them and, above all, enjoy their presence in our lives while we have each other to share life’s experiences.
— David Magallanes is about to embark on a speaking and writing career whose purpose is to promote and facilitate the attainment of the American Dream. As an optimistic American of Mexican descent and an educator in college mathematics, he brings a unique perspective to issues of our day. He may be contacted for speaking requests or for commentary at adelantos@msn.com