Rob is fascinated by my ability to make forever friends in what appears to most to be a blink of an eye. I don't know why that's possible, and I certainly don't question it, but he's right...in the amount of time it takes most people to watch Dancing with the Stars, I can make a lifelong friend. And I can still talk to that person every day half a lifetime later.
I have no idea how I met Loren. It must have been in the hallways of West Springfield High School when we were sophomores. I did not have my life together back then by any stretch. I was dating the wrong boy, wearing the wrong clothes and making all of the wrong choices. We probably bumped past each other a million times over the next few years, mostly in photography class (an addiction we shared), but it was really senior year that sealed the deal for us.
I was driving a yellow 1973 Volkswagen Beetle, and Loren drove the world's most hideous pickup truck...when he wasn't riding his BMW motorcycle (with a license plate that said "Lk Dad"...and of course his father had a similar bike with a plate "Lk Son"). Loren's dad had retired from some 20 years on submarines in the Navy (at that time, my father was still on active duty in the Navy). He lived about two and a half miles from me. We were inseparable. And the perfect foil for each other in ways that we couldn't have possibly imagined way back then.
We had this game where each morning one of us would post a quote or a picture or note of some kind on the other person's locker. This went on for months on end, trading lines of poetry, Beatles lyrics, our favorite photographs by photographers we were studying, or just random drawings. I documented our adventures in a book of cartoons that I drew nearly every day for a year and gave to him the day he left for the Naval Academy. One day he and I will flip through that book over a bottle of wine and laugh ourselves silly.
We went to Homecoming together...with other people as our dates. And the picture to the left is one of only two pictures of us ever taken. There was never really a need for photographic evidence since we spent nearly every waking moment together. We've never dated. I think we've hugged less than a handful of times in our lives, which if you know me is quite an anomaly. But we've laid on the floor of my parent's basement talking for hours, and hours, and hours on end, a few inches apart, never even realizing just how close we were because we were so enraptured by the conversation. We were seventeen. We still get lost in conversation with each other at age thirty two.
Loren's the one who started my running addiction. He bet me that I wouldn't be able to finish a season with the long distance track team...knowing full well, I'm sure, that making that bet with me would be the thing that made me want to do it more. I still heard him correcting my running form when I hit the treadmill earlier this evening.
We've served together in the military for more than ten years...he in the Navy flying helicopters and me flying desks in the Air Force. I can say with a reasonable degree of certainty that this is not the career path either of us had imagined for ourselves. I had dreamed of being a professional photographer, and we always thought he'd be on submarines like his father. Yet somehow, it's working. In some ways it's working better than we ever could have imagined.
Loren has spent most of the past five or so months coaching me through a deployment that is by all accounts well beyond my tactical expertise. We've talked leadership strategies in combat. We've discussed the salient points of mission planning and route reconnaissance. We've talked about the impact deployments have on us and those we love most. But mostly we've talked about how being in combat fundamentally changed our views on everything we knew as truth, and somehow it's made us closer than ever. It's good to have a best friend out here. In fact, I'd argue that without a solid foundation of friends and family, a deployment like this is absolutely insurmountable.
He's a father now. His son, Elliot Jackson, was born (appropriately enough) on the Marine Corps' birthday. He's quite a brave little man to appear in the world a solid six weeks before he was due, and all signs indicate that he will fight his way to a healthy weight so that he can come home soon to his mom and dad.
Loren likes to joke that he made a person, and it's true. He did. And that little boy's father is the best friend I've ever had. But in so many ways, Loren also helped make me...and perhaps I did the same for him. He wrote me a letter on real paper last week and here's my favorite line:
"I am amazed (shocked?) at how parallel we are in so many ways. It is a relief to have a similar mind to share."
Yes, indeed.
I have no idea how I met Loren. It must have been in the hallways of West Springfield High School when we were sophomores. I did not have my life together back then by any stretch. I was dating the wrong boy, wearing the wrong clothes and making all of the wrong choices. We probably bumped past each other a million times over the next few years, mostly in photography class (an addiction we shared), but it was really senior year that sealed the deal for us.
I was driving a yellow 1973 Volkswagen Beetle, and Loren drove the world's most hideous pickup truck...when he wasn't riding his BMW motorcycle (with a license plate that said "Lk Dad"...and of course his father had a similar bike with a plate "Lk Son"). Loren's dad had retired from some 20 years on submarines in the Navy (at that time, my father was still on active duty in the Navy). He lived about two and a half miles from me. We were inseparable. And the perfect foil for each other in ways that we couldn't have possibly imagined way back then.
We had this game where each morning one of us would post a quote or a picture or note of some kind on the other person's locker. This went on for months on end, trading lines of poetry, Beatles lyrics, our favorite photographs by photographers we were studying, or just random drawings. I documented our adventures in a book of cartoons that I drew nearly every day for a year and gave to him the day he left for the Naval Academy. One day he and I will flip through that book over a bottle of wine and laugh ourselves silly.
Loren's the one who started my running addiction. He bet me that I wouldn't be able to finish a season with the long distance track team...knowing full well, I'm sure, that making that bet with me would be the thing that made me want to do it more. I still heard him correcting my running form when I hit the treadmill earlier this evening.
We've served together in the military for more than ten years...he in the Navy flying helicopters and me flying desks in the Air Force. I can say with a reasonable degree of certainty that this is not the career path either of us had imagined for ourselves. I had dreamed of being a professional photographer, and we always thought he'd be on submarines like his father. Yet somehow, it's working. In some ways it's working better than we ever could have imagined.
Loren has spent most of the past five or so months coaching me through a deployment that is by all accounts well beyond my tactical expertise. We've talked leadership strategies in combat. We've discussed the salient points of mission planning and route reconnaissance. We've talked about the impact deployments have on us and those we love most. But mostly we've talked about how being in combat fundamentally changed our views on everything we knew as truth, and somehow it's made us closer than ever. It's good to have a best friend out here. In fact, I'd argue that without a solid foundation of friends and family, a deployment like this is absolutely insurmountable.
He's a father now. His son, Elliot Jackson, was born (appropriately enough) on the Marine Corps' birthday. He's quite a brave little man to appear in the world a solid six weeks before he was due, and all signs indicate that he will fight his way to a healthy weight so that he can come home soon to his mom and dad.
Loren likes to joke that he made a person, and it's true. He did. And that little boy's father is the best friend I've ever had. But in so many ways, Loren also helped make me...and perhaps I did the same for him. He wrote me a letter on real paper last week and here's my favorite line:
"I am amazed (shocked?) at how parallel we are in so many ways. It is a relief to have a similar mind to share."
Yes, indeed.
Oh Stickworld. My pages of Stickworld are among my most treasured possessions. I still have all the ones you gave me. I think you should resurrect Stickworld, I'd love to see the Afghanistan edition.
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