If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting? ~ Stephen Levine
I was a bit of an asshole in my youth. Kicked out of schools, trouble with the law, no real regard for authority of any sort. I came up in some rough cities, tough schools. No excuses… Just setting the scene.
Summer of ’89 my family and I moved from Allentown PA to a country home on a dirt road in Manchester MI. I had never seen anything like it. At 14 years old all I’d ever known was the angry East Coast. Nothing but people, pavement, and aggression. In Manchester, strangers waved at you when then they passed by. It took all summer before I learned to stifle an immediate one finger salute in reply – reflex from growing up in Brockton MA where a middle finger was the friendliest thing one might expect when interacting with a stranger.
Finally school started and I met a few guys. One of my best friends, Marc DeShano, had guitars and a basement where we could hang out, take shelter from the cold, smoke (cigarettes or otherwise), discuss the importance of the new Ozzy album, or debate the hidden meaning in a particular Pink Floyd song. Good times, for real.
I was that asshole kid though, so naturally parents weren’t particularly fond of me. I had a foul mouth, talked back, accompanied their kids on their first arrest; ya know. Marc’s dad, Paul, was no exception. Can’t blame him – I gave him a pretty hard time over the years, thus Marc was often forbidden to hang out with me for long periods of time. Eventually, Marc would wear him down and I’d be allowed to return to the basement to jam once again.
I left Michigan when I was around 27 and went on to accomplish a few things that I am proud of. I raised two terrific daughters, and despite dropping out in the 10th grade I become a successful Systems Engineer for some of the most amazing tech companies in the U.S.. Over the years Marc and I remained close, visiting one another in whatever state we called home and of course, Facebook helped. I hadn’t seen or heard from Paul since I left Michigan so imagine my surprise when I received a friend request from him in 2010. Curious, I accepted though I couldn’t imagine what it was about. Well, as turned out – Paul simply wanted to congratulate me on who I had become. He told me my name would occasionally come up in conversations between him and Marc, so Marc would fill him in on where I was, what I’d been up to; that sort of thing.
Man… I was touched to say the least. I hadn’t done anything to earn that effort from him. All I’d ever given him was grief and a at least a decade had passed since I had even seen him. Since then he followed my life closely, always quick to comment on pictures, wish me a happy birthday, congratulate me on landing a new job like the tech startup that took the kids and I away from Boston to live in Dallas TX, or just to laugh at the stupid shit I say from time to time.
In 2016 when my kids were grown and went off on their own I became a little lost. By 2018 a number of poor choices had led to homelessness and I was living on the streets of Dallas with a serious drug addiction. More than a year passed without a single FB post from me. I kicked my habit in late 2019, got off the streets, logged into FB for the first time and sifted through endless notifications – a bunch from Paul. Simple pleasantries at first, then some worry and concern. Lot of worry from a lot people. Paul, like most of my friends had questions. Rather than explain to each one individually I wrote a single massive post explaining my absence. I told it all in great (grave?) detail, on FB, for 300 or so of my closest friends and family to read. “Honest – almost to a fault” is a phrase often used to describe me (always with the ‘fault’ caveat) and those experiences were so profoundly important to me that I decided to give up on tech and become a writer. Paul, with gentle concern, asked if I really wanted to walk away from all those accomplishments. I assured him I was, and shared some of my writing. Raw, unedited, sometimes powerful, always honest. He appreciated that. Takes courage to be that honest, he said. His words were always kind and encouraging.
It was October 2019 when the idea for this story came to me. I had shown my appreciation on occasion, thanked him here and there, but I wanted him to know what all that stuff really meant to me. I remember mentioning something vague about a story I was working on that would interest him. Sad that I’m putting pen to paper only now – after he’s gone.
This man, that I antagonized as a youth became my friend simply because he was proud of who I had become and wasn’t afraid to show it. Funny… We became even closer when I lost it all. Who knew? There are some real men left in this world. Most of my motivation stems from my desire to be a good man, friend, father, lover – someone you can count on to be there when you need me and “honest to a fault”. I try very hard and each day is a little better than the last. Real experience has taught me a lot and while I don’t have all the answers there is one thing I know for certain; Paul DeShano was a man in true form and I am grateful – proud even – that he and I became friends. His kindness and generosity taught me a great deal about manhood that will be with me right up ‘till it’s my time to go.
ps – My fondness for procrastinating is the reason this story wasn’t written in time to accomplish its intent; to show someone how much their contributions meant to me. Due to the same, I wrote the this in 1st draft, showed it to Marc, intending to edit and publish it in time for the gathering he and his family had planned to celebrate Paul’s life, and missed my goal. Now, as I sit here contemplating my shortcomings I realize how many compliments I have given the past few weeks. Real compliments. Showing love to those that make my life so very worthwhile. So full. So much so that I am content with finishing this story today because I am able to list just one more thing that Paul taught me. Thank you, brother.
Much love,
Sully