| Author | Message | ||
     Lambd Rating: N/A |
My friend, Charles Ferguson, died last weekend. We grew up together and he played an important role in my life. He would have been forty this month. 'Chuck-a-luck' Ferg, Charles, Chuck, Chuckie, Luck, Chuck-a-luck. It doesn't matter what you called him. It doesn't matter when you called him. I wish I would have called him more. I wish I could have been there for him the way he was there for me. You see, that's who I think about when I think about respect. He demanded it. He demanded it from the bullies in junior high. He demanded it from the bullies in high school. He demanded if from the teachers. He got it from everyone. He knew everything about everything. Everything I needed to know about anything, growing across the street, I got from Chuck-a-luck. I owe almost every memory of every adventure to Chuck. Every daring move we made, we made it with Chuck. Because of Chuck. For Chuck. He was the 'Man' coming up. He was the inventor, the originator and the team leader of Creek Swat! A daily ritual, where all the young men in the neighborhood would have to earn their rite of passage by taking turns running and jumping across the sewage outlet in the woods behind Edwards St. You would have to jump across the polluted waters at the shallow end, and once everyone had there turn, Chuck-a-luck, who was always the first to jump, would move downstream a couple of yards where the ravine was gradually wider, and start the jumps again. We would continue jumping and continue moving downstream until someone would fall in. Then we would follow that unlucky someone home to see if they got the skin taken off of their behind when they got home. Football, kickball, baseball. Sneaking up to the swimming pool in the summer. Groups of ten or more boys, stealing our mother's good towels, and walking the five or six miles to the swimming pool in Seat Pleasant without permission. I remember how amazed my father was that I had caught on so quickly when he paid for my beginner swimming lessons at the newer, closer pool they had built in Glenarden. The instructors at the pool kept moving me up to more advanced classes. I couldn't bring myself to tell my father that Chuck and the other boys in the neighborhood had taught me how to swim years ago and I went swimming all the time. When it was time to start chasing girls, Chuck was somehow more advanced in that area, too. Women loved Chuck. Spoiled Chuck. None of us knew why. I knew that if I wanted to catch on, I better watch and learn. And so I did. He shared many of his wise secrets with me, and to my delight, he was truly wise in many ways about women and how to obtain things in life. I will remember Chuck the way I see him in my mind. Eighteen years old, in the basement, lifting weights, burning candles and incents, dispensing wisdom. "Run your own race, do your own thing, find your own way, trust in God, and above all else, be your own man." Chuck-a-luck was his own man. I've tried to honor him in life. I will continue in his passing. | ||
| ssmoothe Rating: N/A |
Nice tribute Lambd, kind of reminds me of someone I knew growing up. | ||
| Beautifulwaterstar Rating: N/A |
:-( May your soul insperience divine joy, Chuck.. | ||
| Kathleen Cross Rating: N/A |
You wrote: "I will remember Chuck the way I see him in my mind. Eighteen years old, in the basement, lifting weights, burning candles and incents, dispensing wisdom. "Run your own race, do your own thing, find your own way, trust in God, and above all else, be your own man." What a vivid tribute to the spirit of a man. He has to be smiling right about now.  Love is eternal | ||
| Cynique Rating: N/A |
Love is eternal, and so is the spirit. "Death be not proud, for those who thou thinkest thou doest overthrow, die not, and yet canst thou kill me." |
