I went to school with a kid named Jeff Garrett. His sister, Patty, was in my sisters class, and our parents were good friends. Jeff and I were destined to be friends. We went to Catholic school and our parents hung out with the priests and nuns a lot. On Friday nights our mom and dad would take my sister and I to the Garretts house where all the parents would sit around and drink and tell stories. All the priests were from the same neighborhoods as my parents in NY and they knew a lot of the same people growing up. Now they were all living in a suburb in NJ telling stories about Irish neighborhood guys stories that always ended up with someone peeing in inappropriate places, or waking up naked, or something like that. Us kids would sit on the stairs and listen, thrilled to be out that late and staying in the shadows so our presence wouldnt remind our parents that it was long past our bedtime.
When one of the priests were transferred wed all go visit them in whatever city they were serving in. These were our family vacations. One time our family and the Garretts all packed into a van (there were 6 Garrett kids) and we spent a week in a seminary in Washington DC with Father Kevin and a bunch of priests and brothers. Father Kevin was a big guy with a great tenor and would love to teach us Irish drinking and fight songs. Hed gather all of us in one room after dinner with his priest friends and theyd all get drunk and sing. One of the priests, by the way, was Father Mychal Judge, who would later become the pastor to the NY fire dept and was the first recorded death on September 11, 2001, when he was killed by falling debris at the World Trade Center site.
As we grew up my sister and I grew apart from Jeff and Patti. Our parents all remained friends and Father Kevin married my sister last year. This past weekend my sister and I took our grandmother out for her birthday and after we decided to get a drink at a bar in my hometown.
I dont live too far away, but Ive never really hung out in my hometown. Most of my friends are in NY and I dont have much reason to stay in NJ when I want to do something. But I went to this bar last week for the first time in forever and I kinda liked the feeling it brought back. So we went.
Sure enough, there at the bar were Jeff and Patty Garrett. Both of them had put on a LOT of weight, and Jeff was completely bald. They were drinking beer and playing darts. It was good to see them. They havent changed at all.
But after talking them for a while I began to feel something I couldnt put my finger on. Jeff worked for the phone company, still lived with his parents, and spent most nights in the bar, he said, Patty had been diagnosed with MS a few years back and was forced to move back home when her job let her go because of that. They werent bad people-on the contrary they were good people with good hearts. They both insisted that my sister and I didnt take out our wallets once all night.
But there was something sad, something a bit resigned about them. At least I thought there was. They worked every day, went to the bar every night, then got up and did it all again. Their stories were remarkably the same as the stories we had listened to our parents telling about their friends all those years ago.
And that night after I left it might have been the alcohol talking, but I asked myself again if I had the heart and the muscle to avoid feeling trapped, and to keep moving until stopped on my own terms. If you look between peoples lines you realize sometimes that were not that different, but the slightest of circumstances separates us.
When one of the priests were transferred wed all go visit them in whatever city they were serving in. These were our family vacations. One time our family and the Garretts all packed into a van (there were 6 Garrett kids) and we spent a week in a seminary in Washington DC with Father Kevin and a bunch of priests and brothers. Father Kevin was a big guy with a great tenor and would love to teach us Irish drinking and fight songs. Hed gather all of us in one room after dinner with his priest friends and theyd all get drunk and sing. One of the priests, by the way, was Father Mychal Judge, who would later become the pastor to the NY fire dept and was the first recorded death on September 11, 2001, when he was killed by falling debris at the World Trade Center site.
As we grew up my sister and I grew apart from Jeff and Patti. Our parents all remained friends and Father Kevin married my sister last year. This past weekend my sister and I took our grandmother out for her birthday and after we decided to get a drink at a bar in my hometown.
I dont live too far away, but Ive never really hung out in my hometown. Most of my friends are in NY and I dont have much reason to stay in NJ when I want to do something. But I went to this bar last week for the first time in forever and I kinda liked the feeling it brought back. So we went.
Sure enough, there at the bar were Jeff and Patty Garrett. Both of them had put on a LOT of weight, and Jeff was completely bald. They were drinking beer and playing darts. It was good to see them. They havent changed at all.
But after talking them for a while I began to feel something I couldnt put my finger on. Jeff worked for the phone company, still lived with his parents, and spent most nights in the bar, he said, Patty had been diagnosed with MS a few years back and was forced to move back home when her job let her go because of that. They werent bad people-on the contrary they were good people with good hearts. They both insisted that my sister and I didnt take out our wallets once all night.
But there was something sad, something a bit resigned about them. At least I thought there was. They worked every day, went to the bar every night, then got up and did it all again. Their stories were remarkably the same as the stories we had listened to our parents telling about their friends all those years ago.
And that night after I left it might have been the alcohol talking, but I asked myself again if I had the heart and the muscle to avoid feeling trapped, and to keep moving until stopped on my own terms. If you look between peoples lines you realize sometimes that were not that different, but the slightest of circumstances separates us.
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and thank you so much. that was a very sweet comment and i really appreciate <3
xox.