By Dom Cioffi
A couple weeks ago I sat down at my computer, cup of coffee in hand, and pulled up the morning’s email. I rifled through the prerequisite offers for discount drugs, quickly deleting them as fast as I could read their suggestive subject lines. There were also a few pertinent emails about work, some marketing offers about an upcoming vacation I was planning and, of course, my daily Buddhist message meant to keep me calm in this rather un-calm world.
And then there was one of those familiar Facebook messages: “So-and-so wants to be friends with you on Facebook.” I stared at the name for a moment in confusion because it was no one I initially recognized. I mean, the name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place how I knew it.
So, I did what comes naturally in the voyeuristic realm of Facebook: I quickly clicked on the link, which immediately sent me to this individual’s personal Facebook page. Once there I could analyze the person’s photos and information in order to ascertain how I might know them.
None of the usual indicators struck a chord with me: the person wasn’t from the area, we had no friends in common, and his personal info unveiled nothing that made a connection to me or my family. I was on the verge of discounting the friend request as either a mistake or the guise of someone trying to collect friends, when I noticed the unconventional name of the individual’s father.
Suddenly, it all clicked. This was the kid who lived in my neighborhood for less than a year when I was 10 or 11 years old. His family had relocated to our town because of his father’s job so they had rented a vacant home just down the street from where I lived.
A flood of memories rushed through my head as I backtracked through his photos, which had now taken on an entirely new importance to me. There he was, a grown man, obviously married and the father of three children. He looked happy, active, and all in all, pretty consistent with the American dream.
I sat back in my desk chair and began to reminisce about the short time we were friends. I remember being drawn to him because he had the flashiest bike I had ever seen. It was one of those banana seat cruisers with several gears, fully tricked-out with tassels and a killer color scheme. I was envious of that bike and made it a priority to get to know him so I could ride it.
But as I discovered, the bike paled in comparison to the booty he had in his cellar. Entry into this kid’s basement meant access to an unending supply of Tonka, Hot Wheels, and G.I. Joe paraphernalia. Skateboards, Legos, Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots – you name the toy, this kid had it.
Not surprisingly, we became fast friends. Truth be known, I would have been friends with this kid even if he had six arms and two heads. Going into his basement was like getting a free pass to Disney World.
But the interesting thing about him was that he never seemed that impressed nor interested with his stash of toys. He was content being outside riding bikes, climbing trees, or wandering through the woods – stuff I did incessantly out of boredom long before he arrived.
It never occurred to me during the short time we were friends (his father was relocated again a little over a year after they arrived), but as I sat back in my chair that morning, it occurred to me that he probably moved frequently and his parents attempted to make up for that incessant uprooting by supplying him with a never-ending stream of toys.
I stared at his pictures a little longer and then, with a smile and sense of nostalgia, I clicked the accept button for his friend request. No other contact was made, but I have little doubt he’s peered through my photos and information, curious as to how my life turned out as well.
This week’s film, “Green Book,” is also about friendships and how unlikely pairings can produce lasting bonds.
Starring Viggo Mortensen and Mahershala Ali, “Green Book” is the story of two middle aged men who are thrust together under odd circumstances. One is an African American concert pianist; the other is a rough and tumble Italian-American bouncer who is hired by the pianist to drive him around the Deep South during the 1960’s.
During their time together, the two initially detest each other. Eventually, however, a mutual respect forms between the men as shared experiences of distress and love formulate a strong bond.
Check this one out if you’re in the mood for an incredibly well-acted, well-written film. It’s also got a bevy of humorous moments that help balance the more intense scenes.
A comradely “B” for “Green Book.”
Got a question or comment for Dom? You can email him at moviediary@att.net.
