My Evening with Ted

July 16, 2010 - 9:49 AM by Brian Blum

One of my closest childhood friends flew into town this week for a whirlwind Jewish Federation-sponsored tour of Israel. Ted had a couple of hours free in Jerusalem, so along with Israelity colleague David Brinn and his wife Shelley (who had also known Ted back in the day), we met up at a local branch of the Cup O’ Joe coffee chain.

Ted had been a critical part of my tween and teenage years. We had become close at a JCC summer camp and shared myriad adventures until I took off for college. In the years afterward, we mostly fell out of touch – that is until Facebook brought us together again.

Our meet-up was great. We reminisced about old friends from high school and where they are today and, being Jewish, inevitably discussed politics, religion and international perceptions of Israel (“it’s not a flotilla, it’s a convoy,” the government spokesperson told Ted’s group of Federation professionals).

When I got home, I was inspired to pull out the old diary that I had kept since sixth grade. In-between such mundane entries as “I washed my hair today,” and “the combination for my new locker is 26-10-20” (don’t bother trying it; they’ve changed the locks at least several times since 1974), there was Ted. But not just a mention here and there; he was on nearly every page.

“Today Ted and I took the bus to Berkeley and had a hotdog at the Orange Julius.” “Ted and I went to Audrey’s party and we didn’t come home until 5:00 AM.” “Ted and I talked on the phone for two hours tonight.”

Ted was “my best friend,” I wrote, whom I now remembered was the subject matter for a chapbook of poems I wrote for Creative Writing class during my sophomore year at Oberlin. What a joy to have those memories awakened again!

As I dove deeper into the diary, though, the mood began to darken as the chaos of my teenage years asserted itself: all the confusion and chattering and trying to interpret every infinitesimal move a friend might make as somehow earth-shatteringly significant.

Slowly, I found myself being pulled back into a world I realized I’d idealized over the years, coating it with the pastel sheen of pre-responsibility, before the weight of adulthood, with its financial decisions and career malfunctions, transformed buried torment into hazy memories of “carefree” days.

There were the unrequited crushes; the incessant attempts at re-inventing myself; the four-month break when Ted and I didn’t speak (for the life of me, I don’t remember why, but it must have had something to do with a girl).

I wanted to call Ted and tell him to rush over, to sit with me and pour over the pages. To provide a reality check for my gushing teenage prose. We had such good times together, didn’t we? So why was my nightly analysis so depressingly dour.

But I didn’t call. Instead I turned to my wife Jody and we replayed the 30 years after high school: our tender and happy life together; our three beautiful children; the decision to move to Israel and all the wonder and tragedy that has incurred.

I put away the diary. Will I open it again? Perhaps. Those years will always be a part of me and it was courageous, I suppose, to dwell there, if only for a brief few moments. I will make a point of staying in touch with Ted (Facebook makes that deliriously easy). He was a huge part of my life. He should be again – but in the future, not the past.

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