Since Joe was a church musician since his junior high school days, he continued with a church job through high school, college and throughout the rest of his life. His faith developed and continued to evolve. Church on Sunday was a mainstay in his life as he accompanied and directed choirs his entire life. His faith grew stronger and he never wavered in his faith. I however took a different path. The church I grew up in had major troubles during my late high school years. I witnessed less than Christ like behavior from the adults and lay leaders of our church and it pushed me away. I sought out other faiths, even going so far as to convert to Judaism. This was not without its own issues as I did it for all the wrong reasons. Not out of true belief, since I continued to believe in Jesus Christ, but out ofrebellion against what I saw as a hypocritical church: The Southern Baptist church I grew up in. Once off to college I left the Judaism behind and became a lapsed everything, not attending church or temple. Since my high school graduation, I have been in the church I was raised in 2 times. Once in 1997 for my mother’s funeral and then again in 2011 for the funeral of the mother of my best friends growing up. From the time we met, Joe tried and tried toget me to attend PGUMC with him. I fought it tooth and nail, only giving in for his special music occasions. Most notably Easter and Christmas. I guess I became a “Christer”, those people that only attend on those days. From time to time I would go when his nagging became too much. I always enjoyed myself when there and everyone was always extremely welcoming. But my bad experience growing up, kept me from going regularly. When Joe was diagnosed, I started attending more regularly, and eventually every week. In the summer of 2011, I joined the church.
Besides the difference in our faith routes, there were of course other things that created a difference in how we looked at life. Joe grew up in a very close knit family comprised of his father, mother, brother and sister. His family was in frequent contact with his parent’s siblings as well as their parents. He had wonderful memories of visits with both sets of grandparents and his uncles, aunts and cousins. Joe was the oldest child in his family and the oldest of his cousins. I grew up in a family comprised of my mother, sister and brother. My father died in a traffic accident when I was four years old. I have very limited memories of him and quite honestly can’t tell if my memories are real or are just stories told to me when I was young that I just assume are memories. Both sets of grandparents were deceased before I was born and since my father died when I was so young, we really didn’t have a lot of contact with my father’s side of the family after his death. My mother was the only girl in a family of 5. Her four brothers were older and she was the youngest. We grew up visiting her brothers family in Wilmington on a regular basis, and occasionally saw 2 of her other brothers and their families. By the time I was elementary age, two of her brothers had died and so our contact with her family became limited to just her brother and family in Wilmington. I was the youngest child in my family and the youngest of all the cousins.
Joe used to tell me stories of his school days and they were always happy ones. He grew up in Roanoke Rapids and attended school there much his life. Everyone knew everyone and from his stories, he enjoyed the fact that his class was smaller in size and with his incredible memory for details, which he inherited from his mother, could tell stories and names of kids he went to school with from grades 1-12. If he ever had any issues with the other kids in school, he never told me about it. Joe however was not one to dwell on negative experiences, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there were issues, he just never told me about them. Maybe it was his size, or the fact that everyone knew everyone, but from his stories, his school life in Roanoke Rapids was a solid, happy one.
The stories of my school life are quite different. Similarly to Joe, I grew up in a small town where everyone knew everyone. My early years in school were happy ones as well. The kids that I grew up with from elementary school for the most part remained my friends throughout my entire school experience and some of them are still my friends to this day. However, during my middle school years, some things started to change. First, instead of everyone attending Hope Mills School from grades 1-12, they began to build elementary schools and changed Hope Mills School to Hope Mills High School. With the building of elementary/middle schools that went from grades 1-8 meant that students that I didn’t grow up with from outlying areas that had previously attended other schools were redistricted to the schools I attended. When the new students arrived was when my school experience started to change. It was no secret to anyone that met me that I was different. In elementary school I had been called the occasional name, most often “sissy”. But being a child, I usually just let it go and went about my business. By the middle school years, the name calling became more aggressive and progressed to more lewd names such as “fag”, “faggot” or “queer”. Usually the taunts were from kids that I hadn’t grown up with, but also usually, there were kids with the taunters that had known me their entire lives. I can’t remember a single time when one of my friends ever stood up for me and said anything to the name callers. That hurt my feelings, but I coped. I understood peer pressure. I was under a lot of peer pressure, just a different kind. I just concentrated on my school work and basically stopped any type of after school activity where the environment might not be controlled as easily by an adult or teacher. By high school, Cumberland County had grown significantly and my sophomore year, 3 new high schools opened in one year. This meant a lot of redistricting. Mostly it meant an influx of large quantities of people that I didn’t know and didn’t know me. At the time, the school that I attended, South View Senior High was the largest in the county. Even with just 10th, 11thand 12th grades we numbered nearly 1500. To say I enjoyed high school would be acomplete lie. Yes there were parts that I have fond memories of, but those are mostly just due to close friends and a teacher or two. By the 10thgrade with all the new kids around, the taunting escalated. Today we would call it bullying or harassment. Back then I just called it misery. Even though I was significantly taller than most, I was also very thin. By 10thgrade I was my current 6’5”, but I also weighed around 150 lbs. I would regularly be shoved into lockers, called names in the hall, bumped into in the cafeteria when taking my tray to a table and other forms of intimidation. My only respite was in class. At least there, the teacher usually had some semblance of control. So I continued to study and get good grades. A basic high school nerd with a few “cool” friends from my childhood. My junior year was when it really got bad for me. One day during class change, as I was going down the stairs from the 2ndto the 1st floor, even though at that particular time the stairway was not crowded, just a few students, I felt a distinctive shove from behind. I never saw who did it. It didn’t seem like an accident, but it is possible that it was. Regardless, I went falling down 2 flights of stairs. Upon landing at the bottom I knew immediately there was a problem as my ankle was screaming in waves of pain. The other students just passed me by. It’s possible someone asked if I was ok, I don’t remember. I do know that no one offered to help. As the class bell rang, I still lay on thefloor. I repeatedly tried to stand but could not. I did manage to collect my books into a pile and I sat there. After a few minutes, a teacher did walk by and saw me. She helped me to the office where I called my mother to come get me and she took me to the doctor. It was only a bad sprain, but I was on crutches for a couple of weeks. After that and on through the next year, I was very wary of going down the stairs and always held onto the rail, even if it meant waiting until the stairwell was almost empty to go down it. The name calling continued, the shoving into lockers continued, the threats to be beaten up continued. Slowly, some of the people that I had known for years distanced themselves from me. That part hurt worse than the rest. Friends who just went away. But not everyone did mind you. I still had friends, but most of them were oblivious to what each day was like for me. I stopped socializing after school completely. I remained in a couple of clubs, but rarely took part in any activities, just went to meetings where the teacher/sponsor would be in attendance. I didn’t talk about it at home. I didn’t talk about it to anyone. The first time I ever talked about it was with Joe. Although bullying in schools is a topic that has generated a lot of press recently, it isn’t new. It is just worse for kids today as there are so many more avenues for the bullies to do their damage.College was a wonderful time for Joe. I have heard stories and stories and stories. You know someone had a great college experience when they can remember the names of professors and fellow students 30+ years after graduation. Part of that is that yearly Joe would attend various music conferences and music educators’ conferences. At these occasions he would see people from his college days, both students and faculty. He absolutely loved his conferences. He always came back home in a wonderful mood, rejuvenated and filled with stories. He also kept in touch with his college roommates. Most notably, Rob Hugh. Rob was his roommate and his best friend. Along with Rob’s wife Lola, they kept in touch constantly by both phone and visits. Two better people don’t exist. Joe regaled me with stories of running the projector at the Baptist Student Union (you know he loved being in charge of movies) as well as class time and other social activities. Another item that he spoke of often was the various eating establishments in Greensboro and around the campus of UNCG. As you might have guessed, Joe loved food. But he loved UNCG. He was a devoted alumnus and I never heard him speak of a bad experience there. But again, even if there were some, knowing Joe, he would not have spoken of it.
My college days were also good ones, but not like Joe’s. I was more the “wild child” experiencing my first taste of freedom. While I made good friends there, I didn’t keep in touch for very long afterwards and I couldn’t tell you the name of a single professor if my life depended on it. I remember all my roommates and the fun we had. They were all good guys and unfortunately a couple of them met with very untimely deaths much too young. But my college days were good ones and I remember East Carolina University fondly.After school our paths took different directions. Joe bowed to perceived pressure and married. The marriage was not a happy one and after 17 years ended in a very bitter, contentious divorce. Having come out in college, at least to friends, I went down the road of a single gay man. Dating, having short lived relationships and eventually a more meaningful one that lasted for 4 years. In 1998 Joe and I met. Joe swore that he remembered me from the days that I worked at Record Bar in Fayetteville and that I turned my nose up at him when he asked for help finding the latest Barbra Streisand album. I have no recollection of that, but it is entirely possible. I do however remember very vividly the day we met and every day after that. After a very brief, 2 months, breakup a couple of months after we started dating (I felt Joe was getting too serioustoo quickly) we resumed our relationship. In October 1999, I left my life in Fayetteville & Hope Mills and moved to Durham to be with him. We lived for 4 years in the townhome he had purchased in 1998 and then in 2003, built the home that I still live in. The home that Joe died peacefully in. Many, many wonderful memories fill the rooms of that home on Mallory Lane. So much so that it is currently a very difficult decision for me as to whether to keep the house or sell it. For one person, it is much too large. Joe and I had planned on selling the home this spring and looking for a one level townhome. Main reason, Joe was concerned he might become wheelchair bound or at the very least, unable to climb stairs. A part of me wants to go ahead and make the change and find a small one level townhome or condo. Something more appropriate for me by myself. Something that would put me in better shape financially. But then there is the emotional attachment to the home we built together. I have been told by friends, family and therapists, to not make any decisions for at least 6 months. Doing so before apparently results in regret in many people. So for now, I will take their advice. Each day I try to look forward and face the day with hope. My memories are precious as that is all I have right now. Although at many times they result in tears flowing, eventually the tears stop and I can smile. I look at Joe’s photos and I smile. I look at them and I cry. Both the tears and the smiles are born out of love for him and grief at his passing. However, I do know that I carry him with me every moment of everyday. Although there is a void inside of me there is also an equal amount of love for him inside of me. Someday, although the physical void will never be filled, hopefully the love will replace that space inside and the smiles will turn into grins and laughter. You see, I do have hope. One of the main reasons is my Pleasant Grove United Methodist Church family. Take a few minutes and listen to the podcast of the most recent "Ask Jay" episode (Jay Minnick is our minister for those that might not know).
P.S. I had one of those "Joe is watching me" moments Yesterday. When I went to the Stations of the Cross at PGUMC yesterday afternoon, just as I opened the sanctuary door, his recording from his CD "A Time of Centering" of "In the Garden" began. When Joe was picking out songs for that CD he asked me what my favorite old hymn was. I told him "In the Garden" because my mom had told me it was my dad's favorite and I had grown up with the feeling that every time I heard it, I felt a little connection to my dad who died when I was four years old. So with that, he ordered a beautiful arrangement of the song and put it on the CD. How perfect that at the moment I opened the door his amazing recording of the song began to play. Yes I had plenty of tears and found it hard to read the prayers at each station but I made it. Afterward I sat in the sanctuary alone and listened to the rest of the CD. I could close my eyes and see my love sitting at the piano playing. What an amazing talent. I am so blessed to have been loved by such a man.
.JPG)
No comments:
Post a Comment