I’ve thought hard and long about this week’s post. I just wasn’t sure, like usual. But I kept thinking about something; I kept thinking about a person I’ve not seen in about four years. I grew up with this kid and he was one of my best friends
before middle school. I wonder periodically what he’s doing with his life, how much he’s changed, if he remembers me at all. Even when we weren’t friends, we were around each other somehow, be it his girlfriends/my friends, classes, or just the fact that Molalla is small. I know I have him on Facebook, but Facebook is a scary place.
I wrote a poem about him. It’s about this one memory my mother never lets me forget. I called it Digging for Moles.
Digging in my new jumper, Shoving my arm down dark holes, Giggling with my best friend, Looking for moles. Blonde hair, brown eyes, Mischievous smiles, The aide finds us after thinking us lost, As we look for moles. Campfire, birthday parties, middle school, Chickens, girlfriends, high school. He was once my best friend, And why we dug for moles. I still remember him, my best friend, He was important and yet we changed. Even though we drifted apart, I still remember digging for moles.
If you haven’t guess by now what was happening, in elementary school, this person and I would stick our arms down holes, looking for something. One day, the recess aide came looking for us and reported it to my mom, because she thought we had gotten lost somewhere.
Yeah… he just got his own serious poem, and I don’t think he’ll ever know.