One of the Kids I Graduated With Was Beaten to Death
I guess it didn't hit me until today
One of the kids I graduated with was beaten to death before he turned twenty. Actually, it was just a fluke punch. He was struck in the side of the head and he was dead before he hit the ground.
I remember him from class, he was a big, muscular kid. He wasn’t afraid to fight, but he wasn’t a bully. I never had a problem with him. If you didn’t pester him, he didn’t pester you.
Pretty basic.
He was the first of my classmates to die after graduation. We had two underclassmen commit suicide. My graduating class was 106.
Too much violence.
I didn’t know what to think when I got the news. I was lost in the void that follows graduation. I don’t even know how I heard about it, this was before social media. Heck, this was before email.
He had a sister who was one of those approachable upperclassmen. I remember talking to her one time when she was smoking a cigarette. She had wispy red hair.
There were a lot of girls in my school who were 16 going on 48. Maybe my experiences are just catching up with theirs, that’s why I sat up when the memory floated by.
What did those kids have to go through? Nobody knows.
Kevin, his name was Kevin, the kid that died, he was a smoker too. We had a guest speaker in health class who came in to lecture us on the dangers of smoking.
“Are there any smokers in here?”
Kevin raised his hand with a kind of smug look on his face. He looked a little like Warren Zevon. He had the same kind of smirk.
“How much do you smoke?”
I think he was up to four packs a day.
The speaker winced when he told her. She was young and cute. She didn’t scold him. Scolding him wouldn’t have made an impression.
Instead, she looked at him with sincere concern and said, “You need to stop.”
She said it like she cared. I remember believing her.
Kevin was still sort of smiling, but it was no longer a smirk. He nodded in a way that could have been interpreted as defiant, or maybe sad, like deep down he knew he had to change. He wasn’t angry.
The speaker didn’t press him, she had enough respect to move on.
In the end, it wasn’t lung cancer that killed him. It was a punch in a parking lot brawl.
Ah, now I remember, when social media did come around, I saw a post from his sister declaring how much she missed him.
Some people request prayers. Sometimes they tell you what the prayers are for. Sometimes they’re just shouting at the void that prayers are needed.
Hopefully, they’re answered.
There are days when I find myself worrying about silly things. It’s always something.
I’m tempted to provide a list of all the silly things I’ve worried about lately, but I don’t want to probe my mind and accidentally remember the ones I’ve mercifully forgotten.
If it’s not one thing, it’s another. They’re always improbable.
There have been times when I’ve been free of worry and it’s delightful. Then I do something stupid and I become worried again.
I’ve had more than twice as many years as my classmate Kevin. Perhaps I should focus on that. Perhaps I should get down on my knees and be grateful.
Grateful for every sunrise.
Grateful to have witnessed every falling leaf.
Grateful to have been able to pet the dog.
There’s really no point in worrying about tomorrow. Tomorrow might never come.
Is that comforting?
I remember once when I was little, I used to be scared at night because I thought I saw the figure of a man in my closet. Then one day I said to myself, “Well, if he kills me, then my problems are over.”
I didn’t worry about it after that. I slept like a baby.
But these days I’m pestered by the shadow of a different threat.
I’ve felt my age a little more over the last couple of years. My breathing is labored.
The doctors refused to help me.
I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to find a place where doctors talk to you like that guest speaker talked to Kevin. It’s not here.
Here is where you’re killed from a sucker punch in a parking lot.
Growing up, Kevin was always there. He was a face in the class. He was one you didn’t have to worry about. He wouldn’t attack you.
We were like work friends. Sometimes I’d sit by him at lunch. I’d randomly run into him on the playground. We’d team up in gym class.
There was never any reason to hit him.
I shouldn’t worry. Worrying is useless.
I worry about my daughters. I worry I might not be there for them. I worry I might screw things up.
I shouldn’t worry. Worrying is useless.
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Hi- thank you for this post- I also worry about things that don't matter. I was a medical biller for 14 years and medicine in this country is a joke. Doctors won't do anything because without certain symptoms the insurance companies do not pay, because nothing is about what is actually wrong with a person. I have a suggestion for you, and this may not be possible for your situation, I don't know, so I apologize for " You should"-ing you- but if you are able to go to a big, big hospital system like Rush in Chicago or Mayo Clinic in several states - THEY will help you. Little doctors do not make enough money or get enough government subsidies to write off possible denied insurance claims, but Rush and Mayo do it all the time. All the federal immigrant programs, Native America programs, and prison systems take patients here because they know it can be written off and they will get enough subsidies to stay in business. I hope this is helpful and I hope you find out what is ailing you. Health should be the most important worry in our lives, and I hope you get well.
Worrying is a symptom of wanting to control what you cannot control. Focus on what you can control and your worrying will diminish if not disappear. I am not saying not worrying is easy. I am saying that there is a workaround to the worry, and you need to work it.