Walking through shelves.. what catches your eye?
Sometimes it seems like there's a movie box for every emotion, and a rental price for every memory. DVD-quality ethos in four color process, screaming "me, me, me!" as you slowly stroll by. The faces familiar but the titles obscure - it's all about the words in the name, the pictures on the cover...
Walking through shelves.. what catches your eye?
...They made it, Rick.
Like absently running your hands over old scar tissue, the unexpected but unfortunatley familiar sting appeared. That horribly melodramatic LA Gang/love story novel we read in your literature and composition class so many years ago, the beginning of what would be one of the most important and yet short-lived friendships in my life.
I didn't expect to see it there.
I never expect it all to come rushing back
...but it always does.
That day, after class - catching him on the way out the door:
I'm sure everyone has a story abotu the teacher or professor who affected them more than anyone else. I'm sure everyone has that one person who helped turn on the bulb, and push the ship in the right direction. But Rick Straub was more than just an incredible teacher, he was more than just a mentor, or an inspiration.
Rick was my friend.
I wasn't his only friend, and I wasn't the only student whose life he touched by any means. But Rick helped do things for me that I doubt he'd even beleive were his to take credit for. Rick wanted me to write. Rick wanted me to make something of myself. Rick wanted me to get over my stupid hangups about Ernest Hemmingway. Rick wanted more than anything for me to teach.
I'll never forget the time I got a six am phone call from him, telling me that he
was suffering from a sinus infection, and that he needed me to cover his classes for him that day. "They're just doing peer reviews, it's no big deal" he said. I was half dead from a late night radio shift, but I went anyways. Button shirt, yellow legal pad. His students didn't know who I was, but halfway through the day we were making progress, and it felt more comfortable than I'd ever expected it might have to be standing up there soliciting opinions from writers. Hell, it felt pretty good.
That was, until Rick walked in the door (looking healthy as an ox), with a big smile on his face. "See," he said, "told you it was easy."
Rick wanted me to write a book with him.
He also wanted to shoot hoops, go to Seminole games, and meet over at Buffalo's for beers and Big Tuesday on ESPN. We'd meet his friends, and every time we did I'd feel on the edge of something true and real. It was like that sense that if you walked through this door, everything would be different. If you'd just take the chance, you'd never be the same.
As my graduation kept getting closer and closer, Rick began to ask me countless times about grad school. He pulled some strings my last semester to get me into one of his grad-level courses, and continually supported me as I struggled at times to keep up. It was like he was holding the door open for me, working to help me build that last bridge of confidence.
My world was changing so much at that time. Everything was open in front of me, and maybe somehow that was the problem. Because I couldn't help feeling all of this unintended weight on my shoulders, this feeling of utter expectation and hope all around me. But instead of feeling charged and excited by everyone's confidence, I somehow let myself twist it all around, and got it all knotted in my stomach.
What if I screw it all up?
What if I fail?
What if I let everybody down?
And so I started making this and that into big deals, and without even knowing what I really wanted, I started to back up. I started to hedge my bets. I started to retreat from the open doors. "See you Tuesdays" became "I'll calls" and before I knew it, life got in the way. It wasn't that I didn't want to teach or write, it wasn't that I didn't desperatley need a friend... It was something else, I suppose.
Years later when I started to get a better picture of what had happened and what had not, I started to want to find a way to reconnect with Rick. To tell him about the stories that I had gotten published, and about the things I had done -- but it was always hard to find the words. Always hard to find a way to ask for that sort of forgiveness.
Until one day, when it was too late.
I got this email from one of his former students who had found my site from a google search for Ricks name. I don't know.. there was just something in the tone that she used when she wrote, the way his name appeared on the screen. Something was wrong.
Something was terribly wrong.
Once upon a time someone believed in me. Pushed me, inspired me, and helped me. Once upon a time I feared what all of that meant, and worried that I couldn't live up to what they felt I should become. Once upon a time I turned my back on a friend. And then I lost him.
And now, standing here in some video store on Merrill road, staring at the rental box for the movie they made from the first book that you ever made me read, I feel that emptiness more than ever. Here, in this time of storms and suspicions - in this time where so many precious things in my life feel like they could be slipping away from me if I don't make a move, don't make a move now to hold on to them, I wish I could just call you up and tell just you how much you meant.
I'm teaching, Rick.
I'm living, Rick.
They made it, Rick.
Sometimes it seems like there's a movie box for every emotion, and a rental price for every memory. DVD-quality ethos in four color process, screaming "me, me, me!" as you slowly stroll by. The faces familiar but the titles obscure - it's all about the words in the name, the pictures on the cover...
Walking through shelves.. what catches your eye?
...They made it, Rick.
Like absently running your hands over old scar tissue, the unexpected but unfortunatley familiar sting appeared. That horribly melodramatic LA Gang/love story novel we read in your literature and composition class so many years ago, the beginning of what would be one of the most important and yet short-lived friendships in my life.
I didn't expect to see it there.
I never expect it all to come rushing back
...but it always does.
That day, after class - catching him on the way out the door:
"I'm really sorry for going off on a tangent like that and sort of dominating the class discussion," I said, "but you gotta understand just how much I think this book really sucks." And he gave me this knowing sort of smile and a wink and said, "Yeah, I know -- I'm just glad someone else finally figured it out."
I'm sure everyone has a story abotu the teacher or professor who affected them more than anyone else. I'm sure everyone has that one person who helped turn on the bulb, and push the ship in the right direction. But Rick Straub was more than just an incredible teacher, he was more than just a mentor, or an inspiration.
Rick was my friend.
I wasn't his only friend, and I wasn't the only student whose life he touched by any means. But Rick helped do things for me that I doubt he'd even beleive were his to take credit for. Rick wanted me to write. Rick wanted me to make something of myself. Rick wanted me to get over my stupid hangups about Ernest Hemmingway. Rick wanted more than anything for me to teach.
I'll never forget the time I got a six am phone call from him, telling me that he
was suffering from a sinus infection, and that he needed me to cover his classes for him that day. "They're just doing peer reviews, it's no big deal" he said. I was half dead from a late night radio shift, but I went anyways. Button shirt, yellow legal pad. His students didn't know who I was, but halfway through the day we were making progress, and it felt more comfortable than I'd ever expected it might have to be standing up there soliciting opinions from writers. Hell, it felt pretty good.
That was, until Rick walked in the door (looking healthy as an ox), with a big smile on his face. "See," he said, "told you it was easy."
Rick wanted me to write a book with him.
He also wanted to shoot hoops, go to Seminole games, and meet over at Buffalo's for beers and Big Tuesday on ESPN. We'd meet his friends, and every time we did I'd feel on the edge of something true and real. It was like that sense that if you walked through this door, everything would be different. If you'd just take the chance, you'd never be the same.
As my graduation kept getting closer and closer, Rick began to ask me countless times about grad school. He pulled some strings my last semester to get me into one of his grad-level courses, and continually supported me as I struggled at times to keep up. It was like he was holding the door open for me, working to help me build that last bridge of confidence.
My world was changing so much at that time. Everything was open in front of me, and maybe somehow that was the problem. Because I couldn't help feeling all of this unintended weight on my shoulders, this feeling of utter expectation and hope all around me. But instead of feeling charged and excited by everyone's confidence, I somehow let myself twist it all around, and got it all knotted in my stomach.
What if I screw it all up?
What if I fail?
What if I let everybody down?
And so I started making this and that into big deals, and without even knowing what I really wanted, I started to back up. I started to hedge my bets. I started to retreat from the open doors. "See you Tuesdays" became "I'll calls" and before I knew it, life got in the way. It wasn't that I didn't want to teach or write, it wasn't that I didn't desperatley need a friend... It was something else, I suppose.
Years later when I started to get a better picture of what had happened and what had not, I started to want to find a way to reconnect with Rick. To tell him about the stories that I had gotten published, and about the things I had done -- but it was always hard to find the words. Always hard to find a way to ask for that sort of forgiveness.
Until one day, when it was too late.
I got this email from one of his former students who had found my site from a google search for Ricks name. I don't know.. there was just something in the tone that she used when she wrote, the way his name appeared on the screen. Something was wrong.
Something was terribly wrong.
Once upon a time someone believed in me. Pushed me, inspired me, and helped me. Once upon a time I feared what all of that meant, and worried that I couldn't live up to what they felt I should become. Once upon a time I turned my back on a friend. And then I lost him.
And now, standing here in some video store on Merrill road, staring at the rental box for the movie they made from the first book that you ever made me read, I feel that emptiness more than ever. Here, in this time of storms and suspicions - in this time where so many precious things in my life feel like they could be slipping away from me if I don't make a move, don't make a move now to hold on to them, I wish I could just call you up and tell just you how much you meant.
I'm teaching, Rick.
I'm living, Rick.
They made it, Rick.
[Listening to: Dwele, "Find a Way"]
Comments
I just read your blog about Rick and wanted to tell you that he was my friend and inspiration, too. I miss him like crazy (and miss those wings-while-watching-football dinners, too). He was the love of my life, and so often I have startling moments like the one you described when something will suddenly remind me of him. Thanks for sharing your memories. Kelly