(This is going to be a bit winding and introspective. Forgive the parts that don’t make sense the way you forgive the other stuff I do that doesn’t make any sense.)
For the last two weeks or so, I’ve been meaning to post on the end of the Dutch Masters season. I’ve even got some video stuff, but I haven’t been able to convert it yet. That’ll come at some point, I guess.
But something happened at Carolina this week that put this in a different perspective.
A young man died on campus a few days ago. I won’t rehash the details myself. Read it yourself and, for a minute, ignore the fact that the story told stinks to high heaven.
I didn’t know the kid, even though I tried to make conversation with as many black economics majors I could while I was in school. His girlfriend was in one of my recitations, and I wish her and everyone affected by this the utmost sympathy. I know what it’s like to lose someone so young so suddenly, and I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. Especially not when the story is pungent like this one.
But the first thing I thought about when I saw that were the Dutch Masters. After their last game, Aden and I sat in the parking lot with them and just laughed and talked about the last two seasons of rec league basketball. To be around them was fun because they were in the league for fun. At this point in my life, I can’t name anything I do just because it’s fun. I love my work, but it’s work. To spend time with them was a chance to appreciate what it’s like to be in something for no other reason than to be in it. That freedom is something adulthood rarely affords.
But it made me think about my last semester in high school, probably the most fun I had in my life. Senior year is something that nothing else comes close to. It’s the last chance in our lives that we can appreciate a good time without the frustrating anxiety of what’s coming next.
I spent my last semester of high school fully realizing this was the last time I’d see most of those people, so I made damn sure to have as much fun with them as I could. But at the same time, I did that knowing that what was coming next would be better–college. I knew that leaving high school was closing the prelude to my life and getting into a meatier story, one that was twice as exciting and likely to be more fulfilling.
Nothing else was like that. At no other point could I say I was moving to something else with wide-eyed optimism or excitement. I graduated from college with absolutely no plan. The conclusions of my grad school stops were nerve racking because I knew how big the stakes were becoming and knew what that failure and missteps would be severely punished by the real world. There was never anything to look forward to. Just more shit to get done.
So there I was in that parking lot, hoping those kids realized what I knew. I just hoped they knew that life would never be that simple again and to appreciate just that. I have to thank them for putting me in touch with that, along wiht being one of the coolest sets of people I’ve ever met.
And now, a kid two years past where they are fell from a window and died.
I sat here and shed a couple of tears when I read the things people had to say about him after he passed. Made me wish I’d met him. And made me realize how crazy the answer to “what’s next?” can really be.
There wasn’t much left for him, and there was no way for him to know that. I just sit and wonder if he lived it up at least once before he went. If the people close to him made that clear while they had the chance. If his folks will be able to make it through while maintaining their sanity. All of that.
It’s those moments that kill the optimism I had coming out of high school. Those sorts of moments have me afraid of what’s coming half the time and often make me wonder if I really wanna see what else is there if the tradeoff is dealing with the cruelty and randomness of the world.
Nine years ago, I couldn’t wait for whatever was next. I just hoped whatever came next had girls that would give me the time of day (and luckily stepped into a place where the female/male ratio was so skewed that they had to even if they didn’t want to).
What does this all mean? I really don’t know.
Long of the short–hanging with the Dutch reminded me of how fun it is to be a kid. What happened to Keith reminded me why things just ain’t as fun as they once were.
6 thoughts on “Lamentations on Youth”
Leave a Comment
You must be logged in to post a comment.
I kind of expected to come here and read about the autistic basketball kid, but instead learned about this for the first time. Very sad indeed.
As an architect, I have to agree that the windows must be breakable from extreme force in case of fire. The force from a fireman’s axe, or blunt force from a resident striking the glass with an object to break a window in an emergency is probably the same that was exerted with the two guys crashing into the window.
Anyway, very sad.
“At this point in my life, I can’t name anything I do just because it’s fun. I love my work, but it’s work” “At this point in my life, I can’t name anything I do just because it’s fun. I love my work, but it’s work”
If anyone ever wonders what turned their parents into tired, worn out old people, this is it.
Rex, look at the picture of the broken window in the link Bomani put up. Across from the window, there’s a doorway, partially hidden from view. Now, evey dorm I’ve been in, those doors are on pnuematic (sp?) hinges, meaning they don’t stay open unless you prop them open. If it’s propped open, you know damn well the window is there and you dont run through it. Thoughts or comments?
Where to begin? It’s like that quotation that I’m probably about to butcher, it’s something like “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Although I don’t think it’s that bad (glass always half full here), I do think that we get caught up in our responsibIlities and life continues to happpen, and we reach a point where our day to day doesn’t remotely resemble what we once hoped it would. It’s interesting that you talked about fear. Fear, on some level motivates most of what we either do or don’t do in life. Fear of acceptance/rejection; of love or a lack thereof, etc. The uncomfortable thing to do is to push against the fear within the parameters that you’ve either created or been given (rambling, I know). I’m in the pushing against the fear stage.
A couple of things in previous comments.
Rex mentioned that as an architect, the windows needed to be breakable. I live in Stacy (the dorm in question, on the 2nd floor, the floor below where Keith Shawn lived and the incident occured). On the third floor, the window sill is below knee height, where as on the second floor it is at about waist height. I can’t help but think this made it easier to fall out of.
Secondly, as a resident of the dorm, I can tell you that our doors are always propped open because to close them is a fire hazard. The boys had to have known the window was there. A friend of mine who witnessed the event said that they just couldn’t stop – that Tyler (the other boy) went through first and then Keith had nothing to stop him.
Lastly, I would encourage you to pray (meditate or whatever it is that you do) for the dorm. Since Keith was an RA, most all of us at least knew his face. Even for those of us (like myself) who didn’t have the privelege of knowing him well, have been uniquely reminded that it could have been us. Our invincibility has been taken from us. The only bad decision he made was to run down a hall – heck, three nights before, the guys on my hall (myself included) were running around having a water-gun fight. Could’ve happened to any of us.
Hi Kirk. Actually, I responded to an e-mail from Bo instead of on this page, but I basically said in that e-mail what James above did. And that is that fire doors are usually propped opened in residential towers and closed automatically when an alarm goes off. Usually in a residential building, you’ll see signs posted on a door that reads “This door to remain open during the hours of #am-#pm,” or something to that effect. No doubt it was closed during the investigation to keep residents from the scene.
Also, if glass is next to a door, or goes below a certain sill height, it uses safety glass. Basically it is just tempered glass, like a car windshield, that breaks into harmless peices. You can see in the picture how it looks like a car windshield break instead of shards. But, it usually makes it tougher.
I will say this. Usually glass is broken in an emergency after repeated strikes. Not just one. I would think now, after reconsidering it, that the glass probably should have had chicken wire inside or something to make it stronger, but still offers egress in an emergency. But, there’s no telling how much force those young men hit it with.