As I was out in the world my faith in others grew. I would always encounter a certain amount of prejudice but generally people were kind. Often students on campus would hold doors for me or even offered to push my chair. I learned to graciously accept assistance. I wanted to be as independent as possible but learned that it was OK to accept help. When I refused often students would seem disappointed, so their assistance was almost as much for them as it was for me.
It was an advantage to be an older returning student. I was twenty-eight when I started college. I was there for a purpose. Making friends was cool but I remembered that I was there for a reason not just to party. But that doesn't mean I passed on fun when it came my way.
Another twist occurred, one I never expected: Willie quit school. He said he was having "problems", physical in nature but he didn't elaborate. Instead of taking a semester off he dropped out completely.
He was the one who encouraged me to go for my degree. He was my role model, the guy I aspired to be. Why he quit, I didn't know. Yet I hung in there.
I learned from friends that Willie had lost his way again and was back to his old ways, drinking and doing drugs. spending time in jail. I lost a friend but also my ride back and forth to school.
I put an ad on the bulletin board at school. hoping for a miracle. Good-hearted Mom started driving me, 45 minutes each way. She sacrificed a lot, getting up early, driving in bad weather, picking me up late at night. She didn't seem to mind but I prayed that an answer would come.
It was then I met an angel named Lori. She was also majoring in Social Work. Also an older returning student, a single mother of two kids, she had her own unique story. Divorced, on welfare at one time, now working two jobs and going to school. An independent, free spirit raised in California, she was fun and refreshing with her open attitude. We became good friends. No romance, no crushes. She was more like an older sister to me,
I admired her a great deal. She had a lot of guts and, in her own way, was a survivor too.
Since she was taking the same classes I was, she saw my flyer seeking a ride and asked if I wanted to carpool with her. She offered to go out of her way to pick me up at home but claimed she didn't mind. She needed the company and the friendship.
Mom met her and trusted her instantly, maybe because Lori was in her 40s and a mother too. She knew what she wanted in life and what she didn' want. t She smoked in the car, we laughed a lot, and we would quiz each other on the way to school before a big test. We motivated each other, admiring each others' strength.
We would carpool together for the next four years, always friends. Lori would move to Vermont after graduation but I would never forget her kindness and her determination.
So the 80s were my coming out era. I was in school, making new friends, and my bones had stopped breaking so easily. Life was getting better. Then another special person entered my world, changing my life yet again.
Barry Manilow would play a big part in my life in the years ahead. Bobby Rydell would always be special to me, one source that helped me through the dark times as a kid. Now Manilow's music was doing the same thing.
Manilow came along in the 70s, the same time my life was a confusing mess. Dad had died, I was still fracturing at an alarming rate, and I had failed at Penn. Barry's music both inspired me and cheered me when I needed it most of all. He was singing about not giving up, emotional ballads like "All The Time" and" I Made It Through The Rain"' I could relate to the music and the lyrics because I was living many of those same emotions.
So I became a fan. Maybe it wasn't cool for a guy to like Manilow's music but I didn't care.
The fan club started a pen pal program during the summer of 1984. I applied, not knowing what to expect. The goal was to match fans from all over the world and share in the music. Even strangers from different lands had the music in common.
Going to concerts ( my first was at Resorts in Atlantic City, seated in Row Z, the very back of the theater). I had met many nice fellow fans, some local and others from across the country. The pen pal would be a different experience.
I had a pretty good idea what my pen pal may be like; female, since most Manilow fans were female; sensitive , since that is what Manilow's music was like, and hopefully able to correspond in English. Otherwise I was pretty much in the dark as to who would be matched up to me.
Little did I know but a young woman, twenty-five to be exact, from Oslo, Norway was seeking a pen pal too. She was single, attractive ( blond hair and blue eyes) a second year law student. Her name was Jill.
Jill had been a Manilow fan since the early 80s, when she heard the early hits like "Mandy" on Armed Forces radio. She loved his music and scoured the stores in Oslo for any Manilow albums she could find. Imported albums were not easy to find back then. But what solidified her devotion was seeing Manilow in concert when he came to Oslo in 1983. She had middle row seats near the stage, the first person in line for tickets. Of course, there were only two people in line, and the other one was an American.
After that she joined the fan club and the rest was history. She wrote for a pen pal on a whim and the fan club matched us. They did a pretty good job- both around the same age, both in school, both originally from small towns, both die-hard fans.
We were both fans who not only listened to the music and went to concerts, we taped every Manilow performance we could find on TV, saved newspaper columns and reviews, and appreciated the album cuts, not just the hits.
With my second year of college about to begin I almost forgot I had written for a pen pal. I heard nothing from the fan club in quite a while until a letter arrived in early November. They had matched me with Jill. Now it was up to me to contact her. Good luck and have fun, the letter ended.
I didn't know much about Norway, although I wasn't quite the typical American who thinks Norway is the capitol of Sweden. When I stared at her name and address I almost didn't write her. I don't know why I was afraid to reach out to her, but I was. The idea was stupid, writing to a complete stranger in a foreign country. Maybe I shouldn't.
Then that little voice inside told me to take a chance and do it. Most often that voice was right. It's only a pen pal. What have I got to lose?
No comments:
Post a Comment