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Chapter 3- Timmy and The Box

( Place on page 23 after para 8)

It wasn't unusual to go to school and find flowers on a classmates' desk, a sign that he or she had died. It was odd how we got used to our friends dying so young. We grieved but then life went on.

Saying so long to my school friends everyday or on the weekend wasn't like saying "See you tomorrow" or "See you  Monday" because it was entirely possible we wouldn't see each other.

Out of my taxi pals who I rode with daily, Timmy ,was easily my best friend.

Tim was a little older than the rest of us. Tall and thin, he had an infectious laugh, which he used often and loudly. Tim was so cheerful and happy. Remarkable for a kid who endured a double-whammy: Cerebral Palsy and a seizure disorder.

Tim walked but it was a challenged, as he shuffled along, braces on his legs. walking in a slow but steady sideways gait. he often suffered from such severe and violent seizures, which unpredictably occurred at any moment, Tim nearly died many times.

He always had a joke everyday. He never complained or moaned "why me?"- at least not in front of his friends. He had a bright smile, a high, shrill voice, sort of like Jerry Lewis, and a kind heart, often sympathizing with us if we weren't feeling well.

"How can you always be so damn happy?" Donny asked one morning. "Don't you ever get sad?"

"I'm always happy," Tim replied. 'I'm glad to be alive."




That was the usual banter, poor Donny, always down, trying to cope with his particular illness, annoyed by Tim's perpetual happiness yet secretly longing to be happy.



Tim was also the policeman of the cab. Since he was bigger than all of us he broke up any arguments or fights in the backseat. I always sat in the front with Joe, the driver; Tim manned the middle of the backseat.

He was like my big brother in the cab and tended to look after me, maybe because of my brittle bones or because I was the smallest guy in the cab.

Diana Ross and the Supremes were Tim's favorite music group at the time, and often, in his eternally good mood, he would sing at the top of his lungs the latest hit record of the group. "Baby Love" was his favorite, as Sy, and Donnie groaned.

Tim was a grade ahead of me, so I would only see him in the cab. He was fun and cheered everyone . As annoying as his singing could be, his cheerfulness was like a welcome breath of fresh air , a far cry from our daily routines of pain and loneliness.

His father was a former Chief of Police in town, while his mom was a housewife.We would see her  on the mornings we picked up Tim last. She would always wear  a housecoat, standing on her front porch and waving bye.

After grade school was over I lost touch with Timmy. But he would  come into my life as the years went by in unexpected places and ways.

Tim's mom was one of my residents at the nursing home . I was her social worker and would often see Tim and his father during their frequent visits. Both dressed in suits and ties, as Tim's dad always dressed impeccably. For no reason whatsoever he often brought  boxes of candy for the staff. He never complained about care, and he remained faithful to Tim's mom, never failing to visit daily.

Often Tim and I would reminisce about our schooldays. Despite circumstances, Tim remained smiling. He held a good job as a clerk at a company in the corporate center nearby. He took Paratransit to work everyday, without fail.

His spirit was tested yet again when his dad, well into mid 90s, fell ill and passed. Tim would take the Paratransit van to visit his father in the hospital  when he could.

Then years later I noticed in the local paper that Tim's only brother suddenly died. I wanted to send him a card but didn't have his address.  I heard from one of the Paratransit drivers that Tim was living in an apartment nearby, and promised  to say hello for me and exchange phone numbers.

"There's this guy who goes to the Y.M.C.A. weekly  who is always cracking jokes, despite the fact he is pretty well disabled," the driver said. "What a great attitude!"

The "guy" sounded a lot like Tim. And as it turned out, Tim had been living in an apartment complex just around the corner from me.

It was great to hear from Tim again. He  was happy to be living independently, even though both of his older sisters had asked him to reside with them after Tim's dad had died.  Tim worked hard, didn't bother anyone and was happy.

 There were steps leading to his apartment, but it was the only affordable place he could afford in town. So he struggled walking up and down those stairs several times each day, let alone trying to haul groceries upstairs. Still, he enjoyed his independence. Only one thing bothered him.

"I  feel lonely sometimes,' he confided. "Don't forget to call me sometimes."

Just as suddenly Tim's phone was disconnected. The drivers said he had moved out of town and didn't know where. Maybe he did move in with one of his sisters after all? Again we lost touch.

I went to a doctor one cold winter morning for a sinus infection and who doesn't enter the waiting room but Tim. He now had a walker. His hair was not only much grayer but thinning.

He was his jovial self as he reported to the receptionist. He didn't notice Holly or I in the waiting room, sitting on the other side of the room. I wheeled over to surprise him, and said hello as he was busily putting his insurance cards back into his wallet and filling out the usual annoying paperwork for the doctor.

:Greg! Oh, my God!" was his usual reaction when we connected after many years. He met Holly and immediately replied, "Oh, she's very attractive!"

Tim had been engaged during the time we had lost touch, to a dietary worker he had met at the nursing  home where his dad lived until the end. It was a whirlwind courtship that ended  in heartbreak. Tim still had the newspaper clipping of the engagement announcement, even though things "didn't work out."

I sure knew what it was like to have a broken heart.

"I'm sorry, Tim," I said. "You deserve to find someone nice, as I have."

"I will someday, ' he said, always optimistic, his voice cracking a bit, as if he didn't really believe what he was saying.

Tim had moved  because the step situation was becoming unbearable with his increasing difficulty to walk. And now he needed a walker to help him get around. So he moved just out of Phoenixville to a more accessible apartment.

He lost his job when his company, downsizing as is the norm these days, unexpectedly laid him off after 33 years.  He now survived on Social Security and a small pension.Still, he was happy.

"I'm doing the best I can," he said. "But I still get lonely. Call me sometime." We once again exchanged phone numbers, this time promising to really not fade away.

As when Mom had Tim over for dinner sometimes -( "It's great to get a home cooked meal for a change," he told Mom. "You get tired of microwave meals and sandwiches."). Holly and I invited Tim over. We again reminisced about schooldays, like it was yesterday.

Certain special people tend to pop in and out of our lives. I wondered why Tim  drifted in and out of my life, from being schoolkids together to now, both in the autumn of out lives. Maybe God wants it that way. Tim always coped with his challenges with a smile and an unbreakable spirit. He was, and continues to be, a shining example of courage and strength.