
This week’s member submission is from Don Travis Bradshaw.
“Eighty percent of success is showing up.” - Woody Allen
I loved Fritz. He was the only friend I ever had in High School. Popularity evaded me - much like George Bush’s poll numbers during his last years. However, Fritz was popular. He was outgoing, good at sports, and the girls loved him. On the other hand, guess who was the complete opposite? Me..but much, much cuter!
Team sports were like kryptonite to me. Vomiting and disappearing were my forte. Yes, I would get dressed for gym class and run out with the others for roll call. When the games began, it was my cue to edge oh so quietly into the locker room and sit for an hour. Nobody missed me, nor did they care. Many times I thought to myself, “Should I be relieved or devastated?” “Relieved,” was always my conclusion. Having a best friend trumped this insult every time. And he lived in my neighborhood, too.
Fritz told me at the beginning of our friendship that we couldn’t hang out at school because people would think he was a fag.
I asked him, “Why do you want to be my friend then?”
“Because you don’t do drugs like all the others in our neighborhood,” he replied. “And I need someone to do stuff with me. I’ve seen you running and bicycling. I like to bicycle across town to meet girls at the other high shool. You can tag along and maybe you’ll get lucky cause no one knows you there.”
He said that in a friendly, joking type way, and so an awesome friendship developed. Sometimes desperation can make one do humiliating things. But I wanted a friend. We did everything together - the malls, the movies, bicycling across town, meeting girls. My self-esteem and confidence began to take hold. As did my crush on Fritz.
The last year of high school there was an open call for cross country running. With all the bicycling I was doing, I thought this would be a good chance to show the coach and the bullies what capabilities were growing inside of me. It was the last year, so what did I have to lose. I ran and bicycled almost everyday.
Fritz decided to join me. But we made a pact that if one lagged behind then the other would slow down and wait for the other to catch up. I thought this was cool, because I’d at least cross the finish line with my friend. Deep inside I kind of knew I’d be the lagger, but at least I was going to try. But deep inside, it was a no brainer that Fritz would not fall behind for me. He was too competitive.
The day of the tryouts Fritz and I started out slowly when the coach said “Go!” Everyone else seemed to barrell out of the gate like some racing horses on a track. It made me a little anxious, but it was evident that they would tire out on this two mile run. And I was right! Out of 25 I was moving towards the front of the pack as if my life depended on it. I was so focused, Fritz didn’t even cross my mind. The coach was yelling MY NAME, nudging me on! Ah, the rush!
I was in fifth place coming around the last stretch, when I heard Fritz screaming out my name. I stopped and turned around. “Donnie, I fell. I think I sprained my ankle!” At the same time the coach yelled at me just stupified as I ran the opposite direction to help my friend. I really didn’t care. I reached out my hand and pulled him up. Once he was on his feet he said in a jovial jock-like manner, “Sucker!” and took off running. I was kind of dumbstruck and had lost all momentum. I came in dead last. The coach just shook his head at me…no words. Fritz and some others laughed at me, called me names that I was quite familiar with, but not so much from Fritz. I just walked to my car in tears. I never spoke to Fritz again.
It took me a while, but I began to see things in a different perspective. Sure I was disappointed in myself and thought my actions were…well, lets say on the weird side. But, I did show up, and the coach and others saw that I had what it took to be a good runner. I realized that too. I proved that I could run with the best of them, and even more importantly to me, I proved my loyalty to a “friend.”
In the end, success is not so black and white. Neither is love. It’s subjective. I love that. My only wish is that more people understood.
Submitted by Don Travis Bradshaw
Thanks Don and don’t forget to submit your own stories here!