Robert Meyer
Magical memories of March
By Robert Meyer
March is a month of the year to which many phases are attributed. We hear of "March madness," the warning, "Beware the ides of March," the poetic line "Mad march days." In this part of the country, we hear that "March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb," referring to the big whether changes as winter yields to spring. But for me March is a time of magical memories that leave me in a state of wonderment.
It was on March 8th, 32 years ago, that I would meet a man who was to become my best friend. He was an individual who would become among the most positively influential people I had known up to the time of his passing in 2001.
It all started when I purchased a youth membership at my hometown YMCA. I met a kid from school down there named John, and after I had known him a while, he brought a big, tall fellow with him named George. George Honkomp was John's next door neighbor. George was a few years older than the rest of us who hung out together, but he had a great way of relating to younger kids and a knack for making you feel important.
Almost immediately I came to like George. He was a personable guy, he was inspiring and a positive influence, and he was generous to those who reached out to him in friendship. He gave me sound advice in improving my basketball skills, and encouraged me in my exercise routine. He began a tradition of taking a few of us out for hamburgers and chocolate malts at a local diner after we worked up an appetite playing hoops all evening. He was a man who saw friendship as among life's greatest treasures.
I was a young teen with slightly above average athletic prowess, but had fallen behind my peers in demonstrated ability. This was largely because I had a congenital defect that kept me out of contact sports for the better part of three years. I spent the Fourth of July in the hospital two consecutive years. I had just been given clearance by my doctor to begin a normal routine, and George was the overseer of my physical development, making up quickly for lost time.
But I discovered that there was a lot more to George than I had imagined. The pithy little sayings that he repeated to me during the course of our interactions, told me he had wisdom exceeding his years. I lent him my ear and full attention.
As the weather grew warmer we spent more time together, since some of the other guys pursued different interests. Our friendship blossomed under those conditions. He worked early mornings, so when I was done with school, the evening was ours. As summertime arrived there was even more time.
George had considered the opportunity to serve in the Armed Forces. Vietnam was winding down and the military was offering good benefits to volunteers. George chose to enlist in the Navy, and left for basic training shortly after his birthday in late July. If our friendship had then become lost at sea, the time I spent with him up to that point would have been enough to leave an indelible imprint on my life. But providence had other plans.
George was discharged after only a few weeks, because of an alleged "vision problem" the Navy thought was not correctable. In reality, he had a severe cold which impaired his sight, and the condition cleared up soon after he was released. His return home was no doubt a disappointment for him, but it cleared the way for us to continue on as before — until the end of the year when I moved out of town.
Ironically, our friendship continued to grow even while the some of the other friends George had known for years gradually drifted away. I would see George periodically when I came to town to visit. I looked forward to every chance I got to see him. After I finished school, I followed his example and joined the Army. We remained close even while I was absent for three years. After my discharge, I moved into a duplex with George until he got married. I served as best man.
Fast forward two decades — with many wonderful memories sandwiched in between. George and I are talking in his living room, and I begin bleeding my heart out about how his long-standing friendship has been a blessing to me. I told him that I was sorry about certain failings of mine as a friend. I said to him that he had been like a brother to me. I had been working up the courage, and looking for the proper occasion to say these things for a few years — that day effort met opportunity. I left that day believing we had reached a new zenith in our friendship.
It was a good thing I said what I did then, for I would never get another chance. A couple months later I received a call from his wife telling me that George was in critical condition after complications from a surgical procedure to repair an aneurysm. He would never fully regain consciousness.
Why do I tell this story? Some of you out there have a special friendship with someone who means as much to you as George meant to me. Tell that person how much you appreciate them today. For now, I have lost that ability. I have to settle for reminiscing about the magical memories of March.
© Robert Meyer
March is a month of the year to which many phases are attributed. We hear of "March madness," the warning, "Beware the ides of March," the poetic line "Mad march days." In this part of the country, we hear that "March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb," referring to the big whether changes as winter yields to spring. But for me March is a time of magical memories that leave me in a state of wonderment.
It was on March 8th, 32 years ago, that I would meet a man who was to become my best friend. He was an individual who would become among the most positively influential people I had known up to the time of his passing in 2001.
It all started when I purchased a youth membership at my hometown YMCA. I met a kid from school down there named John, and after I had known him a while, he brought a big, tall fellow with him named George. George Honkomp was John's next door neighbor. George was a few years older than the rest of us who hung out together, but he had a great way of relating to younger kids and a knack for making you feel important.
Almost immediately I came to like George. He was a personable guy, he was inspiring and a positive influence, and he was generous to those who reached out to him in friendship. He gave me sound advice in improving my basketball skills, and encouraged me in my exercise routine. He began a tradition of taking a few of us out for hamburgers and chocolate malts at a local diner after we worked up an appetite playing hoops all evening. He was a man who saw friendship as among life's greatest treasures.
I was a young teen with slightly above average athletic prowess, but had fallen behind my peers in demonstrated ability. This was largely because I had a congenital defect that kept me out of contact sports for the better part of three years. I spent the Fourth of July in the hospital two consecutive years. I had just been given clearance by my doctor to begin a normal routine, and George was the overseer of my physical development, making up quickly for lost time.
But I discovered that there was a lot more to George than I had imagined. The pithy little sayings that he repeated to me during the course of our interactions, told me he had wisdom exceeding his years. I lent him my ear and full attention.
As the weather grew warmer we spent more time together, since some of the other guys pursued different interests. Our friendship blossomed under those conditions. He worked early mornings, so when I was done with school, the evening was ours. As summertime arrived there was even more time.
George had considered the opportunity to serve in the Armed Forces. Vietnam was winding down and the military was offering good benefits to volunteers. George chose to enlist in the Navy, and left for basic training shortly after his birthday in late July. If our friendship had then become lost at sea, the time I spent with him up to that point would have been enough to leave an indelible imprint on my life. But providence had other plans.
George was discharged after only a few weeks, because of an alleged "vision problem" the Navy thought was not correctable. In reality, he had a severe cold which impaired his sight, and the condition cleared up soon after he was released. His return home was no doubt a disappointment for him, but it cleared the way for us to continue on as before — until the end of the year when I moved out of town.
Ironically, our friendship continued to grow even while the some of the other friends George had known for years gradually drifted away. I would see George periodically when I came to town to visit. I looked forward to every chance I got to see him. After I finished school, I followed his example and joined the Army. We remained close even while I was absent for three years. After my discharge, I moved into a duplex with George until he got married. I served as best man.
Fast forward two decades — with many wonderful memories sandwiched in between. George and I are talking in his living room, and I begin bleeding my heart out about how his long-standing friendship has been a blessing to me. I told him that I was sorry about certain failings of mine as a friend. I said to him that he had been like a brother to me. I had been working up the courage, and looking for the proper occasion to say these things for a few years — that day effort met opportunity. I left that day believing we had reached a new zenith in our friendship.
It was a good thing I said what I did then, for I would never get another chance. A couple months later I received a call from his wife telling me that George was in critical condition after complications from a surgical procedure to repair an aneurysm. He would never fully regain consciousness.
Why do I tell this story? Some of you out there have a special friendship with someone who means as much to you as George meant to me. Tell that person how much you appreciate them today. For now, I have lost that ability. I have to settle for reminiscing about the magical memories of March.
© Robert Meyer
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