Before I can explain poor Graham’s consternation in the dramatic change he saw in me – I have to provide a little background to the circumstances he initially met me in…
Graham met me in my sophomore and junior years in college when I was probably as buff as I’ve ever been, and, sporting my Grizzly Adams look – so to this special forces sniper – with long, scraggly hair and muscles galore – I must have looked like quite a kindred spirit. After all, South African males aren’t a whole lot different from Aussie males, and if you know anything about the Aussie male stereotype – you’ll know that sports, physique and alcohol consumption are imperatives for stepping into the social world (although my sister showed me a family photograph just last week from this time period – and I didn’t look nearly as buff as my memory cast me).
Anyway, South African males (like Aussie males) can’t rest on their laurels – you need to go out on a fairly regular basis and demonstrate that you can still compete with the best-of-them, in whatever arena you find yourself: whether it’s sports, physical health, and, well, drinking. So, even though my last year of swimming was in 1979 – and I tried my best to maintain that swimming body, 5 years of indolence (with a smattering of surfing beginning again in 1984) didn’t really do the job. I had atrophied, plain-and-simple.
But entering the job market in 1978 and ’79 also put a crimp on my very long hair and beard…I was shorn and sporting a moustache. In fact, Graham asked me if California had turned me gay (or, ‘queer’ as members of the British empire like to put it). I assured Graham that I hadn’t – but I still felt ashamed that I had grown so “small” in his eyes – when once upon a time I had apparently been a figure that he considered “equal to him.”
This revelation, and the accompanying shame, left me mulling over just what parts of me I had sacrificed for many years (actually up-to-a-couple-of-weeks-ago). Sure, I could blame it on having a Mafioso father-in-law, who kicked my ass in the divorce (but didn’t kill me – so thanks for that). And I guess that plunging into the rock-and-roll world contributed to that shrinkage of muscle mass. Or, going to conservative, Kalamazoo College probably didn’t help, either – there I was with my deconstructive analyses and constructivist outlook in a place that favored “shop rules.” Oh! How I see the parallels in the destruction of Detroit. Old Roommate, Big T asked if I was going for our 30th class reunion, and I said, “No way!” I find the whole State, and the whole Midwest for that matter, exceedingly depressing – no matter what Jeff Daniels says.
But, mostly, I guess I lost that dream that I had for many years — that dream that Tennyson articulated so well in his “Idylls of the King,”when he wrote how “…each new day brought forth a new and noble knight.”
So, I guess Graham was right – I did shrink a few sizes, and gave up on butt kicking – because it’s difficult to sustain one’s energy for such things over a lifetime. Heck! Even your average criminal tires of a life of crime by age 30.
But every day, and every way I’m growing more comfortable in this Stephen Scheff skin!