We are always the same age inside.
Unknown

Timeline: Monday, 23 April 2018 11:33h
Growing up we have our Best Friends. And they are the Best. But there’s always change along the way. It’s most pronounced when we are younger.
Early on there’s two categories: Neighborhood Friends, and School Friends.
In our version of 1970’s Peekskill we had several distinct neighborhoods (the Knolls, the Village, the Lake(s), the Hill, Tamarack, Westbrook, etc.); three (public) elementary schools (Lincoln Titus, Van Cort, and George Washington); and two junior highs (Lakeland Middle and Put Valley). Then we all melded (collided?) at Walter Panas High.
And all along the way Friendships formed-up, dissolved, re-formed…but they never really ended. For friendship, real Friendship is a lasting bond, something that transcends time and place.
My first Best Friend was Paul DePaoli. He was a Neighborhood Friend. Our dads both worked at IBM, and Mrs. D brought over a Bundt cake on our move-in day. Paul and I were the same age—5, and boom—off we went. One time Willet Denike had us wrestle on his front lawn. We were probably seven. Paul got on top of me and beat the living bejeezus out of me. He was just doing what came natural to him: Paul could always fight. I learned then and there that I could not. Willett loved the whole episode; I was profoundly disappointed and confused.
My next Best Friend was Tommy Scordato. He was a School Friend. We met my first day of kindergarten. He rescued me, the classic story of the new kid saved by the veteran. We drew dinosaurs and talked and laughed like there was no tomorrow. And there wasn’t: there was always only the moment with Tommy: a glorious, funny, happy moment.
My neighborhood was Crazy Town, kid-wise. There seemed to be 30 or 40 of us roaming the cul-de-sacs and woods and yards and streets. For me, it was all about sports—with one notable exception: Jeff Maguire. Jeff’s family lived in our ‘hood when it was still scrub woods and dirt roads. Every house that was built (and there were many) was an encroachment to the Maguires, an invasion of foreigners. They were like the Algonquins, and we the marauding pale-faces who wrecked their hunting grounds. Jeff smoked cigarettes at 10 and taught me how to build a campfire and clean fish. We played army all day long, and went bowling or to the movies on rainy days. His favorite movie was To Hell and Back.
Next up: Eddie Cancelleri. He moved up from the Bronx when I was about 10. Tough and so athletic, he was like an older brother to me. We played every sport under the sun, sometimes inventing them along the way (“LaCrockey” = hockey + lacrosse, was a favorite). As time went on we explored curse-words, and girls, and beer, and all the rest together. Once he let me tag along with him to a party (I was in 8th grade; he was in 10th); it was at Glenn Picone’s house in Lake Mohegan. Things were never the same after that.
Middle School, eighth grade: Kenny DaRos, and Mike “Rocky” Perelle. It was an instant, deep bond (at least for me.) We knew we would soon be on the football field together, fighting for points, and each other. We talked about it incessantly. Then we lived it.
High School Part One: Kenny Dahl and Farley King. The neighborhood is now getting left behind; the horizon expands. At first I was surprised Farley and Kenny even knew my name. Popular with all, studs on and off the field, they had a sense-of-self and a natural confidence that I never caught up to. But damn, we had some fun.
High School Part Deux: Danny Arnold, and Andy Ward. Danny and Andy always made me feel normal, at a time when I often didn’t. We shared a similar perspective, and sense of humor, and experience. They brought me into the orbit of Lips and Ze. And things began to get interesting….
High School Part Three: Eddie Reilly, and Scott Klarer. Riles and Neck, we just rolled from day one. The first party I went to with them, we climbed up this mountain somewhere in the dark heart of Put Valley. The path was vertical. I was dressed for meeting girls and I should have been dressed for rappelling. There were about 10 of us scrambling hand-over-foot in the pitch dark. One kid, all by himself (I think his name was Tommy Esposito), was carrying a keg, on his back. By himself, straight up this mountain. I could barely carry the comb in my back pocket up that thing. And I’m thinking: who the #@%$# are these guys…?
And there’s more to say, so much more—but I’m sitting here thinking about high school (again) when I should be working, so I gotta hurry this up….
One more thing. What’s interesting is that throughout that whole period, that Lifetime, the same Friends were always involved, and around, directly or indirectly. Paul was there from beginning to end. I would see him in the hallway and—boom—it only required a look and a nod. It was Understood. Likewise Tommy—we played all of our high school ball together, and the bond created at our kindergarten table drawing dinosaurs never, ever waned or wavered. While I was running with Farley and Kenny, I would still look for Jeff in the ‘hood and I could find him, mowing his lawn. If I indulged my darker side with Riles and Neck, DaRos and Rocky showed me (by example) what I really needed to do, and who I really needed to be. And I still appreciate that.
To this day I think of Eddie Cancelleri like an older brother.  I haven’t seen him since 1977. Don’t matter.
As I said, real Friendship never really ends. It cannot die. It is part of our memory—our Soul as it were—and therefore permanent, no matter the storms, and the peaks and troughs, we all must weather along the Way.