Sharon

My son Dylan wanted to stay overnight at a friend’s house last week. We packed him up and were about to leave when we discovered he’d left his house keys at his mother’s house.

The next day was Monday. He was off school for spring break. Valerie and I had to work and wouldn’t be home to let him in. I told him he couldn’t go. He was very disappointed.

I told him this was a lesson in responsibility. Maybe next time he’d remember his keys. He grew more disappointed. I’ve always been bad about discipline so I started trying to find a solution to our dilemma.

Then I remembered I’d given keys to my friend Sharon. She orchestrated the home end of our surprise party for Valerie while we went to a restaurant so she had a set.

Dylan’s sleepover was saved. As we drove to her house it came up that I had keys to Sharon’s place too. Dylan asked, “If we have keys to each other’s homes, doesn’t that make us family?” It occurred to me that Sharon really was family. Dylan told me he’d always thought of Sharon as an aunt.

I’ve been really lucky with friends. I have several best friends and confidants. Sharon is one of the most important people in my life. She’s picked up my shattered pieces and put me back together several times.

She was born an army brat in Germany. Her dad was so macho he survived skydiving, in Hawaii I believe, pretty much without a parachute. I think her childhood gave her a slightly different slant on the human condition. She has an incredibly objective world view but lives her life in the moment. She’s superstitious, ritualistic but still tolerant of everyone.

She loves any kind of counter culture. I’ve seen her holding court in gay bars, blues clubs, and youth raves before they were called raves. I’ve had adventures with her that I doubt she’ll ever give me permission to recount.

I worked at The Oyster Bar for a year before we met. This was before it became a popular music venue. Our customers were railroad and barge employees. They treated me like a little effeminate twit. We had river rats that were larger than most cats.

My first job there was cleaning up after closing. I’d sleep there and was so afraid of the rats I’d sleep on a table.

My girl friend I had been living with moved to Milwaukee to join a theater group. I was alone and felt like I’d just moved to a new town. I didn’t know anyone. I have a habit of getting very close to people for a couple of years then moving into an entirely new group. Sharon took me in, hooked me up with our friend Nancy – I wrote about her earlier. She made sure I was taken care of. She delighted in my emotionally volatile adventures.

Sharon was with me when I had my last spectacular seizure in the middle of the dance floor at Faces “East Side”. She must have been upstairs at the drag show because I don’t remember her face when I came around. This was in the 80s and it’s a good thing they stopped before my skydiving career.

There was a big flood before the flood of 93. We were out partying ‘til dawn at the riverfront. I’ll never forget Sharon walking down the street and falling right into the river. Far from being upset she couldn’t control her laughter.

We spent a lot of evenings after the bar closed in the parking lot shooting off fireworks. She always found the best.

Somehow through all of this she raised her daughter. I learned a lot about parental patience from her. People who see me lose my cool should try to imagine how bad I could have been.

There’s no way to tell the whole story here but I have to start somewhere. There will be more.

Pic of Sharon after we just arrived in Canada. This is a parking lot at Niagara Falls.