I met my best friend Mark in 1966, through a mutual friend at school. We went to different schools together; he was a grade ahead of me. We were inseparable for 10 years and had a great time together. He was (and is) a very interesting guy. He’s one of those natural artists, he can draw or paint anything. He was an expert model builder. Many, many times I sat with him in his bedroom, listening to the radio or records or 8-tracks while he built cars and trucks and planes and ships… and painted each one meticulously, and put on decals. We built go-karts together. We entered one in the local Canada Day parade on July 1, 1967, all decorated in a Centennial theme, and won a prize. We went camping together. We spent a couple of years as Air Cadets. My old man was a lieutenant in Cadets, and after the weekly meeting, he’d go drink at the Air Force club with the guys. Mark and I would hang out in the adjacent empty ballroom, where he would watch and I would play the piano for hours. We discovered smoking and drinking together. We discovered a lot of music together, and bought a lot of records. One time, we rode our bikes to the nearest city, 26 miles, then all over the city, and then back, in the same day. I had a crush on his sister Margaret, but nothing ever came of it. When she saw me coming up the street, she’d put on a Donny Osmond record and blast it out the windows, because she knew I hated Donny Osmond. (Still do.)
In 1976 my family split up, and he was pretty serious about his girlfriend. We went our separate ways, and he married her. I didn’t see him for some years, but we hooked up and it was like old times. Then back to long periods of separation. In the late '80s we met again. He was a long-distance truck driver, and had been all over North America, several times. It ended up costing him his marriage. So he moved back to the same town where we grew up, to be near his kids. We kept in fairly regular touch once he was off the road. In a relatively short period of time, Mark lost his mother, and then his youngest sister died in a fire, living alone 2000 miles away. I was able to attend Nancy’s funeral, for which I am glad. And then he hit some power lines in his ultralight plane and flipped over, injuring himself quite seriously.
In 1997, when my wife-to-be came to visit me from the US, I introduced her to Mark, and they got along instantly. When I married in 1998, he drove his transport truck 1200 miles, with all my worldly possessions in it, to be my best man. There, he met my in-laws and got to be good friends with my father-in-law. He has been down several times in the last 6 years to visit us while on a transport run.
We used to fight like cats and dogs, but we never had a serious argument. He’s been my best friend going on 38 years, and time and distance haven’t done anything to diminish our friendship. I talked to him on Christmas, and it looks like he’s getting married again. So I’m happy for him. We spent a minute on the phone marveling about how long we’d known each other, and agreed that wherever life takes you, and whatever happens, you know who your real friends are.
I’m going to send him a copy of this text tomorrow.