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More on Friendship 3: Mush, where are
you?
Each gender of course, has its idiosyncrasies at
various ages. Many people believe that teenagers of
any age or gender cease, for the most part, to be
human for the greater part of that stage of life.
They seem to take on some unrecognizable form that
only the likes of Steven Spielberg are able to deal
with. Male children between the ages of ten and
thirteen are, however, distinctly unique in the way
in which they view the world. Such was the case
with me and Mush.
Martin, or Mush as he was painfully but
universally known, was my friend. The moniker came
as an aberration of his Hebrew name "Moisha" and
the fact that he carried substantially more weight
than was appropriate for his frame...actually, he
was fat. We contrasted dramatically. I was probably
ten inches taller and weighed half as much; he was
quite religious and I couldn't spell the word; he
was very athletic and I always grabbed the fat end
of the bat. But we were friends anyway. It was at
eleven that I got my first pair of glasses, and
when I first met Mush. Today, we'd be a classic,
nerd twosome in the tradition of Laurel and Hardy
and Abbot and Costello, and people would want to
invest huge sums of money in us, but then we were
just a couple of lonely kids. But we did great
things for our country.
The Korean War was in the news regularly, so
being slightly underage, we decided to do our part
and join the Civil Air Patrol. Joining was a bit of
a drag because we wanted guns and ammo and
walkie-talkies, but all we got was a little card
for our wallets. But never mind. We went down to
the local Army-Navy surplus store and bedecked
ourselves in white M.P. belts and canteens, and
those little white, round WWII Navy sailor caps
upon whose vertical sides we laboriously hand
lettered "CIVIL AIR PATROL". A significant part of
me wants to go hide even now as I realize we
actually went to school with those get-ups on. We
thought everyone would be insanely jealous, and
girls would just love us. No wonder we were always
getting beat up.
The amazing thing was, we couldn't figure it out
then. Mush and I were inseparable for two years. We
did our homework together. We sipped cherry cokes
at the fountain in the local drug store, arguing
about what next year's new cars would look like. We
looked at dirty magazines whenever we could find
them. We discovered our sexuality together. We
sought the wondrous secrets hidden beneath girls'
sweaters together and spent endless hours pondering
them.
One of the reasons I became friends with Mush in
the first place was that they had one of the few TV
sets in the neighborhood. In the early days of TV,
wrestling was a big attraction...guess it still is
We watched wrestling on TV with his mother, who was
a world authority on the subject and never missed a
match. She even took us downtown to watch it live
at the Knights of Columbus Hall from time to time.
She was also very overweight and the first woman I
had ever known with a mustache. Mush's Mom was also
one of those delightfully entertaining people who
could vicariously experience the pain of the
wrestlers. Every move, every slam, every twist was
her own. She vocalized it in perfect
synchronization so as to cause windows to shake and
shutters to slam shut and, no doubt, neighbors to
move.
I don't remember much about Mush's Dad. I think
he prayed a lot and the only time I ever saw him
was watching the wrestling.
Anyway, after the eighth grade, Mush went to
Hebrew High to become a Rabbi, and I went on to
Central High to become confused. I don't know how
successful Mush was, but I sure did create my goal.
I never saw Mush again. Some time after high school
started, he moved and I moved and we lost track. In
those days people didn't move like we do today.
Even if someone moved a few blocks away or across
town, it was like moving to another country, and we
separated ways.
By the time my own boys hit seven or eight, they
delighted in hearing stories about my youth. I
guess that's pretty normal. In many ways, dads are
very much anomalies to their kids, and it helps a
boy develop his sense of relationship to Dad and to
himself to hear that Dad was once the same as he
is. I always tried to tell them stories that
happened to me at whatever age they were at the
time. That process, in fact, had a lot to do with
my developing an appreciation for the art of story
telling. The day came eventually when Mush came
into my mind during one of these story sessions.
The name "Mush" so impressed my boys that they
never let me forget him again. Every so often as
they grew older, if I had a problem, one or other
of them would say something like, "Well, what would
Mush do?", or " Why don't you call Mush?" and then
roll on the floor in belly-busting laughter. They
seemed to like the idea of Mush, and I guess each
created his own image of him.
All of this, eventually, brings me to a point. I
recently read a book about the life of one of
America's great millionaires. A man who built
incredible monuments in great cities, and was on a
first-name basis with all the political officials,
mayors, governors, presidents. He built a great
hotel in New York City and lived on five floors of
it, they say. But he is also described as a
friendless man. One who would come home in the wee
hours of the morning and sit alone, his wife in a
separate bedroom, with only his money to count. I
am not against wealth. As others have said, I have
been poor and I have been rich and rich is
definitely better. But I can't help think, as
strange a friendship as Mush and I had, it was
something to be treasured. I feel deep concern for
a man who has dedicated his life to money, but has
not a single fat little kid for a friend. As men, I
think we hunger at deep levels for intimacy with
other men, for a male friend to cry with, to
exorcize our fears and troubles to another man who
will not judge us, but will simply listen and tell
us it's O.K.
It's been nearly half a century years since I
last saw Mush, but our friendship lives on in the
depths of my memory. That memory is behind my
appreciation of all those men I can today, call my
friends and those who have been in my life over the
years.
If there is a meaning of any kind to life,
perhaps it is in the friendships we make along the
way. Mush, if you're out there anywhere, I hope you
remember too.
© 2008, Kenneth F.
Byers
Other Transition Issues,
Books
* * *
A permanent state of transition is man's most
noble condition. - Juan Ramon Jimenez
Ken Byers
holds a Ph.D. in psychology with an emphasis in
Men's Studies, one of the few ever awarded in the
U.S. Ken is a full time Certified Professional Life
Coach specializing in working with men in any form
of transition and an instructor of design at San
Francisco State University.
His books, "Man
In Transition" and
"Who
Was That Masked man
Anyway" are widely
acknowledged as primers for men seeking deeper
knowledge of creating awareness and understanding
of the masculine way. More information on Ken, his
work and/or subscription information to the weekly
"Spirit Coach" newsletter which deals with elements
of the human spirit in short commentary, check the
box at www.etropolis.com/coachken/
or www.etropolis.com/coachken/what.htm
or www.etropolis.com/coachken/speak.htm
or E-Mail
You are welcome to share any of Ken's columns with
anyone without fee from or to him but please credit
to the author. Ken can be reached at:
415.239.6929.
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