31 comments

Friendship African American Creative Nonfiction

Andre was my best friend in the summer of 1982. I met him at the YMCA summer camp held at White Plains High School in Westchester County, New York when I was 13 years old. He was black and I was white. We became fast friends. We rode together on the bus every day and we shared our lunch and we played dodgeball and sometimes we stood up to the bullies together. We didn't always win, and sometimes we left bloody, but we always stood together.


If you fought Andre, you were definitely gonna fight me too, and vice versa. He was skinny and lanky but he was tough. He could throw a punch, and he could take one too. He was quick. (He had three older brothers and a father who drank heavily and got angry. They weren't very well off.) I knew how to throw a pretty hard overhand right and a sneaky left uppercut. At any given time at least one of us usually had a black eye, bruised knuckles and scabs on our forearms and knees. We didn't back down much. It mostly depended on the numbers, but kids just kinda stopped fucking with us after a while. There were easier targets out there. (And even if you had the numbers today, we might catch you alone tomorrow or the next day. Payback time.)


I didn't live in White Plains, but when school let out for summer down in the Bronx, I spent most of my time up there in suburban Westchester at my grandparent's house. My father was just some scumbag who left before I turned two years old and I never knew him. My mother worked at IBM full time, so when school was out it was just more practical for me to be there, I guess. I liked it up there. There were trees. I had a BMX bike and a skateboard.


My grandparents lived in a "mixed neighborhood" - that was what they called it then - a short walking distance from the housing projects. Today they might say "diverse", I guess. Back then, I didn't know the difference and I didn't care. I went to school with kids who were Black and Puerto Rican and Dominican and Italian and Jewish and Armenian and a dozen other things. It just didn't even occur to me that any of it mattered. I was in the minority anyway. There weren't a whole lot of Catholic white kids, but it didn't matter. We were all just kids.


Anyway, the day I truly learned about racism (I had heard some stupid jokes, of course) was the day that I invited my friend Andre back to my grandparent's house after we got off the bus coming back from YMCA summer camp. I remember it was like 95 degrees that day. He only lived about five blocks away, but it was on the other side of Soundview Avenue, and when I grew older I learned that was the dividing line. The line between black and white in that neighborhood. I didn't know there was one. We didn't have one down where I lived. We all just kinda lived together.


Everything was cool at first when we got to the house. Me and Andre had some iced tea and my grandmother gave us some popsicles. She was fine with him and really nice to him actually but when my grandfather's car pulled into the driveway she suddenly had a worried look on her face and told us to go play out in the backyard.


I remember me and Andre were wrestling and laughing out there, him in his old hand-me-down New York Knicks jersey, when my grandfather walked up and just stood there on the lawn with his hands on his hips, staring at us silently. Eventually we stopped grappling.


"Tommy, who's your new friend here?" He looked unhappy. I didn't know why.


"Oh, this is Andre. He lives right up the street, right by the church. We go to camp together." I was sweating. Andre was basically kicking my ass. He was tough for such a skinny kid. Really scrappy.


"Tommy, I need to talk to you inside. Your friend can wait here." He never even looked at him. I followed him into the house.


My grandmother quickly found a reason to be somewhere else and there in the kitchen I received an odd lecture about who I was and was not supposed to be friends with. Andre was definitely out. My Jewish friend Scott from just down the block was also out. The white kids who I went to church with on Sunday mornings were okay. (Except for that kid Kenny who was rejected from being an altar boy for some unknown cause. That kid was a problem case and not to be associated with.)


"Grandpa, I don't understand. There aint no difference. There just aint no difference between him and me. I don't understand?"


My grandfather pointed at the back door and told me I had to tell Andre to leave now. I told him we wanted to watch the Knicks game together. He said no.


I left through the back door and then me and Andre went back to his house and watched the Knicks game there. His brothers picked on me a little bit and his father was silent and brooding the whole time, sitting in his reclining chair drinking one can of beer after another, but I didn't really care. I always liked Andre's dog, a brindle pit bull named Bruce. He was playful and tough and I liked to fight with him. (When me and Andre were walking Bruce together we could go wherever the fuck we wanted and no one would mess with us. Bruce was terrifying if he didn't know you.) Plus, we got pizza from Magnotta's just down the street that day. Best pizzeria in the neighborhood, and the Knicks beat the Pacers by 14 points!


I am old enough now to know that my grandfather was wrong.


Andre went to law school and later became the District Attorney in the city where he lives in Westchester County, and after that he started his own law firm. He has a beautiful family with two daughters who graduated from prestigious universities and a son who served two tours of duty in Iraq with the US Marine Corps and earned a Purple Heart.


We live three thousand miles away from one another now, but we still talk by phone about once every week or two. We still have a lot in common. I'm a bit more outlaw and he's a bit more sheriff but we're both still close friends (and we're definitely both still fans of the NY Knicks). Our bond is unbreakable. I know that someday I will be crying at his funeral, or he will be at mine. Time will tell.


My grandfather was wrong. There aint no difference.


There just aint no difference.


THE END


November 09, 2024 07:20

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31 comments

John Rutherford
08:48 Nov 21, 2024

You capture the true essence of friendship eclipsing race. A defining moment in so many ways. Good read, thanks for sharing.

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Thomas Wetzel
21:05 Nov 21, 2024

Thanks, John! I appreciate you taking the time to read this.

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Robert Egan
23:39 Nov 19, 2024

Thoroughly enjoyed your story, and I appreciated how it smoothly transitioned to still hanging out with Andre without a second thought for grandpa's backward ways.

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Thomas Wetzel
00:29 Nov 20, 2024

Thank you so much, Robert. I almost never write non-fiction but I thought this was a story worth telling. I'm glad you liked it and I hope you are well.

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Shirley Medhurst
21:55 Nov 18, 2024

I’m so glad the two of you were able to rise above it all and keep in touch. That’s definitely heartwarming 🥰 I remember my dad forbidding a teenaged me to continue seeing a black boy I had fallen in love with back in the late 70s (still managed to carry on in secret though. Where there’s a will, there’s a way🤣)

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Thomas Wetzel
23:38 Nov 18, 2024

That sucks, but at the end of the day you have to be true to yourself. Hope you are well, Shirley.

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Shirley Medhurst
07:48 Nov 19, 2024

Yep very true 👍 (All’s great thanks, hope all’s good with you too)

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Kay Smith
22:51 Nov 17, 2024

"We were all just kids." I miss those days! *standing ovation* Fantastic storytelling!

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Thomas Wetzel
04:36 Nov 18, 2024

Thank you so much, Kay. I appreciate your time and your compliments.

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Carol Stewart
05:46 Nov 17, 2024

Ah sad that your grandfather wasn't accepting of your friend, prejudice brought on by fear of the unknown or what others might think. Fantastic how the pair of you kept in touch though. Great story!

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Thomas Wetzel
06:31 Nov 17, 2024

Thank you, Carol. I greatly appreciate your compliments. You are very kind.

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Ghost Writer
18:16 Nov 16, 2024

Strange how racism has to be taught. It's not a natural thing we are born with. I too remember having minority friends as a kid, not knowing any difference until it was pointed out. I too learned the older generation was wrong. Great read Thomas.

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Thomas Wetzel
23:56 Nov 16, 2024

Exactly. It is a learned behavior. It's not natural. Thank you for your kind words.

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Beth Jackson
17:56 Nov 16, 2024

Oh wow, thank you for sharing, Thomas! Gosh, this story is heartbreaking and eye opening! What a brave young man you were to stand up and do the right thing. Beautiful story. :-)

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Thomas Wetzel
21:21 Nov 16, 2024

Thank you so much. I wouldn't really call it brave though. Andre was my best friend. I wasn't going to just turn my back on him. It was never even an option.

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Mary Butler
16:22 Nov 16, 2024

Your story is a powerful and heartfelt reflection on friendship, resilience, and the deeply ingrained biases that shape our world. The way you weave your childhood innocence, the harsh awakening to racism, and the enduring strength of your bond with Andre is both moving and thought-provoking. Your narrative captures the complexity of navigating prejudice as a young person while highlighting the unifying power of shared experiences and loyalty. It’s a testament to how relationships can transcend societal barriers and leave a lasting impact on...

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Thomas Wetzel
00:34 Nov 17, 2024

Thank you so much for your kudos, Mary! I really appreciate it. I don't usually write nonfiction but that's what this week's prompts call for and this was an unforgettable experience from my childhood. Not trying to get all politically correct here, it was just a memorable experience.   Also, don't feel too bad for us. We were definitely juvenile delinquents. You have no idea how much graffiti we spray-painted around town. (I've never had any artistic talent but Andre was pretty good. I was usually the lookout.)

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Keba Ghardt
12:19 Nov 15, 2024

I feel you, dude, I went to the DC Metro YMCA, and we had to figure out whose parents were safe to be around. Good thing you're stronger than what your folks are afraid of

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Thomas Wetzel
03:40 Nov 16, 2024

I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks I really need you tonight Forever's gonna start tonight Forever's gonna start tonight...

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Thomas Wetzel
08:59 Nov 16, 2024

Dude, when I bust out "Total Eclipse of the Heart" lyrics, you know it's serious love. Just fucking with you, man. I like you. Hope you are happy and well.

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Keba Ghardt
11:26 Nov 16, 2024

You make me smile, bud; keep being you

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Thomas Wetzel
05:52 Nov 18, 2024

I mostly listen to punk rock, and I categorize that as a punk rock song. It's really badass.

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Kristi Gott
06:51 Nov 14, 2024

Powerfully written story, with strong impact! The writing draws the reader into sharing the world of the main character's experiences, feelings and thoughts. The author's voice comes through well in this story that stirs the heart and soul. Very well told, well written. Excellent!

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Thomas Wetzel
08:12 Nov 14, 2024

Thank you so much, Kristi. I really appreciate your kudos. I think we all have these seminal moments in our childhood where we are fist exposed to the harsh realities of the real world in one way or another. I remember this one with vivid acuity. Learning about racism. One of the moments that changes you. (Me and Andre should have just kicked my grandpa's ass. No way he could have handled both of us. No way.)

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Mary Bendickson
20:52 Nov 11, 2024

Grandpas sometimes got it wrong.😞

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Thomas Wetzel
04:44 Nov 12, 2024

"It was a different time." Thanks for reading, Mary. My other grandfather, from Russia, was also prejudiced , but against strange ethnic groups like Chechnyans and Afghanis, who don't usually catch a lot of shit. I would be like, "I don't think I ever met anyone from those countries." He would be like, "Count your blessings. Estrovia!" Then we would drink vodka together. I think I was 9 years old. He would tell me about how all his brothers and sisters died in the gulag. I was just a kid. It all seemed fairly normal at the time.

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Trudy Jas
13:22 Nov 09, 2024

You're right, there ain't no difference! I liked how you wrote it from a tween POV. (I'm a bit more outlaw, he's a bit more sheriff.) Great line.

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Thomas Wetzel
00:12 Nov 14, 2024

Thanks so much, Trudy. I struggle with nonfiction but this was a very memorable event from my childhood. Naturally, I have come to understand racism much more intricately since then, but that day was a slap in the face. I was a different kid when I woke up the next morning. I hate that shit. I always have.

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Trudy Jas
00:20 Nov 14, 2024

Me too. My ex. is black. The racial difference was not the reason for the split.

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Thomas Wetzel
00:22 Nov 14, 2024

Yup. Aint no difference. Love you and hope you are well.

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Trudy Jas
00:25 Nov 14, 2024

I am. :-)

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