|
There is no hopelessness so sad as that of early youth, when the soul is made up of wants, and has no long memories, no super added life in the life of others. George Eliot (1819 - 1880) The Mill on the Floss (1860)When George Eliot wrote those infamous words above exactly a century before I was born, who knew they would be referring to me, much less anyone else with hopes and dreams. In fact, it wasn’t that long ago it now seems, when in 1990 just before I was to embark on an adventure of a lifetime in a far away, mystical land called China that a news reporter asked me what I hoped to accomplish by becoming the first person to ride a bike atop the Great Wall, and I casually answered that, "at this moment in time, I have a shelf full of dreams and an empty shelf of realities, and by the end of my life I hope to reverse that situation." As the 227th anniversary of our country’s freedom from England began to approach, I was reminded of several anniversaries of my own that were coming into fruition, that brought back a flood of memories mixed with both joy and pain. On this July 2nd I would see the anniversaries of a twin birth, death and rebirth of sorts. For it was just a mere 10 years past that my 501(c)3 non-profit church organization stepped out of the IRS shadow and became a free church, recognizing that Jesus Christ was the true Benefactor and not any particular government. We were severely put to the test financially when a third of the congregation made a mass exodus to the Baptist church across town. Coincidentally, they were also the bulk of the choir and musicians, thus the rest of us that stayed in faith were made to sing a capella for the next nine months. However, because of our stand that we be free to preach what we wanted from the pulpit (you’d be surprised to see the IRS list of topics a pastor cannot preach from a 501(c)3 non-profit pulpit), news began to travel over the airwaves to where people that lived anywhere from a one to three hour drive each way came to hear what the pastor had to say and thus the one-third that was lost grew to become two-thirds found. And within that newly found two-thirds, the Lord blessed us with one person that was able to fill the financial gap of the one-third that left! And talk about bad timing...on that day a decade ago, while the mass exodus took place, I too, left for Arizona to begin the start of the two year American Summits tour of placing a bicycle atop the highest natural point in each of the 50 united States. It was also on this memorable day 35 years ago that I died by electrocution. I caught a glimpse of Heaven when crossing over to the other side; experiencing unimaginable freedom from restrictive travel, unlimited thought, unbridled courage from danger of pain and suffering, only to be cursed a short while later by having to return to my own mortal body. Since that day nearly a generation ago, I have had to wait for the call to come Home (killing one self is not an option), biding my time being the Lord’s servant and doing my best (with His help) to occupy in whatever areas I can. And speaking of a generation, it was 40 years ago this year that I unknowingly began my career as an entertainer (that’s what I call myself because I just don’t know which particular pigeon hole I should place myself in). Because the electrocution erased all memories up to the day of the accident, whatever stories I know of my childhood come from my mother, who told me that the first public performance I was ever in was a school play, reciting the sing-song poem, Dr Foster Went to Gloucester, because my last name was Foster, so the teacher thought it appropriate. Since that forgettable event (literally, for me), I went on to do school, church and community plays until I was discovered at age 16 by the Artistic Director of the professional Summerstock theatre, The Southbury (CT) Playhouse and asked to join their troupe (much to the dismay of my mother who thought actors were a bunch of lesbians and homosexuals, unlike my father who simply thought they were all bums). The pattern followed...years of Summerstock and Dinner Theatre, followed by off-Broadway and Broadway work with small film roles in-between, not to mention my formal acting training at the New York schools that included, The American Academy of Dramatic Arts, The Actors Studio, The HB Studio, and Stella Adler when the time permitted it. Writing, directing, producing and singing followed in there as well for a very well-rounded education that continues to this day. A detour followed late in my twenties. It wasn’t a paved road. Definitely a road less traveled. It was more like a single track wide enough for a new contraption called a mountain bike. It’s been nearly 15 years since I first went to China to check out the Great Wall (and crack a rear axle on my bike) that changed the course of my life, with the above mentioned 10-year anniversary of the American Summits tour, along with its 5-year-old sibling, The Tour de Cuba. How did I get on such a course as being reminded of all these anniversaries that seem to coincide this year? The event that triggered all these memories came unexpectantly out of nowhere...an email from someone from the 25th high school reunion committee asking if I would join them in fond memories and fellowship (my description, not theirs) come this Fall back in Connecticut. Has it really been a quarter century since graduation day? Has it been that long since I’ve seen any of my former schoolmates from my youth? I would only know a handful by name and not by face. When that day of freedom came in June, I packed away my cap and tassel; year book and class ring and left. Vanished like a thief in the night to pursue my dreams and build memories. What will it be like? What would any of us have to talk about? Do I dare even to show up? 25 years just went screaming by only to land at my doorstep. Talk about a strong dose of reality! The last time I was back in that area was just before going to Cuba, and I mainly stayed at the apartment in New York, only to venture into Connecticut to see some family and a close friend or two. How many of these former irresponsible smug teenagers are now respectable citizens? How many are parents (grandparents?) and how many have died during the intervening years? That email was a slap in the face. A wake-up call. The past has just caught up with me and do I really like what I see? I have yet to marry and raise a family. I have yet to hear those wonderful titles called husband and daddy (grandpa is just too far off to fantasize about). I have been at play throughout my life thus far; having fun, making money, living a life that is unheard of by most people, still feeling like a teenager and getting away with it. Perhaps compared to some of the others who graduated along with me back in 1978, I rate very low on the scale. Why embarrass myself by attending? Every five years they’ve had a reunion (thanks to the internet, I can even check out the 20th reunion), and I’ve missed everyone of them because I was on tour or out of the country somewhere in the world...playing...acting out my dreams. I have yet to decide on what I will do in the next couple of months, but I will keep all avenues open. Charles Baudelaire once wrote back in 1861 in his book, Les Fleurs du Mal, "I have more memories than if I were a thousand years old." That verse I can now claim as my own. For I am no longer in a sad hopelessness of early youth; my soul for want of memories. I no longer have a full shelf of dreams and an empty shelf of realities. They’re about even now with enough space on each side to fill up beyond this lifetime and a half dozen more. However, do I really have enough memories to last a thousand years?... I have enough memories (and experiences) to take Home with me. Until next month, Kevin |
MEMORIES