Dan Wing

The friendship between Daniel Mark Wing and I was initially rocky; in fact, I think among the first impressions we had of one another were along the lines of keen dislike. We first met towards the end of ninth grade. Dan's family had moved to Virginia from North Carolina the previous summer, and though we lived maybe a mile from one another it took us close to a year to meet each other. A mutual acquaintance (my neighbor, in fact) had played on the freshman basketball team with Dan who, if I remember correctly, scored precisely one basket that entire season. My neighbor and I would often make the afternoon trek to the playground, which is situated across the street from Dan's adolescent home. I can't precisely recall how our first encounter played out, but there was bound to be tension--me, fat; Dan, a rail. The neighbor had no problems making fun of us equally, which for some reason didn't bring us together against a mutual enemy but polarized us even more, inviting us to spout as much mid-pubescent vitriol as we could muster. I vividly remember referencing Dan's father as Saddam Hussein--I attribute this to my poor vision, poor sense of humor and the fact that his father would never come across the street to the playground, but would shout from the front yard.

These afternoon basketball sessions continued through the end of the school year, and I can't recall exactly when we started to form something the mold of a friendship. I was at the playground alone for some reason and went across the street to see if I could get Dan out to play some basketball. Maybe we played, maybe not. I think we ended up played Goldeneye on Nintendo 64 because Dan was certain he was a better player. I didn't agree, and I don't to this day, but he probably did beat me. There's no shame in that.

The impetus for the friendship, I think, was the fact that neither of us had many friends. I was in the most awkward phase of my adolescence, plagued with acne, overweight, bursting with insecurities. Dan was still the new kid. We discovered a common hatred for those popular kids at our high school, or at least a common understanding that those kids would more or less amount to nothing, and assured ourselves that while we were the losers at the moment, we'd win in the end (I'm hoping the end isn't here yet because neither of us has much to brag about yet). Now I look back on those days of high school politics with indifference, but of course in those days it's very much a big deal. We were able to rationalize a lot of the fear away over basketball, Arby's roast beef sandwiches, Mrs. Wing's Weight Watchers food (I claim those myself), pizza from Little Caesar's, videogames, verbally lusting after female classmates, verbally tearing the others apart.

Our incompatibilities were many--I was as profane as possible, Dan was (at the start) fairly reserved about his swearing. He had the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, I had Wu-Tang Forever. I can't (or refuse) to recall how I dressed in those days, but Dan was very basic in his attire--straight-legged jeans and a t-shirt. Total fucking dork compared to most of the kids in our school. We still had mischief. And Napster. When American Pie was released on DVD we somehow managed to rent it and get it back to Dan's house (I don't think either of us was driving at that point, so I guess his dad took us). It's embarrassing to bring up, but at 15 there's not much more tempting than movies with breasts fully exposed (except breasts in real life) and we were pretty fired up about the topless scene. Now, at this point the only DVD player in the house was on the family computer, and for some reason that evening the Compaq really didn't feel up to showing us American Pie or any naked breasts. After probably 30-45 minutes of tinkering with the computer it came around and let us watch the movie. I don't remember what happened when we actually came to that scene, or if we even enjoyed the damn thing. The frustration of maybe not reaching our miserably pathetic goal that night is all that sticks in my memory.

I have memories from those years in abundance: random acts of vandalism and larceny, playing jokes on people through e-mail (we'll talk about that one in the Justin Cleveland post), Dan's first experiences with mind-altering substances and my role as the babysitter, evenings at Dan's youth group (where we'd play games that involved girls sitting on our laps!), endless shit-talking, flunking (or almost, in Dan's case) geometry, miscellaneous adventures in Dan's Plymouth Reliant, Star Wars books, playground basketball with overzealous rednecks and spacy Vietnam veterans, the Gene Kleveland legacy, and a general disregard for too many things to mention.

I have to say that his influence has been incalculable; whether or not that influence has been positive or negative, I can't say. He was a major crutch during that crippling period, one of a few, but the most consistent of all.

I'm feeling particularly sentimental this evening; at the moment, I'm listening to "Come On, Eileen" and avoiding the bleak weather outside. Such conditions are conducive to writing, I suppose, but as always I'm short on ideas and working with kids on a regular basis is thinning my vocabulary. If I was ever a word gymnast, that time has passed.

But back to the original intention of this post: my intent is to document my first encounters with my closest friends, how the relationship was founded, what effects the friendship has had on me, etc. I don't know what I stand to gain from this little project of mine--probably nothing but some much-needed writing exercise--but maybe one day those people will stumble across my blog (most probably don't know it exists, and that's fine) and find something I've written to be humorous or amusing or even surprising.

To jog my memory later (and to maybe whet an appetite or two), here's a running list of who's to be included:

Daniel Wing
Steve Tollin
Gillian Karp
Mark Burnette
Jacob Murray
Phil Cason
Justin Cleveland
Drew Schwemer
Jordan Powers
Joseph Powers
Mickey Humsi
Jesse Lambert
Mark Lentz
Tim Pruitt
Ed Porter
Rebecca Huvar
William Humsi
Cody Abell
Aaron Cline
Eric Cregger