the young people's professor

To Randy:

The mirror had two faces, our lives on either side. Our fathers were brothers, our mothers were high school best friends. The two of us were an amalgamation of their finest qualities. Naturally, we were summer babies: you were born in July, I was born in August, eleven months earlier. Even though I was technically the "older one," each year we'd get 36 days when we were exactly the same age. On Tuesday you would have been 24 and it wouldn't have been until the end of August that I would have jumped ahead of you into the land of "25."

Lets confess the obvious: I was the ugly duckling, you were the good-looking swan. Named after our fathers--little Frankie was nerdy, awkward, and quiet while little Randy was charismatic, carefree, and outspoken. In a crowd you'd always steal the show, you'd call the shots and enthusiastically i'd take notes---always three steps ahead of me in terms of overall "coolness."

We were our mother's criss-crossed boys: I was shy like Simone, you were "loud" like Ellen. For your mom I was your "good influence," for my mom you were my "strong willed" playmate. You lived your life in close proximity to the limelight, while I lived mine closer to the hazy shadows.

You had absolutely everything, unquestionably a cultured, cosmopolitan hip hip mogul in the making. And naturally I wanted to be just like "little cousin Randy" when I grew up: bold, aggressive, in-your-face. You were the star, man---and I had no problems being just a glimmer in the background.

It brings tears to my eyes thinking about what your last moments were like. I wonder, had we remained close could things have been different? In those final minutes when you were contemplating the unthinkable, could we have returned to our childhood moments when I was the "voice of reason," in the times you planned on doing something wild, something crazy.

So many of the ordinary, black-boy childhood scenes we shared are now permanently etched in my memory like glass against stone: following you into the Project's to see some Puerto Rican chic who you swore was gonna be your "first"; you and I canon-balling into the 12 foot pool at the Englewood Mansion; rehearsing for the rap group we just knew we were going to create (you even pretended like I had half of chance of ever actually entering the world of hip hop); ordering $300 in room service and getting drunk off of fancy Hotel liquor while on tour with KRS and Mad Lion in the summer of 1994.

These are just waves in the ocean of memories that I have for you. We were literally just little boys, intent on being grown men before our time. I know that your dramatic, grand exit from this world was just a way of making sure that the city of GOD knew your name before you got there, and could roll out the red-carpet in anticipation of your arrival.

By now I'm sure you're the talk of Eden---Jesus has probably had to pull you by the ear to finally calm your crazy ass down. But in the moments of free time you have in Eternity, take a second to look back and remember your first cousin, the one who still remembers you, the one who still sits back quietly and shakes his head approvingly as you continue to steal the show.

You are loved.

Frankie/"IBN"

Posted by the young people's professor on 7/15/2007 at 4:00:00 PM | Permalink