John

We were talking about you the other day. Jen and I.

Sharon and John in front of the School in Entebbe Uganda
One of my last photos of him before he passed. 

I can't really remember the 1st time you walked into the club. I know you were in between jobs at Evergreen Helicopter. Jen hired you to bar back.

We became instant friends. You had that effect on people. No matter who you met.  You spoke Arabic and started teaching me.  We spent all our time together, and we danced. To any band that played. You tended to have crushes on the female leads, and me, the bass players.  I don't know why, maybe because they were tall and lanky and so was I.

We followed the bands that we liked. One, all the way to California and back. Most of our friends were in the music scene. When you taught me to dance, it was swing. Salsa, Pasa doable, and ballroom dance. Every week we were out. You stayed with my parent's and helped dad with cutting and stacking wood. You would help mom around the house too.

Jen and I were laughing about when you went back to the Middle East. I believe it was in the late '90s when you went back. You called me because you had gotten engaged. You told me about Mahar, the Muslim engagement period and that you needed to come up with cow's, and goats and a house for her. Plus 5000.00 for her household. You told me you didn't think that the marriage was going to happen because you did not have the money for the goats. Thinking about this now, Jen and I laughed and laughed. Goats, of all things. Like there weren't a million of them over there.

In the Early 2000s, you came back to the states and moved to Hammond Louisiana.  My understanding was you bought a house and property down there and were attending Tulane University.  From there, you went to Entebbe Uganda. You also bought property there, while you were helping build a school for girls.

We had phone calls often, but the last one was in April of 2012. I was with mom and dad, right before she passed. You spoke to mom on the phone and she asked if you had stacked the wood. You told her yes, you had and to stay warm, and you would see her soon. I did not know how prophetic that statement was.

You didn't tell me you were sick. I had no idea until your brother called me in June. I knew when I picked up the phone. Before he said a word, I knew you were gone. 7 years ago today, you left us. We all miss you. I'll be seeing Karen on Friday night. Rail is playing.  She's bringing her daughter Samantha, who's as gorgeous as she is. Alex is doing sound for them. You never got to meet them, but they love music as much as you and I did.

I see Jen all the time. She has cancer but does pretty good.  She and Jim are still together after all these years. 43 years now according to Jen.  I can hear you laughing when they fight. I can see your impish smile when she and I are up to our usual antics all these years later.

I wish you were still here. You'd be proud of your brother and sister and niece. I remember you going to see her play with the Philharmonic Symphony. My son plays now too and has a band. You are missing so much, and so many circles that we are still in.  And Antony, my Egyptian child. He's not a child anymore John. He's grown, and he dances, and he works for Microsoft. You'd be so proud of him.

I found some of the letters the other day. The ones from Tehran, and the Ivory Coast. You had quite an adventurous life. You lived it to the fullest. God, I miss you. I live with Cyrene again too. I remember our trip to California and staying at your tiny apartment in Oxnard. I wanted to stay on the sailboat, but Cyrene would not.  She was so funny about things. There was a storm rolling in, but I know we would have been fine. I have pictures from that trip somewhere. I'll have to dig them out and post them here.

Anyway, I'll let you go now. Just know I love and miss you. Wish you were here.