Live For Now; Don’T Waste Time Worrying

I came into Lawrence McKay’s life slowly, in the sort of measured way a lot of friendships develop. And perhaps it was kismet that we crossed paths at all.

This is the short story of our friendship. Mac — a nickname he assumed early in life — moved to Spokane from British Columbia more than seven decades ago, played hockey and worked on the railroad. He married a local girl who watched him skate at the old Elm Street ice rink. Time came to watch rather than play and he bought season tickets to see the Comets, the Jets, the Flyers and the Chiefs at the old Spokane Coliseum.

For years, his wife Vera sat beside him until a health issue kept her home, then hockey games became a grandfather-granddaughter outing. Then that, too, ended. Mac’s granddaughter moved to a city she liked in the Rocky Mountains and Mac bought just one season ticket. For a couple of years, the seat next to him sat empty. One September not quite a decade ago, I bought the right to sit in that seat for a season.

Mac and I didn’t strike up conversations right away. He had a ritual that included smoking cigars and roaming the Coliseum hallway while the Zamboni scraped the ice smooth, talking over the game and life with a passel of friends. I had a ritual of reading books during periods of inactivity on the ice. In small pieces of conversation, though, he allowed as how I reminded him of his granddaughter. Same age, both single and working on our careers.

Soon, I began parking beside his car so we could walk together through the darkness after games and he began waiting in the parking lot for me before the games so we shared the walk both ways. He worried about my safety, I worried about his health as we crossed icy streets. Mittened and gloved, we’d hold hands and the friendship seed of caring was planted.

For nearly 10 hockey seasons, through hundreds of games, this, then became our ritual. We walked to and from, learned of each other’s daily activities and histories, let the friendship expand over occasional dinners and phone conversations. He worried my life was too busy, I admired the simplicity of his. And I marveled at how fortunate I am to have found a surrogate grandfather I could call friend.

So often our friends are reflections of ourselves, and it’s this sameness that binds us and makes the connections smooth. There is value in having these friends who transcend the stages in our lives — childhood pals who become adult confidants and continue on as comforts in our later years. Like an old quilt, at those points in life when we need to wrap something comfortable and warm and familiar around us, our life-long friends show up.

There’s also value, though, in friends in whom we see differences from ourselves, even if it’s simply a distance in years. They lend rich and stimulating texture to our lives. Some of us were fortunate to have childhoods thick with older relatives, often two and three generations removed. We aged into adulthood armed with their stories and histories to layer over our own lives and give us the luxury of the long view.

Some of us are fortunate to also have adulthoods sprinkled with friends who are generations removed. Mac is one of several with whom I’ve spent time; all have been generous with life wisdom.

These things I’ve learned from my friends: Live in the moment and don’t worry about hoarding the good ones; other moments will come along regularly. Friends don’t come along in life every week or even every year; keep in touch with the ones in your life right now. Try to do small things that will make them smile. Don’t worry about stuff that could happen down the road, it mucks up this moment.

Forgive your friends for small slights. And don’t mention the slight or your getting over it and you’ll live a little larger.

Live every day on purpose, but don’t overplan it. Allow experiences to unfold and let them surprise you.

Aging is not about losing the qualities on which you build self-images — pretty girl, smart boy, athlete, risk-taker. Aging is learning to value the real gems of life, such as people who care about you. Try to be gentle, generous and quick to laugh. Life has subtleties you’ll never live long enough to appreciate, but keep trying.

Now, on the cusp of 90 years, Mac will follow the Chiefs hockey team this winter from his brown recliner at home, tuning into the radio broadcast and letting his imagination fill in the visual details. He and his wife have other priorities that require their energy and determination. And the seat next to me at the Spokane Arena will sit empty. I will miss him. But we aren’t leaving our friendship behind, it will just assume a different face.