Point It Out

One of my best friends in grade five or six was a kid named Ken Davis. Ken was one of the first friends that I had who didn't live on the same street that I did. I met him in school of course and since we had the same teacher and shared the same name, we were a match made if not in heaven, then just outside of the Pearly Gates.

The name thing wasn't so very special, because that year there were five of us Ken's and the teacher luckily had five rows of students and I became Ken2 and Ken Davis was Ken5. I was always envious of Ken5 because he got to sit next to the window and could watch the world pass by right under his nose. Actually, the teacher was pretty shrewd to put me a goodly distance from any distraction or anything even remotely interesting. It's funny that I don't remember any of the other Ken's very well. I think one was Ken Keiler and he stands out for the way that he whole heartedly embraced the drug culture during high school. I think Ken and his partner in crime (Barb) cornered a large part of the Scarborough drug market in the sixties for strictly personal use. One of his ambitions in life was to drive a car off of a cliff, and I heard through the grapevine that a year or so after high school he did drive his mom's car off a cliff. He was hospitalized, but ultimately survived and I assume he went on to pursue some other equally stupid goal.

I don't remember what we talked about, but then what do ten or eleven year old boys talk about. We wandered through fields and along railroad tracks, talking about kid dreams while tossing stones at anything that moved or stood still. I suppose that we trapped and caught any number of insects and tadpoles that died a slow and probably painful deaths from malnutrition, asphyxiation, extreme heat and quiet possible suicide. The last one I'm not too sure of, but all of the rest are for sure.

Ken's dad was a musician. I only knew of a musician on TV, and he was named Ricky Ricardo. How cool that Ken had a dad that played in a band for a living! It must have been a pretty good living too, because they lived in the same type of house that we did. Ken's older brother Jack actually would play with his dad the odd time when they had a gig. I don't remember if Ken played anything, but it would be pretty surprising to live in that house and not play something. Perhaps I knew at one time but that information has long since made way for other useless information. I guess there must be a constant battle for space between my ears.

I've know quite a few people that played instruments over the years and most of them make very beautiful music. I only have met one professional musician other than Ken's dad and he had given it up after twenty five years so that he could have benefits and a pension from the Post Office. I guess that I have met other professional musicians, but I'm not sure selling guitars and teaching music is the same as what I call a working musician. What a tough way to make your way in the world.

Usually when I start these blogs I have an idea or an end in mind. I had one for this blog, but somewhere during the writing of it, my end point decided that it didn't want to stick around any more. I don't blame it, but it does make things a little awkward. If anyone notices the point to this blog somewhere inside, I'd appreciate it if you would point it out.