Story of my Childhood

The Story of My childhood
By: Justin Koop
December 28th 2009

It was a cold winter night, just around seven o’clock. I was sitting in the cab of my father’s 4×4 truck, listening to a Christian rock station called ignite one-o-seven, when a great thought popped into my head. I suddenly remember, to my great joy, that I hadn’t seen my good friend Nafets in quite some time. Perhaps I thought to call him simply because I knew that I’d be alone because both my parents were gone on a trip, and my girlfriend was away on another trip, and my room-mate was also away, but I was surely glad that I did. I dialled his number on the truck’s phone, and soon had him on the line.
“Hello?” answered Nafets’s sister.
“Hi, is Nafets there?” I answered, hopefully.
“Hold on a moment.” She said politely, if not slightly agitatedly. I heard a “Nafets!” being shouted in the muffled background.
“Hello?” answered Nafets, his familiar and warm voice crackled slightly because of the phone.
“Hi Nafets it’s Justin calling!” I exclaimed.
“Koop!” he said with enthusiasm “How’s it going?”
“Well!” I said in a very convincing manner.
He laughed then responded with a chuckle “That’s good.”
“Would you like to hang out? I’ve got a vehicle and nothing to do.”
“Umm… Sure! Just let me check.” He muffled the phone but I still overheard him asking his mother if he could hang out with me.
“Can you drop me off afterwards as well?” He asked.
”Yes of course, it’s no problem.” I responded. He was gone for another moment.
“Alright!” he said boldly, “How far away are you?”
“I’m on McLeod um… what street is this… McLeod at Molson. I’ll be there in five minutes ok?”
“Alrighty! See you then.” *click*

I hung up the phone, and with great anticipation made sure to travel 5 kilometres above the limit in order to reach his house quicker. As I arrived upon his pink house, four minutes later, I turned down his street whose name I always forgot to wait for him. It was extremely snowy on that particular street and I was sliding all over. I decided, after not seeing him right away that I should do a u-turn, park and go in to get him. After struggling through doing a u-turn in the bulky truck in the thick snow, I saw that he was out on his lawn already. I saw his familiar boyish face still pale and gaunt as ever, but with a smile that I had truly missed. Nafets and I were childhood friends. Our mothers were dorm-mates in college so we were destined to be friends with each other. I remember distinctly when we were five years old, running down his street far away from his house (which was honestly only a block but it felt much farther back then) and into a park where we pretended to be spies or some other such childish non-sense. It felt good to be with such a trusted friend from my past. For the last few months I had spent the majority of time with my girlfriend or with my room-mate, and I felt the need for some of my old friendships and those bonds of trust again.

On the drive back to my house, we talked about what we were doing with our lives, and how each one of us was doing for grades at school, and which new video games had come out, and what we had all received for Christmas. When we got to my house we fell immediately into old rhythm. We scoured my DVD collection to find a good movie to watch, but we ended up checking out a few of the games I had recently bought. After awhile though we got into a conversation that really tantalized my brain. We started to talk about writing. I had brought up that I was reading through the Harry Potter series, and he mentioned the Foundation series from Assimov and before we knew it we were having a wonderful conversation about art.
I said, “Every artist ought to strive to create literature. Things should be held to a standard.”
Nafets said, “But what about Art that just tries to be fun? Art that is solely there for entertainment? It achieves its goals and does it very well, whether we like it’s goals or not.”
“But there’s got to be a higher standard friend, otherwise no one will ever write anything good!”
“But what if everyone just set out to meet their own goals, and made what they wanted out of themselves? Aren’t people just going to do what they want anyway?”
There was much more talk of this, but the message had really sunk home. I replied, “I guess that other people and their bad literature doesn’t really change me does it?”
He nodded
“I guess that I should just follow my own advice rather than getting upset.”
He nodded
“I guess that I should just keep writing, and giving true life to my stories.”
He nodded and grinned
“And write what is really real.”

That’s why I love Nafets. He always inspired me to become better. He always inspired my faith as much as he did my writing. We talked then of our faiths, and how we felt about growing up. I told him that I wished that everything I realized were subliminal already, or that when we realized something and wanted to change our ways and habits to conform to it that it would just be instantaneous. He just smiled that knowing smile he always does and made me feel quite assured that I’d figure things out. We talked about worshiping God, and how it was important that people were singing, and realizing that it has nothing to do with them but that it’s all about worshiping God. We talked about how no atheists know what it really is to meet God. In order to know him and experience things through him you can’t just be given evidence, you need to realize that it’s all about him and that it’s not all about you and come to know him. We talked about sermons and about how he wanted to be a minister. I felt proud of him. In my heart I wanted Nafets to succeed. I wanted him to become the best minister there ever was, and I could feel all my positivism charging him up and making him smile. Nafets and I had always been magnetic. We always seemed to have direct lines to each other’s minds, and always knew how each other worked. Even though we treated things quite simply, there was a complex underlay of knowledge that did not need to be spoken of.

I drove him home, knowing that I would be a good writer, and that he would be a good pastor and that we would be there for each other just as we always have.


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