My Friend

By Lou Pastina

We make friends through the course of our lives. My son and his friend were born on the same day, in the same hospital, by the same doctor. Little did they know they would become lifelong friends. Sometimes we form relationships with kids on the block. Back when families had lots of children, blocks were filled with kids, and it was easy to make friends. More likely you made your best friends in school. That’s where we do most of our growing up and the ties that bind are strong. Grammar school, high school and college all bring different kinds of friends, and sometimes they are all in separate groups.

If you are lucky enough to find a soulmate, then you have a friend that understands you on a totally different level. A soulmate sees deeply into your inner most self, and understands where you came from, all your transitions, where you are now, and most importantly where you want to go. They want to go with you, which is why you love them.

Sometimes, rarely, you connect with someone on a completely different level altogether. It goes beyond the ordinary “hanging out stage,” even beyond the best friend label. The connection is more on a spiritual level. It can’t be explained, you just click with that soul, and you feel like you have known them for your entire life.

I was blessed to have such a friend. He was the most unlikely of people that I would be friends with. We didn’t exist in each other’s worlds until our paths collided. Through a mutual friend, I took his place on a basketball team (unbeknownst to him) as he was injured at the time. When he recovered and came back, there was a bit of a misunderstanding. He was bigger than me and had an intense stare that could frighten the unenlightened. Somehow, he heard that I played guitar.

After living at the beach for many years with the mermaid, I still had not found a friend to play guitar with. But I was older now and had more free time. One day he asked, “want to jam?” And so, we did. As we started to play our first chords, we realized we knew all the same songs, in the same keys, and transitioned from one song to the other easily. He liked to play leads, I liked to play rhythm and sing. We moved effortlessly from one song to another, until finally we looked up almost four hours later. We looked at each other and realized we had both just struck gold, and we both never wanted to lose that. So, we began to play, sometimes at his house, sometimes at mine.  I got to know his lovely wife and family better, and he mine.

It was suggested that we play out in public, and that we add some members to the “band”, and so we did. Over time, we played under many names, with many different musicians, over many years. Some of the trips to rehearsals and gigs were comic, like the time we were headed into the city and the Marine Parkway Bridge caught fire, and the workers were trying to put it out with water bottles, while there was a fire house literally at the foot of the bridge. Or the time we went into the city to rehearse, only to be caught up in one of the first SantaCons. Or the countless times listening to Yankee announcer John Sterling on the radio and laughing that Sterling never mentioned what was happening in the game. Or the late-night stops at New Park Pizza, or the gigs at Whits where anything might happen and usually did. And our recent residency at Pico, when it was just me and him.

I was so grateful to have such a friend for so many years. His family and devoted wife Debbie lovingly helped him make the final transition in such a beautiful way. I see and hear him in everything I do. While some may have only saw a plumber, I saw a man who had lived a good, authentic, honest life, and grew wise from his experiences, and shared them with me and many others in a philosophical way that really connected. A man who helped neighbors, friends and family in any way he could, be it as a coach, father, husband, brother, and friend. We never lost that magic from that first jam session. I continue to play, like Bob Weir does without Jerry Garcia. I play with different musicians, but I tell them all, they are just keeping the seat warm for my friend. It’s more likely that I will sit next to him in the future, than he next to me, but I look forward to the jam. Fare thee well, my friend, Joe Kenel, I will miss you.