If Your Head Isn’t In the Clouds, Chances Are You’re Not Soaring
How My Childhood Friend Taught Me How to Do the Impossible
I grew up in lower-middle class family near a trailer park in a small town. My family lived across the street from a farm. One block West of us there was another farm. From that point to the lake, there was nothing but mostly-empty pastures, broken down fences, and a river overflowing with absolute bliss.
My best friend was named Joshua; to his friends, just Josh. The two of us together were the real life Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.
Josh seemed to be able to do anything he set his mind to from the time he was a toddler. He learned how to escape his crib almost before he learned his first words, and as soon as he could crawl, he was up to all sorts of mischief.
In a cast from his diapers to his toes.
Joshua had his first broken bone at two years old trying to give his big sister a piggy-back ride — she climbed up and jumped on his back before his poor little legs could support the weight. Both his legs ended up in casts from his diaper to his toes. Did that slow him down? Not Joshua!
When the family got a new kitten, Josh wanted to chase it all over the place, and wouldn’t you know it? Even with his legs in casts, he figured out how to crawl around with his toes and his hands, and he was off terrorizing the poor new addition to the family. Before long his cast was damaged and he had to return to the doctor.
The doctor was furious with his parents. “Why didn’t you keep him in his crib!?” The man obviously had no idea who he was up against.
Joshua was obsessed with escaping, and soon I caught the bug too. Josh taught me how to pick locks, escape ropes, chains, makeshift straight jackets, and handcuffs. We practiced our escapes until we had them down to an art form. Josh could escape handcuffs faster than anybody you’ve ever seen in the movies.
In one fluid movement he would jump, swing the cuffs under his feet in mid-air, slide a paperclip into the keyhole, and within two seconds his wrists were free and his face lit up in triumph. It took me days of practice before I could do it in twice the time.
Joshua had an unflinching, dogged determination that I have never seen matched. We used to play football quite a bit as teenagers. Our primary defensive strategy when we played against Josh was to never let him get his hands on the ball because if he did, there was no stopping him. He could run circles around all of us, and even when we managed to corner him it took three people to tackle him. One to jump on his back and wrap their legs around his shins, and two people to push him over.
If you forgot to wrap his shins, forget about it. Despite being the smallest player by far, he could drag three people into the end zone.
Josh was Steve Irwin in child form. He could catch any kind of wild animal. I’ve seen him catch all kinds of snakes, fish, frogs, lizards, bobcats, birds, and a large, heavy snapping turtle about the size of his torso. He even caught a skunk or two — much to his family’s dismay. The smell clinged to him for what seemed like ages.
Josh loved climbing trees, and he pushed it to the absolute limit. There was a weeping willow in his front yard that we used to climb often. It was a bit taller than the two story vaulted roof house. Josh would climb far up into the thin branches at the top, where the twigs would sag almost to the point of breaking under his weight, and poke his head out of the canopy, stretching upward until the tops of the leaves were at his waist, much to his mother’s dismay. I was always assigned to keep watch and warn him if I saw her coming.
He’d stretch his arms down, grasping twigs and leaves in his hands to keep his balance. It seemed to me he thought that if he stretched high enough, he could poke his head into the clouds and explore what was inside them. I was in awe. I wished that I dared to follow him up there.
If Josh was around, adventure followed. Our favorite adventures always took place at the river. We absolutely could not get enough of the water. We waded in barefoot to catch fish with our bare hands, or jumped from rope swings, shouting, splashing, and diving.
Every year the river floods with the melting snow. Of course, for kids seeking adventure, it’s the perfect time to grab the inner tubes and jump in. Sometimes we made that jump without really looking at what we were getting into.
The river roared fast and loud, thundering and pushing the banks wider apart — occasionally spilling over into pasture puddles along the sides.
Now before you wonder where our parents were, understand that this was a different — less paranoid time. A flooded river just meant it was time to strap on the bright orange life preservers. For us, this was the best time to play in the river, and we looked forward to it every spring.
One year Josh and I — along with several of his siblings — we were headed down the river at a good clip, when we saw that the way ahead was blocked by a branch. We tried to paddle around it, but the river was too fast. We slammed into the branch, and the river quickly swept the inner tubes away. The rushing water had us pinned pretty tight against the branch. I was fighting against the current so the river wouldn’t pull me under.
Josh had a different idea. He intentionally pushed himself under water and let the river carry him away. The rest of us held on tight while the pressure made it hard to breathe.
Just as I was beginning to worry I’d never see my best friend again, we saw Josh come running up the river bank shouting for us to push ourselves under the water. He shouted that not too far ahead the river deepened and the current slowed.
Even the inner tubes were safe.
We followed his lead, and soon after, we were free of the branches and the water, and getting ready to jump back on the inner tubes. A little reckless, maybe. But more importantly, fearless.
Fast forward to adulthood. He told me that doctors had found cancer, but it was in remission. I saw him later with a cast on his leg — “oh, the cancer came back, so they had to cut it out. It’s all gone, now!”
It turns out, he wasn’t being entirely honest with me. I discovered today that he knew from the begining that there was no beating it. It was never in remission. It was not treatable with chemotherapy. It was a persistent, painful, debilitating cancer that would have survived chemotherapy longer than he would. He hid it from everybody with his trademark smiles.
In 2011, doctors told him he could die at any moment. 3 weeks later he was still working in the hospital as a phlebotomist — even late stage terminal cancer couldn’t keep him down.
Eventually it dug through his lungs and he had to stop. He went home to live with his parents. All his friends collected their favorite memories and photos and gathered around him reading messages of love and support from the many people whose lives he touched.
I sent a letter telling the story about how Joshua taught me to surrender to your fears — to have faith that life will go on, that you will prevail. That moment in the river was magical, because I learned from him that sometimes in order to win you must overcome your fear and take a leap of faith, and that has made all the difference in my life.
With Josh around, life was one big adventure, and anything was possible. Fear? What’s that? Joshua always climbed a little higher, ran a little faster, and swam a little deeper than I dared. And he made me believe that I could do it, too. I wrote:
“The Joshua I remember would be fearless now. Eager for the next adventure. You get to go somewhere none of us have seen yet, and do things that none of us have done. Just like it always was. I just hope you come running back to show us the way when it’s our turn to join you.”
As a young child, I had three life shaping mentors who left a permanent, very valuable mark on me. Joshua, my father, and Michael Jordan.
I remember clearly when I was a kid, sitting in a classroom and opening the desk in front of me, I saw a large full bleed photo spread of Michael Jordan mid-jump dunking from the freethrow line. That’s 15 feet not counting the height to the bucket. That’s no jump! That’s human flight.
Michael Jordan had the incredible ability to bend the laws of physics — Or at least bend his mind so much that the laws of physics couldn’t hold him down.
Joshua made me believe that anything was possible.
Michael Jordan proved it to me.
If you can convince anyone that your long-term goal is possible or realistic, you’re not aiming high enough.
Josh was more than a friend to me. He was a brother. He dared me to have a tremendously happy childhood in spite of many challenges. I will always be grateful to him for that. One of my most painful regrets in life is that I waited until Josh was clinging to life by a frail thread to tell him what he meant to me.
Your dad had a great life and a wonderful childhood full of adventure — but by far, you are the very best thing that your father ever made. You inherited your bubbling enthusiasm for life from your father. It is the greatest gift he could have given you. Cherish it. Never let it go. I promise it will serve you well.
With love, Eric
