I don’t recall the exact year I lost contact with my old friend. We became friends way back in 2nd grade when we both realized that we weren’t a part of the moneyed elite at the Catholic school our moms sent us to. In 2nd grade your shoes spoke to your affluence or to how your family straddled the poverty line. I wore beat up, turquoise Airwalks for what seemed like an entire school year because I refused whatever shoes my mom brought home for fear of ridicule and shame. My friend seemed to show up in a different pair of worn out shoes every other week. He was one of four siblings and his father passed away when we were 8. Thrift stores lined Main Street back then and it didn’t take a detective to figure out why this kid never seemed to have a shiny new pair of shoes. Our classmates rocked new Jordans and black and white Reebok Pumps with the basketball on the tongue while we laced up whatever we had. Envy and jealousy sink their claws into your psyche when all you can focus on in class is everyone else’s shoes.

Ours was an easy friendship based on our shared lack of wealth and forged in the crucible that was Catholic school in the 80s. We remained friends as we rolled through 4 years at different high schools. We lost touch after high school for 20+ years before recently reconnecting. My old friend ran into my brother and exchanged numbers. I fired off the initial text salvo worded like we used to talk back in the day. We’ve caught up since then and he told me a story about my mom I never knew. 

“I don’t know how or why she was there but she paid the mechanic. I tried stopping her but she looked at me and said she wanted to do this for me. I sold that car when I was 20 so it must have been right after high school and I’m sure I was broke. I’ll never forget it man. It meant so much to me. Your mom was so special.” 

The best way to explain my mom is this: right before she passed away she was deep in credit card debt and regularly gave 50 dollar bills to homeless people. She would buy everyone dinner and the next day ask to borrow a hundred until payday. I know because I was the one doing the lending. 

I have heard from many of my friends how much my mom meant to them. It’s always the same story. She made them feel better about themselves, she listened to them, and she cared. I know she was well respected amongst her co-workers. She worked hard and expected the same level of effort from her peers. Her legacy is simple. She was a generous individual who made the world a better place. No one is perfect but she was a tremendous human being. Her funeral mass was a standing room only affair. 

I lost an old friend to pancreatic cancer a few weeks ago. He shared an important trait with my mom. I always felt better about myself and the world after being around him. He made the world a better place and he never stopped improving as a human being. 

One of the toughest parts of being a parent is setting the example. I want my kids to be great humans. I want them to make the world a better place. I know we’ve done great things as humans and parents over the years and I hope my kids remember these moments. I also love cars. Pimped out whips in particular. I like shoes too. I try to explain the importance of money to my children as a means of freedom but my actions may tell a different story. 

Dead people can’t teach us anything new. They’re dead. We can remember their human greatness and talk about their lives and the effect they had on all of us but its a waste of breath if we don’t follow their lead. We can all be better. I know why I’m the way I am about money and material things. I still love cars and shoes and expensive restaurants without an ounce of shame. I also respect how much of an influence my mom still has on people and her effect on the world. She is still inspiring others to lead a good life. The thought of her giving a bum a 50 is both infuriating and awesome. She never allowed money to get a grip on her. Her currency was love and kindness. 

I hardly listened when I was 15. I knew all of it already. My mom couldn’t tell me anything. She’s talking to me now through old friends and memories. She’s still teaching me how to be a good person. It’s my decision to set the same example for my kids so one day they’ll have a memory or two to inspire them to be better. 

I’ll get started right after I take everyone out to an overpriced dinner in a pimped out whip.