Ode To Cecilia

Around the time I turned 16 I was promoted to the position of Caddymaster at a country club at the end of the street from my parent's place. I had been a caddy for 3-4 years previous. And while I wasn't the best looper out there, I was straight-laced and honest so I ended up with the job. The gig mostly entailed controlling the flow of play on the golf course, cleaning golf clubs, pulling out golf carts, loading golf clubs on golf carts, and doing random things for the members of the country club. A small part of the job as well was managing the dwindling, but substantial caddying program. Included in this was running the caddy training program, administering the exams, grading them, promoting and in some cases firing existing caddies, deciding which caddies would caddy for which members, and making sure caddies got paid appropriately.

My first year on the job was an adjustment. I was an awkward teen and utterly lacking common sense. So dealing with and responding to basic social and other challenges was something that I had to learn explicitly instead of just getting it. I also found it hard to swallow my pride all the time and I was a 5 on a scale of 10 in terms of my ability to kiss ass. In short, it was a role that I was not made for.

At the same time I got the job, my friend Mike started caddying far away at another country club. He had been my closest friend and had also been in contention for the caddymaster job. But Mike had a problem with theft and dishonesty that no one could prove outright, but that many sensed. So when Mike saw the writing on the wall (so to speak) he left to caddy elsewhere. And I was suddenly without my closest friend.

As top caddy-I was very proud-I began to feel a sort of captains or leaders isolation, in which a leader feels lonely because he has to isolate himself from his crew in order to maintain a certain distance and level of respect. On top of that, I was still a kid and all of a sudden I had to act semi-responsible and it wasn't fun.

Caddy school took place in mid to late April. A group of 40-50 kids from local schools showed up. I knew that only 5-10 of them would ever last until the end of the summer. The rest would loop once or twice and then never come back. One who showed up was named Kevin Ostrowski. I knew of him from elementary school. A loud, brash, obnoxious, irreverant, impulsive piece of work. He was everything I didn't want to be. And he thought he was going to caddy.

Caddying is all about self discipline, patience, control, politeness, attention, and keen observation-All the things that Kevin lacked. I did not want him caddying. I didn't want to be responsible for him. I didn't want him anywhere near me. I was going to make it super hard for him to pass his test.

As is the case with the universe....Kevin was the first to take the test. As also is the case with the universe. Kevin didn't miss any questions. The first day he was allowed to come to caddy, he was there bright and early, waiting for me to open up the pro-shop and bagroom. I nodded to acknowledge his presence and hoped that I could find him a loop quickly so that he would be out of my sight. Luckily, the club president showed up and in a request that was unusual for him, asked for a caddy. And so I sent Kevin out with his first loop.

Kevin was not made to caddy or to work much in general. His first bag was mammoth and the man for whom he was carrying it was old and not a great golfer. It must have been a miserable first loop.

When it was over, I heard Kevin say something I've never heard any caddy say, especially not to the club president: 'Old man, you better give me a lot of money because this bag is huge and that wasn't easy'. I couldn't believe it. Stunned. I didn't know how to respond. Would I be fired because I had hired this kid, knowing full well that he was a train wreck waiting to happen on his first loop. But what happened was....nothing. I don't know if the president didn't hear him or just didn't care or liked Kevin's attitude or what. But he simply laughed, gave Kevin 13 or so dollars (which is what he gave everyone at the time for 18 holes) and left.

I was shocked that he had gotten away with it. Appalled. But a part of me was also envious. A part of me thought it was hilarious what he'd done. He was everything that I wasn't, but maybe I did want to be a bit.

So I never did say anything to Kevin about what he said to the club president, nor did I punish him in any way. I think I wanted to see it happen again. He was entertaining. But I never acknowledged that I got a kick out of what he did. Instead, I was extra hard on and made a special effort to ignore him.

Even so, Kevin kept coming back. Again and again. Every morning there waiting. Every morning, I sighed as I walked up the path to the caddyshack, wondering why me? Why did this obnoxious kid have to be there every morning for me to put up with? He talked my ear off. Asked constant questions. Made stupid jokes. Wasn't terribly interested in caddying. Harrased the girls in the snackbar. Harrased the lifeguards. Swung every members' club he could get his hands on. And followed me everywhere.

By August, I had accepted his presence and his help. One night, while he was helping me pick up the driving range and the sun was setting, he said to me, 'Pat, wouldn't you probably say that I'm your best friend?'

I thought about it.... And he was right. I murmured, 'I guess so'. This guy who a few months back I had hated had quickly developed from my worst nightmare to my best friend by sheer force of day to day companionship and loyalty. And he did crazy stuff that I wish I could have gotten away with. I laughed. He did more crazy stuff. And we worked well together.

So I went from a lonely angsty teen to a happy and sometimes brooding teen. All because of my new best friend.

In Buenos Aires, I had a similar experience. In my final year in Columbus I had more or less drifted apart from my Ohio friends. I was working all the time in 4-5 jobs depending on the season and when I wasn't working I was chatting on the internet with my Argentine friends. I had lost the habit of meeting up and hanging out with people in general. When I moved to Buenos Aires things didn't change, even though I had cultivated a number of quality friendships there.

In Buenos Aires, the full force of having been dropped like a cigarette butt by my modelesque Patagonian ex-girlfriend hit me. She did not come back, wasn't interested in talking, and more or less wanted nothing to do with me. So I did what I do best. I buried myself in learning and doing my 4 new jobs. And I spent the rest of my time in my apartment reading, cooking, and occasionally writing. I rarely hung out with my Argentine friends and lived out a somewhat mechanized existence.

While most of my friends became accustomed to my excuses for why I couldn't hang out and stopped trying, one friend persevered, wouldn't give up. She kept calling and texting and calling and texting......Until I finally started accepting. At first because I had turned her down so many times before and I felt guilty. It wasn't her that I didn't want to see. I just didn't want to be out of the comfort and safety of my apartment and I was down and sulking and didn't want to be around anyone.

When I first started accepting Cecilia's offers to hang out, I would greet her reluctantly and would have to force myself to engage in conversation. I yearned to look at the time and calculated in my head how much longer I would have to hang out before I could justify leaving. I only accepted invitations on my terms. We would do exactly what I wanted to do, whether it was eating at my favorite parilla, practicing giving my tour, watching a movie I wanted to see, or going to a museum I wanted to go to. Cecilia was game for whatever and whenever, even though she had to travel and 2 hours round trip to see me.

Sunday was our day to hang out and it became the staple activity of my weekly schedule, my one surebet friend interaction per week. And for Ceci it was the same. She was so loyal to our Sundays that she even came back the week after she had been attacked and robbed while returning from one of our Sunday night parilla outings. When I found out what had happened I felt a mix of guilt and shame for letting her return so late without offering my futon, mixed with genuine concern for my friend and anger at the attackers, something I honestly wasn't expecting to feel. It had been difficult to allow myself to care deeply for anyone outside of family members again. I suffered from a lack of trust and a fear of being hurt. But somehow Cecilia had worked her way into my well guarded heart.

I remember the one night over the Argentine summer in January or February when I had gone from seeing Cecilia in a mechanical way to being genuinely happy to see my friend. I was walking to the Patio Bulrich Mall to see a movie with her (As always with a 2x1 pass that I had saved from the subway) and when I saw her from a distance an involuntary smile formed across my face and I threw my hands up to signal to her that I had arrived. My friend was waiting for me. By sheer force of loyalty, consistency, and putting up with a boring, cynical, ultra-grumpy, and often-times critical me, she had become my best friend. I don't know why she kept calling. I don't know what she saw in the pathetic shell that I was then. But she stuck around and now I care about her almost as one of my family.

Part of my getting better I owe to Cecilia getting me out of my apartment. The other part was likely the passage of time, active reflection, and swimming. She helped me to trust again even when I was convinced that I could trust no one in Buenos Aires. She's as honest and trustworthy as anyone I know.

I should point out as well that Cecilia wasn't as hard a sell as my old best friend (and still good friend) Kevin. Cecilia is trilingual (English, Spanish, and German). She works 6 days a week, from 9am-9pm using all 3 languages in her jobs, she spent a year studying in Germany, she's even tempered, she has good social skills, is super easy to get along with, and she's pretty. Why she wanted to be friends with me even throughout the dark self-pity days is a wonder.

When I leave in 20 days I will miss Cecilia very much. Sundays will never be the same. Who will amble through museums with me, accompany me for parilla, go out for late movies and ice cream afterwards, force me to go dancing de vez en cuando, introduce me to new Latin music, let me practice my tours on her, walk all over town with me even though she doesn't have the right shoes, take long bus rides out to street fairs, or simply put up with me in general???

I only hope that our friendship continues in some capacity after I leave. Cecilia has become something like the little sister I never had. And as much as she hates when I say that, it means a lot to me.

P.S. Please all wish Cecilia good luck as she has her final interview in June for a job with Lufthansa that will allow her to more easily travel the world and Denver, Colorado in particular so she can come visit.