Walk on a Snowy Night

High School Blues

Photo by Ainārs Cekuls on Unsplash

As I begin this tale I think of Fred Hostetler. Fred, if you read this post I am sure you will remember, maybe not a particular night, but a night of a Goshen-Elkhart game in the new Goshen gym. For readers and listeners, Fred was a top-notch tennis and basketball player in high school and college. He was playing that night. I was not there.

So the setting is a big basketball game between arch rivals. Hoosier Hysteria at its peak. The gym is packed. My girlfriend is in the cheer block with all her friends. I am leaving home at about tip-off time. I am walking down Greene Road with no destination. Just walking. Aware of my not being at the game.

A light snow is falling. I love the crisp air and making fresh steps in the snow. Fred is playing his heart out. My heart is breaking. Cinda, my girlfriend, is cheering for Fred and the team. I am crying as I turn down Kercher Road a few miles from home. After the game I could have have gone to the dance, but you may remember that high school dances were not my thing. Anyway, I had to keep walking and crying.

I turned on Highway 15 and headed south. Further and further from home. Far away from the big game. No rendezvous with Cinda. Just walking and crying and now screaming into the snowy night.

At this point you might be wondering what the hell was going on. Well, that is what I was wondering. I was 17 and just walking my heart out. Since that night I have walked and cried many times. As long as I was walking I did not have to be with people. That is it! I did not have to be cheering, laughing, dancing and being with people. Even now I choose to walk where there is the least likelihood of meeting people. These days I am just walking and not crying.

Once back in the 90s I considered changing my name to Windwalker and dreamed and made plans for walking long long distances. Like walking the circumferences of Australia and Iceland. Crossing all of Russia. Crossing the Pine Ridge Reservation. Not a long walk, but a place to cry and cry out for the pain of the Lakota people. You know, small projects. Just walking — alone.

Now I just walk to the coffee shop and write tales. Interesting. Recently I remembered that while in seminary I did my study and projects at a local truck stop. Jukebox playing, loud conversation, the hustle bustle of the place seemed good. Now I write to the sounds of shoppers, piped in music and folks coming and going. I am okay. I am alone. Not unfriendly, just alone.

I continued walking that night until I got to Baintertown, a historic spot along an old hydraulic canal that weaved its way into Goshen. It was midnight and still snowing, I had cried myself out and now had the task of returning home. I did it. Of course I was exhausted. A new day was coming.

That 17 year old and this 79 year old still have a lot in common. No, I am not crying out in the night. But I find most contentment in being alone when I am not with my dearest friend and wife, Cinny.

Fred, did you win that game? I think so, but I really don’t remember.

Here is Fred today. An Indie artist/singer/songwriter that just keeps moving on with a remarkable career and life. Keep in the game until the final buzzer, my friend. Google Fred Hostetler to learn more about his life and listen to his music.