My very favorite story about my late cousin Mike Garman is this one .... Mike and his parents, and Greg, too, used to come visit us in Hamilton. My parents owned a restaurant and we lived in the basement apartment, all five of us cramped in two rooms. Oh, those were the days. Our ‘entertainment’ involved going up to the restaurant at night, after closing hours, playing the jukebox (Big Bad John and Calcutta) and drinking cherry cokes. On this particular night, the Garmans were visiting. Mike and I were always horsing around, doing ‘acrobatics.’ I would sit on his shoulders and he would toss and turn me around. The funny part is Mike wasn’t very tall (ever) although he surely seemed like it to me back then. I was eight-years-old and had just started third grade at a new school. I clearly remember, sitting on his shoulders, we were performing. I leaned back, assuming Mike was going to hold me. He didn’t. I fell FLAT on my face. It seemed like I’d fallen 10 miles but, in retrospect, considering Mike’s lack of height, I realized I didn’t fall that far but I fell far enough to smash up my face. Yep, brand new kid at school, third grade, long division (which gave me a near break-down) and a smashed up face. Picture day came. I wasn’t able to get my picture taken because ... well, I looked like a pugilist who’d gone a round or two and lost, badly. That is the memory I will always recall when I think of Mike. He served his country, he loved the Eagles and he was fun; lots of fun. Godspeed, Michael.
Posted on: Fri, 03 Oct 2014 01:32:30 +0000
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