An Old Friend

And a pain in the ass

When I was young, I had a sock drawer. That drawer was more or less a portal to Knick-Knack-Knarnia and instead of weaving through hanging coats to the land of Mr. Tumnus, Aslan, and the White Witch, you picked your way through a mound of little boy socks and found, on the other side, such fantastical items as a lucky rabbit foot, $2 bills, and a mysterious cowhide wallet. Sometimes the $2 bills went into the wallet for safekeeping; other times they ranged around the sea of socks, looking for a place to hide. There were plenty of other items in that drawer but those are the three I remember. It’s the wallet that I’m going to talk about.

The wallet was in the drawer for as long as I can remember. Truth be told, I have absolutely no idea when it made its way there or where it came from. I don’t know if it was used or not but I seem to remember it being in decent shape. Eventually, I was old enough that I needed a wallet (probably when I started bagging groceries at Tom’s when I was fourteen) and the wallet came into employment along with me. Around that time, it began to fill up with unique odds and ends and continued to do so for about eight years, and then abruptly stopped. Since then, I’ve been carrying a veritable time capsule against my butt cheek.

Sometime in the intervening years, I realized how strange it was that I was still using the same silly wallet that I pulled from my sock drawer all those years ago. This probably happened when I noticed the first hole that had worn through the folded corner of it. Defiant, I resolved to use the same wallet for as many years as I could and, one day I would be an old man sporting a young man’s wallet, wallet-gods willing. So back in my pocket it went and now, even more years later, it sports more holes, failing stitching, and crumbling leather along every edge.

It's impressive in it's dilapidation, isn't it?

What is this, some sort of hero’s mask?

So why is it empty and why am I talking about it? Well, a few weeks back we kayaked the Crystal River and our “dry” bag became anything but. When we got home, it was time to disassemble ye ole wallet to dry it out and while I had a pretty good idea of what all was in there, pulling it out was still a hilarious and sometimes sentimental trip down memory lane.

First came the pictures. Jenelle and I, on our second date, were at the top of the stack proudly displayed in the now less-than-clear plastic window. Underneath was the oddest collection of senior photos: my sister, Bryan Ruediger (nice frosted tips, buddy), and Joe Young.

Children.

Next up was a note Jenelle left for me sometime early in our dating career and a bible verse.

The note is adorable, of course—I couldn’t wait to see you that night either, darlin’—but what I thought was a bible verse actually appears to be notes on a particular verse now that I read it again more closely. I just pulled out my own bible for the first time in maybe a decade and the actual verse says:

“So, you see, it is impossible to please God without faith. Anyone who wants to come to him must believe that there is a God and that he rewards those who sincerely seek him.” - Hebrews 11:6

Hmmm… I didn’t see this coming this morning but here we are so I guess let's keep going. The thing is, I went through the difficult and identity-shaking process of admitting to myself that I no longer believed in God about seven to eight years ago and I had stopped sincerely seeking him some years before that. I’m glad I went through that process and am more than confident about where I landed but it was not an easy one. Anyone who thinks that leaving the faith is done flippantly or without consideration is wrong, I’m here to tell you. Religion is a hell of a drug to try and quit and the withdrawals can be a bitch at first. Deciding what you think about the big man in the sky is only the first small part of it all. What comes next is a litany of previously answered questions that now demand new ones, or at least that you spend enough time to think about the answers that are there and decide if they’re still good ones or not. I’m not sure if I’m done with that part of the process—maybe I never will be—but that is ok.

Moving on…next up was the random collection of membership cards, half of which are entirely useless now. The Ouga Club card is of particular note but I’m sworn to secrecy as to how I got in that club. I’m not sure if the place even exists anymore but I’ll take that secret to my grave, at least here online. If you see me in the flesh and ask, I’ll probably tell you. I have a hard time with lies.

Not pictured are the usual banalities of 21st-century life, including but not limited to:

1. My library card. Unfortuntely I just got rid of the original a few months ago. It was 25+ years old and was in complete tatters. It tied back to my childhood phone number, our old Pembroke address, and had a signature on it that was actually legible.

2. Insurance and registration (non-expiring Authentic) for my 1973 Yamaha scooter.

3. Rewards cards I no longer need because they just use your phone number.

4. An AARP card (for real).

5. A LEGO VIP card (I may be old but I’m also a child).

6. Credit cards for both Sweetwater and Musicians Friend. That 48-month financing deal is the delight of musicians and the bane of marriages the world round.

After all this, I find myself at a crossroads. I’ve hung on to this thing for 30+ years just because it seemed like the right thing to do. I no longer want it and haven’t wanted it for years. I don’t like things in my pockets (hence why I got a hip bag) and have been pulling the dang thing out of my pants every time I sit down since the days when I worked at Fieldstone Deli and developed painful hip issues (these were thankfully solved for the most part by doing this and getting a knee pillow for sleep). I don’t even take it with me to certain places now because I know I can pay with my phone. Call me naive but I relish the day when everything I need can be stored on that thing.

So what do I do? Do I stuff it away as a memento and buy something newer, sexier and smaller? I certainly could. As you have seen, there is more useless dreck in this thing than not and most of it could be tossed or left at home for the rare and specific moments it is needed. I think I’ll keep it though, in the same condition it is now with a few non-nostalgic exceptions (I’m looking at you, various rewards cards). You see, the aforementioned hip bag that could have been this wallet’s killer may just end up saving it. It can hide in there safely without it being worn away little by little over thousands of trips in and out of pockets and the brittle leather shouldn’t get too much worse if I keep it out of the river.

But I guess there is an elephant in the room here, one that showed up uninvited to say that my wallet-journey seems to mirror my faith-journey if you look close enough. I’ll be honest and say that I had no plans to get into that today—this whole post got way deeper than I intended—but Stephen King says in On Writing that you should never come lightly to the page. You should take a situation, write about it, follow where it leads, and be prepared to tell the truth. If you can’t do that, you have no business writing. I tend to agree with him there so while I know today’s unexpected subject matter won’t be desirable to some, it is true and I’m not going to ignore it for that reason. I’ve never talked about it publicly, in fact, partially because I didn’t want anyone to think that my decisions were some sort of indictment of theirs. You can think what you think and I’ll think what I think; that’s ok.

For now, I have a wallet to put back together.

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