At my brother’s wake, a couple of years ago, a woman approached me to offer her condolences. She mentioned how she remembered him when we were in college and he was in high school and how he’d been coerced by my mother to accompany us on a date.About mid-story, she realized that I hadn’t a clue who she was. She laughingly called me out on it and I fessed up that I didn’t recognize her. She gave me her name and I almost died of embarrassment. This was a woman that I almost got engaged to ! Yes, 50 years can definitely change a person in other’s eyes. But when we look in the mirror, we still see that eager teenager staring back, not all those wrinkles and grey hair.
After 30 years apart and almost no contact even by post, I went to visit my cousin. Though we had been “kids” then, when I got off the train, we recognized each other immediately..Quite a different story at my high school reunion. 8^o
That hair is no one-time mistake – it’s been a long term thing. Every time I see it, it aggravates me. Come on Lynn – no child has a hairline like that. Please fix?
Lynn’s staff only colors the Sunday strips. If you notice, this mistake never happens on Sundays because she draws the hair to be colored. The daily strips were all in b&w, and she drew a few lines to “suggest” Mike’s hair. Unfortunately, the colorist hired by GoComics only makes the few lines brown and colors the flesh-tone beneath it. It comes out silly looking and distracting.
That’s the way it is at first. How long it lasts depends. Adults with social skills can clear things up in minutes or even seconds. Sometimes, it takes an event to remind you of what you share. For most of us, most of the time, we can find that common ground again and regain the feeling of closeness. Kids don’t know this will happen though, and the painful awkwardness of separation is no fun.
That has been the same mismatch about Lawrence. His skin color has ranged from cocoa brown to fish belly white. It could be colorization of these “new-run” strips making errors.
I have lived in AZ for ten years having moved here after I retired.I knew a girl back in NJ in 1953,just for the heck of it I searched online a few years ago and found her living 20 miles away. My wife and I have lunch with her and her husband once a month.
WARNING: LONG, SAD, PROBABLY BORING BUT RELEVANT TO THIS COMIC STORY AHEAD:
When I was 16 my best friend ended up getting tangled up in a religious cult that his father was part of. The day I got my first car (a $600 1978 Pontiac Trans Am affectionately called Bertha because it looked like you’d expect a $600 Trans Am to look), I picked him up at his house hoping we could go make total asses of ourselves in it. We went to the local main drag and raced everything we could find, whether the other driver knew he was racing or not. The whole time, my friend was strangely silent. When we finally got to the point the car was almost out of gas I went to drop him off at his house, and he said “Shut the car off, I need to talk to you”. Knowing that conversations starting like that are never good, and with the hairs standing up on my arms, I shut it off and said “Go ahead”. He said “You know I’ve been going to church, and, well, I won’t be able to hang around with you anymore unless you start going, too”. I was dumbfounded. I was well aware of this cult and his father’s involvement in it, but I didn’t realize he’d gotten sucked in as deep as this. I told him that there was no way in hell I was joining his cult. He got out of the car and I sped away, with tears in my eyes. This moment is burned perfectly in my memory: Driving away, looking at him in the rearview mirror, and the song “Farewell to You” by White Lion comes on the radio.
What was supposed to be one of the best moments of my life (FIRST CAR!!!) had suddenly become one of the worst (my best friend had suddenly decided I was not good enough to hang around with anymore. I spent the summer hanging around with other friends but it wasn’t the same.
School started back up in September, and about two weeks in, I went out to my car in the high school parking lot and was startled to see somebody sitting in it. You don’t lock the doors on a $600 car because A) If somebody wants something inside it, it’s going to cost you a $250 window, and B) The key didn’t work in the door, so it would have cost me a $250 window anyway. So I approach the car with fists clenched and ready to do battle. I snuck up behind, grabbed the door handle, swung the door open, and was just about to start swinging when I saw that it was my (former) friend looking out at me with tears running down his eyes. I closed the door, went around to the driver’s side, got in, and said “What’s up?”
He proceeded to tell me the whole story about how his father sold everything he owned for $500 to buy a plane ticket to fly to Israel to look for the true God. His son was not part of this plan, so he was abandoned. He was 15 years old, out on the street, with nothing to his name (his father sold EVERYTHING). He didn’t know what to do. Neither did I, so we basically both just sat there crying, something you don’t see happen with 15 and 16 year old boys very often. I ended up driving him to his mother’s place (she left the father shortly after the father got involved in the cult).
And here’s where the story draws a parallel to this comic: We ended up being friends again, but it was never the same. My best friend for most of my life had become a stranger. He was still Dale, but he was different. I do not carry grudges, never have, but that whole “wasn’t good enough, but then you needed me” thing was always there. Worse, the cult kiddies that he had been hanging around with had introduced him to both booze and drugs, and he still wanted to hang around with them. One of them was an accomplished thief (he helped himself to several of the tapes in my prized cassette collection the very first time he met me). We ended up slowly drifting apart, and hardly talked to each other at all until he moved to Edmonton. The few times he came back to visit he was stoned and drunk the whole time, and the last time he came it was so awkward that we haven’t been together since. I last saw him in 2007 and have no idea where, or even if (the drug use makes this a legit concern), he lives.
I remember all of my friends back before kindergarten. I was heart broken a couple of times when “best” friends would come back after a year and not even remember living right next door. This happenned twice. I guess that some children just don’t have a developed memory.
Templo S.U.D. almost 9 years ago
I’m going to feel the same way when I get the chance to see an old friend from middle school (that was back in 1998/99).
Argythree almost 9 years ago
It probably doesn’t help that Michael is starting to go bald…
alviebird almost 9 years ago
Okay, what’s up with Mike’s hair?
Robert Nowall Premium Member almost 9 years ago
Give him a few years. There’ll be more “strange” to come.
Eric Salinas Premium Member almost 9 years ago
What’s with Michael’s head? Is he going bald?
Linguist almost 9 years ago
At my brother’s wake, a couple of years ago, a woman approached me to offer her condolences. She mentioned how she remembered him when we were in college and he was in high school and how he’d been coerced by my mother to accompany us on a date.About mid-story, she realized that I hadn’t a clue who she was. She laughingly called me out on it and I fessed up that I didn’t recognize her. She gave me her name and I almost died of embarrassment. This was a woman that I almost got engaged to ! Yes, 50 years can definitely change a person in other’s eyes. But when we look in the mirror, we still see that eager teenager staring back, not all those wrinkles and grey hair.
gammaguy almost 9 years ago
After 30 years apart and almost no contact even by post, I went to visit my cousin. Though we had been “kids” then, when I got off the train, we recognized each other immediately..Quite a different story at my high school reunion. 8^o
John LaCasella almost 9 years ago
That hair is no one-time mistake – it’s been a long term thing. Every time I see it, it aggravates me. Come on Lynn – no child has a hairline like that. Please fix?
JanLC almost 9 years ago
Lynn’s staff only colors the Sunday strips. If you notice, this mistake never happens on Sundays because she draws the hair to be colored. The daily strips were all in b&w, and she drew a few lines to “suggest” Mike’s hair. Unfortunately, the colorist hired by GoComics only makes the few lines brown and colors the flesh-tone beneath it. It comes out silly looking and distracting.
summerdog86 almost 9 years ago
The comic colorist must need new glasses. I agree that Mike’s hair has reached an all-time low. How could he or she turn in such work?
masnadies almost 9 years ago
That’s the way it is at first. How long it lasts depends. Adults with social skills can clear things up in minutes or even seconds. Sometimes, it takes an event to remind you of what you share. For most of us, most of the time, we can find that common ground again and regain the feeling of closeness. Kids don’t know this will happen though, and the painful awkwardness of separation is no fun.
USN1977 almost 9 years ago
That has been the same mismatch about Lawrence. His skin color has ranged from cocoa brown to fish belly white. It could be colorization of these “new-run” strips making errors.
BrookFan almost 9 years ago
I have lived in AZ for ten years having moved here after I retired.I knew a girl back in NJ in 1953,just for the heck of it I searched online a few years ago and found her living 20 miles away. My wife and I have lunch with her and her husband once a month.
up2trixx almost 9 years ago
WARNING: LONG, SAD, PROBABLY BORING BUT RELEVANT TO THIS COMIC STORY AHEAD:
When I was 16 my best friend ended up getting tangled up in a religious cult that his father was part of. The day I got my first car (a $600 1978 Pontiac Trans Am affectionately called Bertha because it looked like you’d expect a $600 Trans Am to look), I picked him up at his house hoping we could go make total asses of ourselves in it. We went to the local main drag and raced everything we could find, whether the other driver knew he was racing or not. The whole time, my friend was strangely silent. When we finally got to the point the car was almost out of gas I went to drop him off at his house, and he said “Shut the car off, I need to talk to you”. Knowing that conversations starting like that are never good, and with the hairs standing up on my arms, I shut it off and said “Go ahead”. He said “You know I’ve been going to church, and, well, I won’t be able to hang around with you anymore unless you start going, too”. I was dumbfounded. I was well aware of this cult and his father’s involvement in it, but I didn’t realize he’d gotten sucked in as deep as this. I told him that there was no way in hell I was joining his cult. He got out of the car and I sped away, with tears in my eyes. This moment is burned perfectly in my memory: Driving away, looking at him in the rearview mirror, and the song “Farewell to You” by White Lion comes on the radio.
What was supposed to be one of the best moments of my life (FIRST CAR!!!) had suddenly become one of the worst (my best friend had suddenly decided I was not good enough to hang around with anymore. I spent the summer hanging around with other friends but it wasn’t the same.
School started back up in September, and about two weeks in, I went out to my car in the high school parking lot and was startled to see somebody sitting in it. You don’t lock the doors on a $600 car because A) If somebody wants something inside it, it’s going to cost you a $250 window, and B) The key didn’t work in the door, so it would have cost me a $250 window anyway. So I approach the car with fists clenched and ready to do battle. I snuck up behind, grabbed the door handle, swung the door open, and was just about to start swinging when I saw that it was my (former) friend looking out at me with tears running down his eyes. I closed the door, went around to the driver’s side, got in, and said “What’s up?”
He proceeded to tell me the whole story about how his father sold everything he owned for $500 to buy a plane ticket to fly to Israel to look for the true God. His son was not part of this plan, so he was abandoned. He was 15 years old, out on the street, with nothing to his name (his father sold EVERYTHING). He didn’t know what to do. Neither did I, so we basically both just sat there crying, something you don’t see happen with 15 and 16 year old boys very often. I ended up driving him to his mother’s place (she left the father shortly after the father got involved in the cult).
And here’s where the story draws a parallel to this comic: We ended up being friends again, but it was never the same. My best friend for most of my life had become a stranger. He was still Dale, but he was different. I do not carry grudges, never have, but that whole “wasn’t good enough, but then you needed me” thing was always there. Worse, the cult kiddies that he had been hanging around with had introduced him to both booze and drugs, and he still wanted to hang around with them. One of them was an accomplished thief (he helped himself to several of the tapes in my prized cassette collection the very first time he met me). We ended up slowly drifting apart, and hardly talked to each other at all until he moved to Edmonton. The few times he came back to visit he was stoned and drunk the whole time, and the last time he came it was so awkward that we haven’t been together since. I last saw him in 2007 and have no idea where, or even if (the drug use makes this a legit concern), he lives.
route66paul almost 9 years ago
I remember all of my friends back before kindergarten. I was heart broken a couple of times when “best” friends would come back after a year and not even remember living right next door. This happenned twice. I guess that some children just don’t have a developed memory.
Jonathan K. and the Elusive Dream Girl almost 9 years ago
Like this?
poodles27 almost 9 years ago
That’s life!
amaryllis2 Premium Member almost 9 years ago
@Just4Kixx: I’m so sorry.