The afternoon before the erev Rosh Hashanah 5782, I got a phone call from my fifth-grade buddy David Dibo. David is one of those guys that every time we talk, it’s fun. I kicked off the conversation by telling him that one of the kids from our old class died. Now in our late sixties, these things happen more and more. Almost always better to be the one spreading that news as opposed to the one it’s being spread about.
When we were around 12 years old, David and I were leaving my apartment building when I teased him by singing, “David loves Marva. David loves Marva.” Marva was a girl in our 5th grade class. David shot back that he did not love Marva. I sang it again but this time louder. Since David was twelve, his only recourse was to chase me yelling “take it back”. Running after me at full speed, he ran smack into the 2-inch-thick glass entrance door to the building. He was immediately knocked semi-unconscious.
Now mumbling like a wino coming off a 40-year wine habit with blood pouring out of his nose, I walked him back home and handed him over to his mom. Freaking out at the sight of the blood, she asked him “what happened?” David mumbled back to his mom, “Who are you? Where am I?” We soon found out that besides a busted nose, David also had amnesia. This was especially bad for me since he was one of the kids I used to cheat off on school tests. After a week or so, David, thank God, was back to normal.
A few years later he was voted most popular boy in high school even with a bent nose. We both still talk to Marva.
So, it’s now 53 years later and after a few minutes of catch-up, David says, “Some years back I told him that when he and the other kids would choose sides to play ball that it was painful for me that I was almost always chosen last or not at all.” When you are a kid, that is a big deal. When choosing sides, I was what you call “What about him?” When everyone else was picked, they would look at me and say, “What about him or who wants him?” Many times, I would be completely left out and walk home kicking the dirt, always mad, sometimes crying or sometimes both. Always feeling very alone.
To be quite honest, to some degree, I deserved some of this treatment, but that’s for another time. So, David continued, “You know Mark, I just want to say I am sorry if I was one of the kids that hurt you. Because if I did, I really didn’t mean to.” This happened 53 years ago. Wow. I can only tell you when he said those things to me, I felt an almost immediate release of pain I had been carrying around the whole time. I felt lighter, happier, and it brought a big smile to my face. Jokingly I fired back, “Thank you David. I have waited 50 years to hear that.” We both laughed.
The power of a simple “I am sorry” even five decades later can have tornado power impact uprooting ancient wounds.
The power of a simple “I am sorry” even five decades later can have tornado power impact uprooting ancient wounds. I have told the story of being left out many times to many people but until David’s call, I only had a sad ending to the story. It always ended with how much it hurt to be left out and forgotten.
I also realized, for the first time, we were all just kids groping around in the dark hallways that housed our feelings and emotions. Thank you, David for the call, and thank you God for giving us the power of Teshuva (repentance) and the ability for us to accept a heartfelt “I’m sorry” when it’s handed to us.
Recently I was tossing a baseball around with some neighborhood 12- and 14-year old’s when they then decided instead to play football. I asked if I could play, and they said no. I look forward to that call in 50 years.
Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer.
