I gave him the ride. It figured to be more fun than driving home by myself. We got along perfectly until he got in the car and heard Metallica on the radio.
"How about we listen to NPR? Talk of the Nation should be on. It's not Science Friday, but they have a lot of really informative shows," he said.
"I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you. It just struck me so funny the enthusiasm you showed when you said 'Science Friday.' You said it like that's what everybody's waiting to listen to. It's goofy but it's endearing. No offense intended."
I touched his leg because I felt like doing it. It was not a ploy but I think it was a signal. I wondered if he had recognized it.
"None taken. I know I'm in another world sometimes. Why don't we just talk? We can get to know each other better."
"Okay. Fine by me. Let's start with your whole name. I don't even know your last name."
"William Jefferson Goldberg."
This time I didn't have to explain the laughter.
"How the hell did they come up with that?"
"It would have been no big deal if it hadn't been for Clinton. My great grandfather was William. As for Jefferson, he's my mom's favorite president. My other great grandfather was Jerome so they needed a 'J'." "That's too funny."
"Yeah, well, my Mom teaches history at Penn, and she focuses on American History, so there was going to be a president in my name somehow. It was just a matter of bad timing."
"Wow, a history prof. So why didn't you go there?" I asked.
"My mom teaches history at Penn. Plus I wanted to get away from home anyway."
"I can understand that. What does your Dad do?"
"Electrical engineer," he said.
"So nerdiness is genetic?" He gave me a look.
I smiled. "I mean that in the nicest way."
"So what did you inherit? What does your Dad do?" he asked.
"He runs a bank."
"He's a bank manager?"
"No. He runs a bank. President, like his father and his father. He owns the bank."
"I have a checking account in a bank. Your Mom?" he asked.
"She volunteers."
"Not at the bank."
"No."
"So what did you inherit? Not money, but temperament, personality, skills."
"I don't think they have anything to do with who I am."
"Congratulations. You're the first," he said.
"Maybe they do. Are you sure you don't want to listen to Metallica?"
We talked politics. He was a tree hugger, big surprise; he even composted their grass clippings.
He was appalled that I wasn't even registered to vote. All those people fought and died so he could vote. So many women struggled so I could vote. Wasn't I betraying all that effort and sacrifice?
I suppose I was. It was something that required no sacrifice and practically no effort from me and I guess I didn't appreciate what I had.
One of the things that really annoyed me about him was that he was almost always right.
He talked about history, which he seemed to love as much as his Mother did. The best thing about history, he said, was that if we understood it, we could avoid making the mistakes of the past. The problem was in the understanding.
Did we learn from Vietnam that we shouldn't meddle in Iraq? Or did we learn from World War II that we must be involved because it posed a more general threat? Or did neither provide a sufficient parallel to guide our behavior?
Who wants to think about this stuff all the time?
Apparently, Jeff does.
He was passionate about politics. He was passionate about history. He was passionate about bridge.
I thought it was a game designed to fill huge chunks of interminable time for old ladies. But he said it was an intense game fought in local, national and international competition.
He had a passion for baseball. I considered it a cure for insomnia, but Jeff said it was a vibrant test of skill, intelligence and courage.
Most of all, he had passion. He devoured life in huge gulps.
I asked him what he did when he was bored. He asked how it was possible to be bored. There was not enough time to do everything, learn everything, read everything. When was there time available for boredom?
Jeff wanted to talk about what made me passionate, but I couldn't think of anything.
I was envious. I wanted some of that myself.
He said, "Don't want it, go get it. There are things out there that can excite you. Find them. It's all in your control."
He was probably right again. For this ride it was exciting just to see his passion.
With all we talked about, this was the quickest ride home I ever had. I hated for it to end. It seemed that he did too.
"Come on in and meet my family."
"No, I have to get home."
"That can wait a little longer. Come on, I know you'll like them. I promise we won't lock the door. You can get out whenever you need to."
I was a little scared to meet them, but it didn't take too much convincing for me to spend a little more time with him.
"Is that you Jeff?" I heard as we entered through the front door.
"Hi, Mom."
She walked into the foyer. She was a little shorter than I, with brown hair, brown eyes, a thin face and a warm smile that dominated it. She took him in her arms.
"I'm so glad you're home." She released him and turned to me.
"Mom, this is my friend Ashley."
"The same …" she had a quizzical look on her face. "So nice to meet you. If Jeff says you're his friend, I'm sure you're a lovely girl. Come on in and meet everyone."
I tried to protest, but she put her arm around me and led me to the kitchen.
"It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. —"
