Earl and Norman in 4th grade!
Few things in life are more comforting than having old friends; not aged friends, but friends with whom you go back a long way in your life; somebody you started grade school with; somebody you sat in Sunday school class with; somebody you went to camp with. When you get 60 or 70 years old, and life has turned you out to pasture, friends can be a real blessing and encouragement in our retired years.
I heard a good story from Dave Martin the other day; he was excited about seeing two old grade school friends; Dave is now 78 years old; so these are friends from over 70 years ago. 3 boys who played together, went to school together, and lived right next to each other; one became a priest in the Catholic church, one became a penticostal preacher, and Dave became a Free church pastor and retired as the Superintendent of the Central District of the Free Church. Dave will travel back to Northern Wisconsin next month to reconnect with these two childhood friends; he will go back in time with these two friends, remembering the past and renewing the tie that bound them together as youngsters. I am certain, that if these three boys' kindergarten teacher was still alive: knowing that the three went on to be in the ministry might have shocked her.
I too had a childhood friend that I have not forgotten over the years; as a 4th grader I began a friendship with a boy named Norman Dentlinger; a kid whose family was poor; a kid that didn't excel in school; a kid who was a bit shy and with drawn from the others. I wrote a story about Norman at Christmas time a few years ago; I will share with you again:
My daughter arrived home from college tonight; she had called earlier in the day and said she was bringing a friend. I was a little taken back when I stepped outside to greet my daughter; I could see her friend was struggling with her baggage. She walked with a limp, her knees were turned in and she wore thick glasses, with limited eye sight.
As we sat in the living room, tears came to my eyes because I was seeing the exact image in myself 35 years later. We had moved when I was going into the fourth grade. I was ready for the move. My dad had recently remarried after a 1961 divorce. We settled into the community, and I started school in Miss Sorenson’s class.
In 1964, there were no special education classes, only three levels of students: the smart, the average, and the slow. We had 3 slow students in my 4th grade class. Dave, Patty, and Norman. I was average to smart.
No one wore tennis shoes to school in 1964, but dress shoes. Norman didn’t wear either; he wore a heavy type above-the-ankle work boot that was sturdy, bulky, and enduring. From his feet to his head, Norman dressed different than the other kids. His coat and jeans were not stylish, but straight cut denims that a 30 year old farm hand would wear. He wouldn’t eat the 35 cent school lunches, instead he would carry his lunch of heavy dark bread sandwiches full of last night’s meat. I ate the Friday fish stick lunches and drank the 2 cent milk.
I wasn’t the biggest kid on the play ground, but I remember watching after Norman. I always made sure he was included in kick ball games at recess and would not allow the other boys to poke fun or mimic Norman. He was not overly gifted in running and throwing, but he was extra strong in arms and chest.
When Christmas came around in 1964, my dad was making around $3000 per year. I didn’t know we were the poor ones. I remember having our Sunday school Christmas program prior to Christmas school vacation. I remember the good hard candy and chocolates that were passed out to each child in the brown paper sack. I saved mine.
I took it to school on Monday morning, gift wrapped in a box and slipped it to Norman over lunch. He never said much. I never received a thankyou, but I knew I had done the right thing that Christmas. I haven’t seen Norman since grade school. I heard he never made it through high school. I moved away when we finished 8th grade.
I doubt my daughter’s friend got asked to visit somebody’s home often during her 4 years at Moody Bible. I am glad that apple’s don’t fall very far from the tree. I am glad that some things can be taught and others things are pure instinct.
And to you my old friend Norman, Merry Christmas to you again, 42 years later.
I called Norman last winter after stumbling onto his name in a phone book; he hadn't moved from Coon Rapids in over 50 years. I was all excited to hear how his life turned out; I had hoped he had went on and made something out of himself; that he had created a new life different than his childhood days. The sad part is: he hadn't: and even sadder to me, he didn't even remember me. I had not forgotten his name or even what he looked like for 44 years; he couldn't even recall who I was. I listen as he told me where he worked and a bit about his family. He had married, he had children; but nowhere did I ever hear about a conversion or even a changed life.
I need to go and see him one of these days; I can't change his past 53 years of his life; I doubt if anyone has ever shared with him about a relationship with Christ. I want to do that now; I want him to remember me just as I have often reflected on him and his childhood days. I want his name written in the Lamb's book of Life; where no one will be forgotten.
I too had a childhood friend that I have not forgotten over the years; as a 4th grader I began a friendship with a boy named Norman Dentlinger; a kid whose family was poor; a kid that didn't excel in school; a kid who was a bit shy and with drawn from the others. I wrote a story about Norman at Christmas time a few years ago; I will share with you again:
My daughter arrived home from college tonight; she had called earlier in the day and said she was bringing a friend. I was a little taken back when I stepped outside to greet my daughter; I could see her friend was struggling with her baggage. She walked with a limp, her knees were turned in and she wore thick glasses, with limited eye sight.
As we sat in the living room, tears came to my eyes because I was seeing the exact image in myself 35 years later. We had moved when I was going into the fourth grade. I was ready for the move. My dad had recently remarried after a 1961 divorce. We settled into the community, and I started school in Miss Sorenson’s class.
In 1964, there were no special education classes, only three levels of students: the smart, the average, and the slow. We had 3 slow students in my 4th grade class. Dave, Patty, and Norman. I was average to smart.
No one wore tennis shoes to school in 1964, but dress shoes. Norman didn’t wear either; he wore a heavy type above-the-ankle work boot that was sturdy, bulky, and enduring. From his feet to his head, Norman dressed different than the other kids. His coat and jeans were not stylish, but straight cut denims that a 30 year old farm hand would wear. He wouldn’t eat the 35 cent school lunches, instead he would carry his lunch of heavy dark bread sandwiches full of last night’s meat. I ate the Friday fish stick lunches and drank the 2 cent milk.
I wasn’t the biggest kid on the play ground, but I remember watching after Norman. I always made sure he was included in kick ball games at recess and would not allow the other boys to poke fun or mimic Norman. He was not overly gifted in running and throwing, but he was extra strong in arms and chest.
When Christmas came around in 1964, my dad was making around $3000 per year. I didn’t know we were the poor ones. I remember having our Sunday school Christmas program prior to Christmas school vacation. I remember the good hard candy and chocolates that were passed out to each child in the brown paper sack. I saved mine.
I took it to school on Monday morning, gift wrapped in a box and slipped it to Norman over lunch. He never said much. I never received a thankyou, but I knew I had done the right thing that Christmas. I haven’t seen Norman since grade school. I heard he never made it through high school. I moved away when we finished 8th grade.
I doubt my daughter’s friend got asked to visit somebody’s home often during her 4 years at Moody Bible. I am glad that apple’s don’t fall very far from the tree. I am glad that some things can be taught and others things are pure instinct.
And to you my old friend Norman, Merry Christmas to you again, 42 years later.
I called Norman last winter after stumbling onto his name in a phone book; he hadn't moved from Coon Rapids in over 50 years. I was all excited to hear how his life turned out; I had hoped he had went on and made something out of himself; that he had created a new life different than his childhood days. The sad part is: he hadn't: and even sadder to me, he didn't even remember me. I had not forgotten his name or even what he looked like for 44 years; he couldn't even recall who I was. I listen as he told me where he worked and a bit about his family. He had married, he had children; but nowhere did I ever hear about a conversion or even a changed life.
I need to go and see him one of these days; I can't change his past 53 years of his life; I doubt if anyone has ever shared with him about a relationship with Christ. I want to do that now; I want him to remember me just as I have often reflected on him and his childhood days. I want his name written in the Lamb's book of Life; where no one will be forgotten.
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