I’m not sure why I feel so compelled to write about this but I found out a couple weeks ago that David Tinsley, schoolmate of mine, had passed away in May at age 40 after fighting lung cancer for three years, leaving a wife and three children. I hadn’t seen David since I was in college and before that there was a break when I left public grade school in 6th grade to begin a six year journey through all-male hell private school.
The thing was that the Tinsley’s lived a block or two down the same street as I did so it was kind of impossible not to “see” him. It always seemed like there was something going on at the Tinsley house, with multiple brothers playing sports in the yard, working on cars, or otherwise horsing around. They seemed like the embodiment of a family who was living a truly American life. At Halloween you’d see that someone had teepeed their house but you knew the Tinsley boys had given it back four times as bad.
David and I were simply acquaintances and not friends. He was always someone larger than life in many ways. While I was a runt until I finally started growing my last year or so of high school, David just always seemed enormous. I knew who he was, everyone knew who he was, I don’t think he ever gave me a spare thought and it’s doubtful he ever knew my name, I simply didn’t measure up in so many ways. Because of his physical size, it was no surprise to see him head off to Pop Warner football practices and championships and then become a football star at Menlo Atherton High School.
My clearest memory of David Tinsley is from the 6th grade, before I left these kids I grew up with, quite literally for the rest of my life. It was one day in late spring, you could feel the summer coming. As afternoon recess was finishing up we drifted from the fields up to the blacktop at La Entrada middle school – but David stayed out in the field and I could see there were some other kids around him so I paused. The bell rang and the kids who were unaware of what was happening went down the cinderblock hallways to the classrooms but most of us headed back to the field where Dave was now sitting, legs crossed, eyes closed, upraised palms resting on his knees as a classic “Zen Master” with kids starting to sit in front of him, assuming the position. We sat down laughing and getting into it, as teachers started to appear underneath the eaves of the school at the edge of the playground, looking for the students who were supposed to be sitting at their desks. Eventually the assistant principal, followed by David’s teacher, came down to the field to talk to…. David. He was so obviously the leader in these things, it made no sense to even acknowledge our existence.
“David, you’re late for class, what are you doing?”
Not opening his eyes or turning his head, David, “I’m channeling vibrations in the name of world peace.”
We all laugh, including the assistant principal and teacher.
“David, these kids need to get back to school now.”
“It’s not time, yet.”
“When will it be time David?”
“We need more peaceful vibrations. Can you help us?”
“David, my job is to make sure you guys get into class to do your schoolwork.”
“I think you could really help us.”
“David, this really is most ridiculous, the entire school is waiting, we’re going to have to go to my office right now.”
“We’re so close though. Listen to the wind, feel the air on your skin, we’re right here.”
“David, I don’t want to make this a big thing, so you’re saying if I sit down for a second this will be over with?”
“We almost have it – let’s all breathe.”
We giggled.
The assistant principal with a couple grunts got down onto the grass, not with crossed-legs, kind of on one butt cheek and flapped his hands at the teacher to do the same. Three or four teachers had grouped together on the blacktop about a hundred yards away, with their arms folded, talked to each other, turning our way every now and then. We didn’t say anything, we didn’t laugh, we just watched. Some kids had totally given into the event, had their eyes closed, mouths open, seeking vibrations.
“David…”
“Shhhh!”
Time passed. Bees buzzed in the clover. A single-engine plane could be heard really far away. We breathed.
“David, I must really insist…”
David held up one hand towards the assistant principal to indicate Silence. The administrator of education sat in the grass with his mouth open, frozen.
One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two.
“There,” said David. “We did it.”
Thank you so much for posting this. It has been one year today since my younger brother passed and I loved being able to laugh so hard. Thank you for sharing.
Randy
Randy, it’s great to hear from you. I’m glad you found my post, I will never forget your brother.