Colin: An Incomplete Tribute to an Incomparable Person
It wasn't until well into adulthood that I began to notice how significant the first letter of my last name was in shaping my social sphere. My school district's strict adherence to alphabetization thrust me into many otherwise unlikely friendships. I had met Colin around age 9 in Boys Club baseball. A solid contact-hitter who took the game at least half-seriously, his goofy personality laced with maturity made for a good teammate. When I walked into homeroom on my first day of middle school (Mrs. Cressman, caretaker of the "White" team's A-C last names), he was a welcome sight amidst a sea of new faces. This is him. In that homeroom, along with last names Adams through Cox.
Cameras, nor my photography skills, were what they are today.
I was close friends with Colin over the span of about eight years, and three memories really stand out. The first took place in that same 6th-grade classroom, during Language Arts. I don't remember the nature of the assignment, but it involved a group presentation. I had a dramatic flair, and liked explaining things by acting it out. The problem was this demonstration called for three female roles. Middle School was a fearful new world of social hierarchies and codes of coolness. But Colin’s fierce independence emboldened me to make the brave choice: we would all be women, and we’d play the parts well. Don’t get me wrong, I still donned Jncos and Tommy gear and wore my athletic affiliations proudly, but looking back, I’m certain that moment was pivotal in freeing me from cultural expectations and set me on my own path. The class and teachers loved it, by the way!
Me, Colin, and Lindsay (also our make-up artist)
Later that year, imbued with the confidence bestowed by bicycles and a safe community, my friends and I pretty much had the run of the town. Colin lived about a mile from me, maybe a quarter from my best friend's at the time (Brandon, better known as Beef, or as Colin would have it for reasons only making sense to him: Beefifteenf). On one particular weekend, the three of us decided to hold a baseball card sale at the corner of Colin’s intersection on Aspen Circle. I made maybe $3, and Colin pondered leaving his bike out somewhere conspicuous so it would get stolen and he could get a new one because he “hated it” (the bike was fine).
The next day, Brandon’s older brother joined us for a game of football in the park behind his house. We thought it would be fun to table-top Colin with the addition of the appropriately-nicknamed Beef standing up mid-fall to launch him in the air. I talked to distract him, John gave the push, and Brandon served as the table. Colin landed awkwardly on his side, and by his screams of pain, we knew we had royally screwed up. The next day at school, a chipper Colin confirmed, wearing a sling, we had broken his arm in two places and knocked his shoulder out of its socket, which couldn’t be reset until the breaks healed.
On one hand, the experience taught us that as we grew older and we extended our independence, the consequences of our actions grew more significant. But Colin’s resilience, his ability to bounce back, forgive and not cast blame, and stay positive served as its own lesson as well.
By about 10th grade (still sharing a homeroom) Colin had begun spinning his internal idiosyncrasies into external physical projections of personality.
He adopted a spiked mohawk, sported a vintage military-style trenchcoat, and carried his belongings in an old hard-shell suitcase (a term for which he would correct you, insisting it was a Tourister). His shenanigans continued, but stayed youthful and innocent, if sometimes a frustration to teachers (a biology teacher had a ski pole he would smack on Colin’s desk, called the Colin-be-cool-tool, later rechristened the Colin-don’t-be-a-dick-stick). Throughout this phase, I never got the impression his presentation was some sort of attempt to mask insecurities; it was simply another outlet for his weirdness. Get him talking about NHL hockey or Civil War history, and you’d almost forget the oddball you were looking at. He could be incredibly grounded and stable, and in the rare instances I saw him express negative emotions: frustration, disappointment, heartbreak and the like; he dealt with them with an honest stoicism, ready for what the next day would bring. He was a kid in love with living.
Colin by Colin. Featured at his memorial service today.
The news that Colin had passed came as a shock, of course. These days and at my age, one assumes the worst causes - overdose, suicide, DUI-related accident. Colin died of traumatic head injury, but knowing him, I assume it happened in the course of carrying out some Colin-typical shenanigan, and I’ll carry that assumption until told otherwise.
Apart from the shock of the loss, the obituary was jarring in another way: “Colin J. Bradley, 32, passed away…” 32. It’s been over 14 years since I’ve seen the guy, but I had been picturing him the same way he was on graduation day in 2004. After seeing all the tributes rolling in though, I got the feeling not much had changed. His college friends from Washington & Jefferson heralded his warmth and personal expression (an experimental punk EP he made in 06, titled “The Colin Bradley Explanation,” has resurfaced). His friends from Europe spoke of the profound impression he had made on them. The friends he came back to and made upon his return to the area couldn’t say enough about his humor, energy, and conversation.
My perspective of Colin in recent days was limited to Facebook, reconnecting maybe 2 years ago. I never could tell if he was struggling or doing just fine. He bartended a bit, got fired from the same job twice I think, and embarked on a sojourn westward. It stalled in Pittsburgh, and sent him from whence he came. Most recently he was crashing with friends, doing odd jobs around town to pay bills and save up for a planned Appalachian Trail through-hike in an attempt to rediscover himself. The GoFundMe page sits partially-funded. Whether this instability was a sad result of internal demons or a purposeful way of Colin living the way only he was meant to, I’m not sure I’ll ever know. In my head though, he’ll always be that bucket of joyful spontanaeity, never failing to surprise.
As I left today’s service, the first thing I saw on my phone was that another classmate of ours, appearing between Colin and I in a picture in the gallery below in fact, had lost his sister, another beautiful human, to illness. It’s a reminder that as we age, the frequency of these occurrences will increase. The sadness will still be there, but the weight may not. I hope, going forward, that I can continue to appreciate those who have crossed my path and departed, reflect internally, and recognize them and carry on the small impact they have had in my life. For Colin though, it’s an easy one.
The term is often hyperbolic, but Colin, I can say with confidence you were truly one of a kind. Thank you for all you’ve shared with us- I hope to see you on the other side.
Onward, old friend. (Colin at the front of our dinner cruise boat, senior class trip, Inner Harbor)
Gallery
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