We were having breakfast when I brought up Bobby. It was the last weekend of January 2019. The fifth anniversary of his death was days away. I’m a big anniversary guy. Not so much celebrating them as thinking about them. So I shared that I was thinking about Bobby with my dear friends Christine and Nancy.
At my suggestion, Bobby had gone into therapy with Christine. That was 2013. He was still bumming about his break up with Kim, the last love of his life, which had occurred many years before. I thought he could use a change of scene and a creative sympathetic ear. Besides, the therapy center was an easy walk from his house, even for a slow moving little guy. Bobby did a few months of weekly individual sessions with Christine, even went into a group for a while.
At breakfast, Christine was saying what a giving and honest person Bobby had been. “I thought it would be a good idea for him to share his struggles growing up as a dwarf. He said he didn’t want to do that, it would be laying a trip on the group.”
I said “Yeah, I was friends with the guy for almost fifty years and I recall him talking about that maybe once or twice. Stories about his parents taking him around to quack doctors. I feel for his folks. His father proposed to his mom, the local pizza place girl, promising her a piece of the American Dream. Which he delivered on, financially. But they have a child and the kid just won’t grow. It’s the mid-1950s. What are they to do? Hey, it’s not surprising he was an only child.”
“He was a weed dealer, right?” Nancy asked. Bobby was also reluctant to tell his group about that. He eventually did, and immediately got a couple of new customers. Christine said Bobby once asked her to leave the room for a minute so he could complete a transaction. Sounds like Bobby. Continue reading “Bobby Faust”