Briboru
FYI: This entry is about Brian Thompson. If you are him (or someone who knows him) and arrived here by searching for “Brian Thompson” on Google, please read about my continuing search and e-mail me (aaron22@optonline.net) with any leads. Thanks — it means a lot to me.
I was 13 when I met him, on the cusp of maturity but still very much a child. He was older, thirtysomething I think; people’s ages weren’t something I paid attention to at the time. Regardless, he was the most interesting adult imaginable at that point, and I was drawn to him instantly. He was smarter by far than any of my boring teachers, studied in literature, music, medieval Ireland, mythology. He knew the books I read and the music I listened to; his favorite band was my favorite band.
And then there was his voice. Deep and resonant, slight southern accent, Kentucky or North Carolina all the way. Clear and precise, perfectly patient and understanding no matter what. His laugh, the kind that warmed you all over with its sheer honest joy. A rich, whole-body laugh that couldn’t be faked, the real thing, separating him from the rest of the phony world. I cannot describe this adequately. To make him laugh was all I wanted in life, and hearing him bellow was as good as it got.
His red hair and blue eyes, like the High King from whom he took his name. His wisdom, his generosity. The way he appreciated me, made me feel unique, told me I would go places.
All of those are things I miss. In February 2001, he left my life, suddenly and without notice. Life difficulties coinciding with a move to another state, and suddenly he was unreachable. Vanished into the ether. His parting note is printed out on my bulletin board, but it needn’t be; I know it by heart.
In the end, trust how people have treated you above all. If you’ve seen their face, shook their hand or felt their warmth, trust in that. Nothing else matters.
The fears I have from losing Briboru are the archetypes of all my fears, and the basis of all my regrets. I am afraid I didn’t do enough to let him know how important he was to me; I regret not trying harder to make him stay. I regret taking him, and other people in my life, for granted.
I am afraid—terrified beyond belief—that I will never heard that voice again, or that laugh, except in my dreams.
Above all, I am afraid that I will go my whole life without ever meeting another Briboru. That like AC for the first time, like memory, something has been lost that can never be regained.
Brian, if you’re out there: I miss you something terrible.
Comments
Hey there…I have a similar teacher. One that I was very lucky to have in 1st grade as well in 4th. Those two years happened to be the year I moved to Las Vegas and the year I moved to CA. My 1st and last years in Las Vegas. He was incredible. Extremely caring(I know people care greatly..but I haven’t met someone(adult rather) that has made you feel as cared as he does. He was laughing all the time….a very big guy, so he shook and really got into it. Loved to sing and make jokes and just kind of BE THERE for you when ever he needed. He exceeded in just teaching 4th grade. But taught us about life, diversity, racism(he is African American) history, everything. He go promoted to a better job the same year I left. Some where in Nevada that I’m still not sure of. He was simply an amazing part of my life that for a long time I regetted losing just like you described. However, I was recently with my sister at the library and looking around the children’s department and so the move BEN AND ME. There’s a very good song in the movie about friendship….something he taught me to treasure. The song was the same one he sang a lot, and mentioned a lot what the movie/book was about. I realized that I didn’t lose my favorite childhood teacher. I’m living what HE taught. I’ve always felt teachers were more than fact givers, and good ones are able to sow something deep inside there student that well teaches other people. So the lesson doesn’t die in the classroom or on a final. sorry this is so long. I just thought I’d share that. After seeing that I’m planning on calling the elementry school I attended when he taught and see if I could trace him down to at least thank him. Even if it’s sending the letter to the school and having them send it to the new school…talk to you later! xoxoxo
Posted by Brie at July 16, 2003 8:14 PM :: LinkIf you really want to find him, you probably can go to town hall and ask for his name and when he moved, and where he lived. Maybe the new tenants know where he now lives or know where he now lives which could help narrow your search
Posted by Anonymous at January 16, 2004 8:55 PM :: LinkPost a comment
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Amen. He was a good man - I myself regret not getting to know him better. One of those rare fellows that seems to be perfect in every way.
Posted by Ryuko at July 14, 2003 2:20 AM :: Link