Another reminder of how quickly it can all be taken away

As if I had forgotten in the last three weeks since the last reminder of how quickly life can be turned upside down or snatched from your grasp, along comes this one. A name I haven’t heard in years attached to a face I haven’t seen in even longer and hardly recognize any more arrived in my inbox. It was a news article from the local news station back in my home town, or more accurately the larger city near my home town, about a man my age who was killed in a car accident. I was intrigued by both the title and the fact that my mother had taken the time to send it my way, so I began to carefully skim the paragraphs for a name I might or might not know. There it was, jumping off my computer screen about halfway through paragraph two. Thomas Janik was the driver and apparently the only person involved in the accident.

I think the first time I met Tom was probably longer ago that I can remember. His parents owned The Spot, a local roller skating rink that on occasion my parents, and at least once my paternal grandfather took me to growing up. Tom and I are the same age, within a few months of each other anyway and from what I have heard from those who were old enough to remember back that far, we hit it off immediately and would play at the rink whenever I was fortunate enough to go.

The first time I definitely remember Tom, I was in the third grade and moving to a new school through no choice of my own. My older sister had attended St. Ann’s in Cadillac for her third grade year and Mom and Dad were so happy with how it went for her that I was moved there the following year. Changing schools is rough, being moved from public to private school is rougher, and going from a class of about 60 kids to a small school like St Ann’s where there were only about 25 third graders who all knew each other was awful for me. I was the outsider in every way imaginable when I walked in on the first day of class. I was the new kid, the girl who didn’t live in the same town, or go to the same church, heck I wasn’t even catholic!

By some stroke of luck, genius, miracle, or whatever you want to call it, there were three kids sitting in that classroom I knew. Two of them, both girls, I had spent at least one summer with at Girl Scout camp and they were both friends of mine by then. The other friendly face was Tom. Between the three people I already knew I was slowly introduced to the rest of the class and a few kids from other classes at lunch and recess, but as the outsider I never really did fit in well with most of them.

I spent two years attending St. Ann’s, third and fourth grade to be exact, before moving back to public school in my home town. For both of those years, Tom was one of my few friends in school. Tom wasn’t the tallest kid in the class, in fact I think he may have been the shortest, but he made up for that small stature with a big heart and a willingness to do what he thought was right, no matter the cost. We would spend hours at recess and lunch building entire cities out of sand to play with our Matchbox cars in and once in a while, when we were bored with the collection each of us had brought from home, we would trade. Tom even traded me his favorite car of all, a Red ‘86 Corvette Stingray with a hood that actually lifted up because he knew how much I liked it. It was his birthday present for me in third grade!

As the outsider in a new school setting, I was picked on a lot by the other kids, it’s what kids do, and there were many times when it was Tom who came to my rescue. Rarely did the picking ever turn physical, it was mostly just words they were fighting with, but I could always count on Tom to back me up. On more than one occasion he put himself on the line, risked being the subject of their ridicule, and told the other kids to back off. Tom was a champion for the little guy even back in third and fourth grade and, from what little I know of his experiences since high school, it looks like this trait followed him throughout the rest of his life.

I lost touch with those few friends I managed to make while at St. Ann’s when I went back to public school, but I always knew where to find Tom. Every once in a while I would manage to convince my parents to take me over to The Spot and, up until his parents sold the place while we were in high school, Tom was always there. Some of my best memories of Tom include those recesses spent building cities of sand for our cars and chasing him around the rink at The Spot for hours on end. He glided around that rink like he was born on skates and, when he wasn’t acting as a floor guard, he was always the guy to aim for in the Speed Skate and Shoot the Duck games. Without fail, Tom was almost always the last man standing and would surrender his prize to who ever came in second place.

I will always remember “Little Tommy Janik” as the little guy with the big heart, a friend to those who otherwise might not have any, and the most graceful person I’ve ever seen on a pair of skates. When I can locate the box, I’ll dig out that Red ‘86 Vet he traded me for my duplicate 4x4 truck and place it on a shelf where I can smile and remember the good ole days when it catches my attention. And, the next time I find myself at a skating rink with my nephews, I just might take another shot at the Speed Skate or Shoot the Duck in his memory. I bet if I close my eyes tight enough I’ll even see his ghost two or three strides in front of me, always just out of my reach.