Complete The Story: 9 of 198

Looking back, it could have gone either way. It didn’t work out, which makes it look like fate, or a stupid decision, or both. But at the time, I did have a few things in my favor. I had a 8-4 lead going into the third period.  I had taken Tri-County’s Brett Allison down three times in our match.  Looking back on it now, choosing to go down in the third period was not a wise move. I’d have been better off to have chosen neutral and gone for another takedown.

Allison and I had wrestled each other twice earlier that season.  In the dual I had ripped him apart 14-4, scoring five takedowns and a set of three near fall points.  It was an exciting win for me because he had been the conference runner-up and the sectional champion from the year before.  He had taken third at districts, being one match shy of state qualification.  It gave me a confidence I didn’t see often during my high school career. 

We met again at the Oskaloosa duals where ahead 9-4, Allison threw me in a headlock and pinned me.  The loss motivated me and I made up my mind that if we met again at the SICL Conference, I’d win our final battle. 

When the whistle blew, Allison tried to break me down but couldn’t do so.   I should’ve gone for a standup but for some crazy reason I went for a Granby roll.  Allison caught me half way through it, sat on my hips, readjusted and the referee slapped the mat. 

It’s a moment fifteen years later that still haunts me every bit as much now as it did then.  Nothing against Allison.  A kid with 100 career wins, and as said before a sectional champion.  It’s not like I lost to a slouch.   Yet being a two time SICL medalist would’ve meant something in my career.  It’s not the toughest conference in Iowa high school wrestling, but it is a respectable one.  I took a bronze medal my junior year and had it not been for being stupid out on the mat, I would’ve taken home another bronze medal my senior year. 

I suppose it’s one of those many things that make me hell bent on making it as a writer.  What makes me even after all the failures and disappointments I’ve endured for nearly two decades, continue to believe in myself.  I wanted to be a great high school wrestler and I worked very hard to be one.  A lack of athletic ability, a lack of natural talent and an assortment of other reasons I was denied that dream.  I may die having never done anything of significance.  I may one day be put six feet underground having never achieved anything of stature.  I suppose I don’t know for an absolute fact that I’m going to succeed in life.  All I do know is that I’m going to continue to try.  I’m going to continue writing screenplays, novels, novellas and short stories.  I want the name Stephen Stonebraker to be synonymous with writer, with story teller. I want the whole world to know of my work. 

The motivation, the determination, the refusal to ever give up,  had I won that match against Brett Allison that day, I don’t think it’d be as strong.  I don’t even know if it’d exist. 

It’s a surreal and confusing feeling.  I hate knowing how my wrestling career turned out.  I’m bitter and depressed about it often.   Yet on the same hand I realize that one day I may make it as a writer.  That one day a publisher may be interested in one of my novels.  That an agent may think I have a hell of an idea that could make some money.  That a television executive could think I have great ideas and want to bring me on board as part of the writing staff for his show.   The day it happens, the day I make it, I already know the reflection I’ll have upon my high school wrestling career ending in disappointment.  It had to. Had it not, I would’ve been content.  Had I been a great high school wrestler, I would have concluded I got out of life what I wanted and I never would have sought anything greater.  Writing would be nothing more to me than a hobby.  I know I never would have attempted a novel.  I know I never would have attempted a screenplay. 

I truly believe that someday I’m going to hold in my hands an award for something I wrote.  As I stare at it I’ll think of a 2004 SICL bronze medal that I failed to earn.  I think at that moment the anger, bitterness and sorrow I feel will leave my body.  For I’ll know that had I earned that bronze medal that day, whatever award I hold in my hands for my writing, I wouldn’t be holding. 

Complete the Story: 10 of 198

I think about him often.  Where he's at. What he's doing. I wonder sometimes if he's even alive. I haven't see Cheung Yeung "Dan" Kim since I dropped him off at the Sioux City airport in late August of 2006.  The last I spoke to him via email was in June of 2007.  Even though its been nearly twelve years since I last heard from Dan I still think of him as one of my best friends. As eccentric, weird and strange as I am, I never thought I'd meet someone who thought like me.  Someone who saw the world as I saw it. Someone who had the thoughts and feelings I had. 

Physically Dan and I looked nothing alike.  I'm a short Caucasian. I like to think of myself, even with my Santa Claus bowl full of jelly as being somewhat built.  I have dark brown hair and bright blue eyes.  A long chiseled face, with a dominant chin.  Dan was Korean.  A round face, that split time between a gruff black beard and being cleanly shaven.  He too was short, but still quite a bit taller than me. 

Our friendship started as only as it could. He walked into my room one day and without even introducing himself said, "you're the kid that spends all his spare time working out right?"   I replied that who ever said that could be talking about  me as I went to the gym twice a day.  He said, "Good, I'm going with you."   And that was how it all started.

For the next two years Dan and I were the best of friends. I taught him everything I knew about pumping iron and he taught me what it means to truly not give a shit.  I like to think of myself as independent.  I like to think of myself as one who sticks to my convictions with bravery and sureness. I like to think I'm one who marches to the beat of my own drum without a care as to who likes it and who doesn't.  To a degree I think I am, but even to this day I'm nothing compared to what Dan was then. A lot of people claim they don't care what other people think, but I've never met anyone who exemplified that statement more than he did.

He was the most fearless person I've ever known.  He'd walk into a KKK meeting, look them all in the face and call them all a bunch of hillbilly racists. He had no problem with confrontation and he'd call anyone out for their bullshit. 

He and I once rode with a group of individuals to Sioux Center to use the bowling alley at Dordt.  Some of the people we traveled with for some reason or another didn't like me.  Not sure what it was about me they didn't like, but they didn't like me.  On the way back to Orange City, I sat in the front seat of the van, while they sat in the middle and Dan sat in the very back.  I tried to talk to the group and join in on the conversation but they never responded to me.  I figured it was because they couldn't hear me.  When we got out of the van, Dan said loud and clear that he knew they could hear me because he could hear me.  He looked them straight in the face, told them they were pompous and stuck up and he was sorry he associated with them because of the way they had treated me.  I can't say had it been the other way around that I would have stuck up for him in the same way. 

Another time Dan asked a girl out and she agreed to go on a date with him.  When he showed up to take her to dinner, she stood him up.  He tried to contact her to see what had happened and she ignored him. Later on that year, they took a speech class together. Dan gave a speech on dating etiquette. The do's and don'ts of dating.  While he never said her name, it was clear to everyone in the classroom that when speaking of the don'ts, he was referring to her.  Perhaps a bit petty in his vengeance, he was ruthless and relentless.

Dan was disappointed in the world.  He saw people as fake, dishonest and disingenuous.  He liked me because to him I was one of the few raw and real people he knew.  He often told me that he thought most of the world operated on image and perception.  That they weren't really themselves.  What they actually thought and felt was suppressed do to societal expectation, wanting to fit in and be accepted.  We didn't see who they really were, but who they thought they ought to be or who they thought others thought they ought to be.  Life and the people in it depressed Dan and he spoke to me about this often.

A little Chinese restaurant became a second home to us as Dan hated the cafeteria food at Northwestern College.  During that year, I think we tried everything on the menu.  The owner became so fond of us that she offered both of us jobs.  I felt I was too busy, but Dan took a position as a dishwasher.  He lasted about a month.  He was often late and sometimes wouldn't even show up.  While she loved Dan's personality, he wasn't very ambitious.  At least not when it came to showing up to do the dishes.  Knowing Dan as well as I did, I wouldn't call him lazy.  He wasn't lazy.  You can't go to the gym with me, as obsessive as I am about lifting weights on a daily basis and call someone lazy.  It was more a reflection of his depression. 

He came home with me over Christmas break as he had nowhere else to go.  His family was from Wilmington, Delaware and he couldn't afford to fly home.  So he rode the six hours back to Sigourney with me.  He got to spend the month of December seeing the little town and nearby Oskaloosa and Ottumwa that I grew up in.  I often wonder what that was like for him.  Such a different area than what he had grown up in. 

I suppose all the stories I have of Dan are anecdotal.  No real point. No conclusion.  No closure.  Simply a guy who misses a great friend of his, who he'd love to see again.  The optimistic side of me thinks that maybe Dan went back to South Korea.  He often talked of how his parents struggled to make it in the United States. How his father and mother were very poor and still felt discriminated against even after living here for twenty years.  I wonder sometimes if they didn't all pack up and move back to South Korea.  Maybe he doesn't have access to internet over there.   

I also wonder sometimes if he decided to shut himself off from the rest of the world.  He told me that he one day wanted to grow out his beard, grow his hair real long, wear it in a ponytail and spend the rest of his days traveling from town to town.  Walk the entire country.  I'd like to think maybe that's what he's doing.  It angers me a bit that he'd shut me off, especially for this long but it beats the other thought I have of him.

I sometimes wonder if he might have committed suicide.  Our last conversation as much as I try and block it, leads me to this possible conclusion.  Dan said that he felt life was going to be a consistent struggle for him from now on. He saw little to no reward in his future.  He never outright said that he thought of ending his life, but he made it clear that he wasn't looking forward to living it. 

I can't tell you how many times I've tried looking him up on the internet.  Found dozens of Dan Kims, Cheung Yeung Kims, and about everything else.  His father's American name was Peter, his brother's Thomas and his sister's Sarah.  They owned a small grocery store in Wilmington.  Dan, last I talked to him had started a t-shirt business.  Even with all of this information, I've never been able to find anything on him.  I talk to others from NWC, and they're even more lost when it comes to Dan than I am.  It's like he vanished into thin air.

At this point, I'm almost positive I'll never see Dan again.  My friend Tony Hofteizer and I joke of how if either of us ever makes it rich, we're going to head out looking for him. I honestly think that's the first thing I'd do if I won the lottery or struck gold as a writer. I can see myself getting all things in order and then heading out to Wilmington and doing a little investigating.  I'm scared of what I might find.

I'm close to 34 now. Someday I'll be 44.  Then 54, then 64 and so on.   I'll know then as I know now how hard it is to come across people in this life we call friends.  How difficult it is to find people who have your back and stick up for you in times of need.  One of my best friends Dennis Woods Doderer was six months shy of his 37th birthday the day I was born. That tells me all I need to know about the many things left to look forward to in this life.  Yet even with all of the many changes and things I'll endure, I know I'll always look back on my friendship with Cheung Yeung "Dan" Kim as one of the best I ever had. 

The only pictures I have of Dan and I.  Taken by my Aunt Shirley on Christmas Eve of 2006.