Kobe Bryant And Clint Anderson Aged 41
Without Prejudice
I didn't know Kobe Bryant personally but the world is mourning for him and his lovely child. The fiery crash engulfing the helicopter after its rapid death spiral which horrified you as you watched with Jiorgina, your neighbour. Looking away at the end, the inevitability of it all making you shudder at the massive loss. Witnesses crying and moaning as all human beings would do. The helpless futility that you feel at not being able to help.
I am saddened.
Kobe was 41 and unbelievably just a few days beforehand I found out my best male friend died, also aged 41. Clint Anderson.
I am bereft.
Clint wasn't wealthy nor famous. He didn't have children nor a wife to speak of. He didn't tread the boards of celebrity, nor mentor others. He didn't dine with powerful people, nor appear in the media.
He was just a simple, humble man who inexplicably died in his sleep. Went to bed one afternoon and never woke up. He had no alcohol nor drugs in his system. His death was marked inconclusive. He simply went to bed and died.
And yet we are all bereft. Stunned, sickened at the loss of a simple life lived well.
Clint was a gentle giant. A 6'2" Apollo, Hercules or Adonis, although the word Adonis intimates a bit of a self lover and that wasn't Clint.
Clint liked everyone and everyone liked him. I asked him once if he had ever thrown a punch or been punched himself.
" No " he replied.
I asked him if men get heartbroken and he replied in the affirmative.
" Have you been heartbroken?" I asked.
" Yes" he replied.
I will miss his presence forever.
He was born into this world on the 12th of the 12th 1978. A first born son to his Croatian mother, Susan and his New Zealander father, Dennis.
After Susan and Dennis had their first born and only daughter they wanted more kids but they just didn't happen along. 8 years later out of the blue Susan gave birth to two sons. The first Clint and 18 months later Dean.
My ex husband and I knew Susan and Dennis through my brother Georges best friend, Ivan. Susan was Ivan's sister. We all hung out together in those long hot summers of our youth when the sun seemed hotter, the sky more blue and life was to be lived for each moment.
We hung out at Elwood beach where Ivan with his bleached blonde locks and permanent tan could ogle the " chicky babes and " Sweet 'Arts " to his hearts content. We used baby oil as our SPF factor Zero sun protection and burned. We sat on vinyl seats in our cars driving back from the beach and peeled off them on arriving home.
The summers were endless and barbecues were the social norm. As were dick togs, thongs or slaps ( some wicked people called them flaps ) but we won't go there. I bought a pair of black velvet hot pants, with a frilled sheer blouse underneath and four inch high cork platforms. I was seventies Style with a capital S.
Countdown started on T.V. and we tuned in at 6 o clock to the ABC to catch Shirley Steachan and Skyhooks Living In The Seventies, Ted Mulry trying to persuade girls to " Jump in his car "
I didn't know Kobe Bryant personally but the world is mourning for him and his lovely child. The fiery crash engulfing the helicopter after its rapid death spiral which horrified you as you watched with Jiorgina, your neighbour. Looking away at the end, the inevitability of it all making you shudder at the massive loss. Witnesses crying and moaning as all human beings would do. The helpless futility that you feel at not being able to help.
I am saddened.
Kobe was 41 and unbelievably just a few days beforehand I found out my best male friend died, also aged 41. Clint Anderson.
I am bereft.
Clint wasn't wealthy nor famous. He didn't have children nor a wife to speak of. He didn't tread the boards of celebrity, nor mentor others. He didn't dine with powerful people, nor appear in the media.
He was just a simple, humble man who inexplicably died in his sleep. Went to bed one afternoon and never woke up. He had no alcohol nor drugs in his system. His death was marked inconclusive. He simply went to bed and died.
And yet we are all bereft. Stunned, sickened at the loss of a simple life lived well.
Clint was a gentle giant. A 6'2" Apollo, Hercules or Adonis, although the word Adonis intimates a bit of a self lover and that wasn't Clint.
Clint liked everyone and everyone liked him. I asked him once if he had ever thrown a punch or been punched himself.
" No " he replied.
I asked him if men get heartbroken and he replied in the affirmative.
" Have you been heartbroken?" I asked.
" Yes" he replied.
I will miss his presence forever.
He was born into this world on the 12th of the 12th 1978. A first born son to his Croatian mother, Susan and his New Zealander father, Dennis.
After Susan and Dennis had their first born and only daughter they wanted more kids but they just didn't happen along. 8 years later out of the blue Susan gave birth to two sons. The first Clint and 18 months later Dean.
My ex husband and I knew Susan and Dennis through my brother Georges best friend, Ivan. Susan was Ivan's sister. We all hung out together in those long hot summers of our youth when the sun seemed hotter, the sky more blue and life was to be lived for each moment.
We hung out at Elwood beach where Ivan with his bleached blonde locks and permanent tan could ogle the " chicky babes and " Sweet 'Arts " to his hearts content. We used baby oil as our SPF factor Zero sun protection and burned. We sat on vinyl seats in our cars driving back from the beach and peeled off them on arriving home.
The summers were endless and barbecues were the social norm. As were dick togs, thongs or slaps ( some wicked people called them flaps ) but we won't go there. I bought a pair of black velvet hot pants, with a frilled sheer blouse underneath and four inch high cork platforms. I was seventies Style with a capital S.
Countdown started on T.V. and we tuned in at 6 o clock to the ABC to catch Shirley Steachan and Skyhooks Living In The Seventies, Ted Mulry trying to persuade girls to " Jump in his car "
