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Wednesday, April 7, 2010

In Memory of Aman Mohammadian

Here's my latest Our Kids blog. This week I reflect on my friendship with my dear pal, Aman who passed away last April.

At Waldorf, a class over 30 kids never happens. 26, 27 people tops. Out of those 27 students, a good share of them had been with you for the whole ride at the Toronto Waldorf School. All 12 years. In my day, all 13 years. We become a close knit bunch. A family. We learn together. We eat together. We travel together. We camp together. We ski together. We do a lot together during the school year. Sometimes, I thought we spend more time together as a class than a class in the public school system. I’m sure I’m right. Someday I’ll find out for sure. In the 6 years I attended Waldorf I made some wonderful friends. Some have come and gone. Some are still around. Some share a bond with me that’s tighter than ever.

Then there’s others. Enter Aman Mohammadian.

Aman came to us two weeks into our Grade 11 year. The day before he arrived, our adviser Leed Jackson warned us of this new person entering our close circle. He put up the name on the wall. We were starting to laugh as there were so many letters in his last name. Leed was showing aggravation that his hand was getting tired jotting down letters that would soon create the name of our new classmate. …A.D.I.A.N…Finally! Done.

“Aman Moham-mma-di- whatever. I’m sure he’ll be cool” I whispered to my friend sitting next to me.

The day came. I met Aman. Cool? Um. I guess. If you like guys who wear winter jackets in a hot fall morning that clashed with his ten year old shirt and even older looking pair of acid washed jeans.

I somehow was paired with Aman to show him the ropes. Teach him the Waldorf way. The more I spent with him, the more I got to get to know him and started to really like the guy. My friend Philip and I started to hangout with Aman over the following few months and we quickly started to even chill after school, too. We started to form our own little clique.

It was all coming together.

Aman was the first person in our crew to get a drivers license - This is when the trouble began. After school the crew would get into his brand new Pathfinder and cruise to the mall, the donut shop, the park. Wherever. Anywhere to show off our freedom and that we were getting older. In the first two years with Aman in his new we bonded.

After a while, everyone knew that the front seat was mine. Anyone who would call for Shotgun would get looked at. However, sometimes, I didn’t want to be in that front seat. As a new driver, we got in a couple of crashes during his first few years on the road. I was there for all of them.

The first one happened while a bunch of us were going to grab some early dinner during our last all-night dress rehearsal of our Grade 12 play, JB. We all got in to go the nearby mall ten minutes away. Girls in the back. Aman and I in the front. I had just gotten a haircut the previous day and my girlfriends were playing with my fresh new hairdo. The car was getting loud. Aman was getting upset. Finally, he yelled `Everyone shut up’. As he did that he forgot that there was a red light in front and forgot to hit the brakes. He hit an old Dodge.

Everyone stopped. We all got out knowing what this might mean.

Aman got out of the car to give the driver we hit our info. Ended up being a nice young lady. Aman pleaded with her not to do anything as his mom would find out. He pleaded to her knowing that she must’ve been in this same situation not long ago. She looked at her car. Noticed that there wasn’t too much damage and agreed. To this day, I don’t think Aman’s mom or brother knew about that accident in May of ‘96.

I received a note from an old teacher of mine from High School shortly after Aman’s death last April. He noted that he heard a song that he thought that Aman sang at our little school get togethers and our monthly open-mic series called The Wooden Ship. I heard many other memories people have of Aman over the past year. I’m just happy that I wasn’t the only one Aman left a lifelong imprint on.

In Waldorf, your classmates become your family. Some, you never talk to but only every 5 years or so when you bump into each other. Others, you talk every few months over a beer or coffee. Then there were people like Aman. Someone who you will never forget – as much as you want to forget his plaid winter jacket and acid washed jeans.

Your family misses you, Aman.

It’s kinda hard with you not around
Know you in heaven smilin’ down
Watching us while we pray for you
Everyday we pray for you
Till the day we meet again
In my heart is where I keep you friend
Memories give me the strength I need to proceed
Strength I need to believe