Over the years, we have experienced the passing of "The Greatest Generation." They were Hollywood stars, creative musicians, artists, authors, sporting greats, political leaders and war heroes that we collectively admired. They were also our mothers, fathers, aunts and uncles, an entire generation of people who were our roots, our foundation, who raised us and taught us. And these people, good or bad, helped form the path we chose to walk in life.  And, as we each walk along those unique memory-filled paths, we now look around and suddenly see our own generation, the carefree, live-life-to-the-fullest, baby-boomer generation nearing the twilight of our walks. It is with regret and sadness that today I learned of our friend and fellow classmate, Charlene Offenbacher Mallen, having taken her final steps this past week. May she rest in peace. 

 

Charlene was my friend all through Wayne Elementary and Junior High. She had a smile that would light up the dreariest lesson in Miss Gobal's civics class or Mr. Bachman's biology lesson. Even as a young girl, she had a wry sense of humor and sarcastic wit that I loved. To sit near her in class and listen to her quietly-whispered observations was a highlight of any school day. I had a crush on Charlene, but I knew it was not mutual. We would dance a lot together at the Wayne School Wednesday night dances, but the only whispers Charlene and I shared were strategizing either how we could play an innocent prank or how, during a music intermission, to climb up onto the parent-guarded voting machines stationed in the  school's hallways. Once during a slow dance, Charlene had the idea of each of us putting our arms inside the other's loose sweater sleeves. She said this would make us look like we didn't have arms. Mr. Schecter, the gym teacher chaperone, obviously disapproved and disciplined us for what he called "suggestive dancing." Finally, my fondest memory of Charlene is one of those classic moments that one never forgets. It was a seventh-grade birthday party. Most of our entire class was down in the basement of a small eastside Detroit bungalow. It was a cold winter night, but the party was festive with plenty of Coca-Cola, Vernors and Faygo. The scents of Emeraude and English Leather filled the air. The sounds of Gene Pitney, Brenda Lee and Fats Domino spinning on the record player bounced off the cinder-block basement walls. I hoped in my heart, with the spin of a bottle, I would soon experience my first kiss. My spin landed on Charlene who most assuredly figured out that I was a complete novice, but she kindly didn't let on and my first kiss memory was then set in stone. After Wayne Junior High, our paths seldom crossed. Thank you Charlene for allowing me to share a very small bit of your walk. You touched my heart.