LARRY'S TRASH HOUSES

Larry was a close neighbor when I lived in Dallas many years ago. We spent hours on each other’s porches discussing our workday, politics, people, news, religion, opinions about various subjects, and our respective histories. We shared core values, and I learned something new from him each time we talked. For many years, he taught writing to gifted and talented “ESL” (English as their second language) children in Dallas. Toward the end of each school year, the children gathered with friends and family to read their compositions in a special ceremony. Larry’s outstanding teaching abilities were evident at the two ceremonies I attended. He loved teaching the children, and there’s no doubt that his students adored him.

Larry was born in 1937 and grew up in California. When he “came out” to his parents in the 60s, his parents didn’t respond positively, although his mother eventually accepted it. To this day, his younger brother does not speak to him because he believes Larry is a sinner. Larry served during the Vietnam War as a code breaker. After receiving his degree, he taught in Samoa for a few years. In the 80s, he was diagnosed with HIV. Larry decided at that point to become celibate, as he reasoned that the virus would probably mutate and worsen his condition. However, he was one of the first to receive an experimental drug called antiretroviral therapy, now the standard treatment for the chronic but uncurable disease of HIV. Larry’s survival for the past 40 years is somewhat rare. During my time as his neighbor, I would take him to the ER when he had bouts of pneumonia. I would be less than honest if I didn’t admit that I paused when I treated any sores that might arise on his back, but my love for him superseded any fear I had of contracting HIV. After all, he would have done the same for me if the situation had been reversed.

One of Larry’s favorite activities is creating “trash houses.” He uses discarded milk cartons, paper, cardboard, etc., to create beautiful Victorian houses approximately 24 inches high and eight inches wide with the most delicate details you’d see on any Victorian house that’s been lovingly kept. Over 20 years ago, he donated one of his creations to be auctioned by a non-profit organization with which I was affiliated in Dallas. I won it in the auction, and it’s accompanied me on my many moves for the past 20 years. The house represents my love for this man and fond memories. My most recent move proved too much for the two-story home. I called Larry and asked if I could have a replacement. Unfortunately, all his houses have been promised to others upon his death. However, he told me to mail it to him, and he would make the necessary repairs and send it back. “If I live to finish it, I’ll be glad to send it back to you,” he calmly replied. I shared that he might be older than me, but we’re both on borrowed time, so “who knows?"

Our conversation drifted into Larry’s reason for assembling the houses over the years. With quiet sobs, he quoted the Bible verse, John 14:2-6, “In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also. And where I go you know, and the way you know.”

As Larry builds his houses, he dreams of the mansions he'll see when he meets his maker.