A Wish List for Rosebud

by James C. McNeill
copyright © 1996

Dear Santa Claus,

Yesterday I got the ornaments out of the closet and I found my old school yearbook on the shelf behind them. I opened it and thumbed through the pages, looking at the pictures of people I once knew and I remembered...

Wayne poured coffee into the Thermos cup and rested it on the window sill of the car door. Rosebud didn't see it as he came back with the sack of hamburgers and fries. He opened the rear door of the old Chevy, got in and slammed the door. The coffee leaped off the sill and into Wayne's lap.

"Dammit, Rosebud! Now look what you've done!"

Rosebud mumbled his apology, but Wayne and I continued to berate him anyway.

Long before I knew who Orson Wells was, years before I saw "Citizen Kane", I had my own Rosebud. We went to Weber High School together.

His name was Larry Roesberry. I think it was Wayne Glover who coined the name 'Rosebud'. Larry was a quiet, shy, dumpling kind of kid.

We got into the habit of eating lunch at the Arctic Circle in North Ogden, and Rosebud always went with us. He got the job of ordering lunch for us, and bringing it to the car. That's where Wayne got the coffee dumped in his lap. I objected to having him along a few times, but Wayne insisted, "He ain't hurting nobody. Leave him alone."

All through our senior year, wherever Wayne and I went, Rosebud tagged along. He was our faithful mongrel, and he eagerly snatched up the crumbs that fell from our social table. No indignity was too great to bear as long as he could be with us.

I don't know where he came from or where he lived. He just appeared in class one day, and was quickly rejected by nearly everybody. He wasn't handsome, strong or rich. He wasn't bright and quick. He didn't try out for the football or track teams, and wouldn't have made the cut if he had. He wasn't any of the things that would have drawn teenagers to him.

I didn't have the maturity of soul to be his friend. I rejected him in much the same manner that others rejected me, and never realized it. No, it was Wayne who befriended him. I tolerated him, nothing more.

The older guys in shop class took an interest in his welfare one afternoon.

"Hey, Rosebud, that's a real bad case of dandruff you got there."

"Yeah, you really ought to get something done for it. I bet it would help if you got your hair cut short. Come on over here, we can save you some money."

They used the large industrial shears that were hanging on the wall. Rosebud looked like a zebra when they were done. As insensitive as I was, I thought it was a cruel thing to do. His parents were outraged, but his dandruff got the attention it needed. During the rest of the time I knew him, he wore his hair in a short 'Butch' cut.

We eventually finished our studies and left high school. I went on to Weber State and Wayne and Rosebud disappeared into the fog that swallows old school mates after graduation. I never saw them again.

Now I look back across a sea of time and wonder where they are and what became of them. Wayne was smart enough that I'm sure he's done well. It was economics that kept him out of college. Rosebud is another matter.

And so, Santa, this year I'm asking you not to bother putting anything in my stocking. I already have everything. This wish list is for Rosebud.

I wish he had a job that he was able to do well.

I wish he had the help, encouragement and recognition that should be the lot of us all.

I wish he had a woman who loved him for his good qualities, and in spite of his shortcomings.

Most of all, I wish he had a friend. A real friend, I mean. Not someone like me.

Jim

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