Punk Rock Forever - A Tribute to Fattem Lager (Adam Leger)

Nothing forms you like your childhood: embrace it, suppress it, deny it, or try to relive it. I was extremely quiet as a kid, and in the silence, there was invisibility, and with invisibility comes the illusion of safety. I might have spent my whole life in silence had it not been for a cheat code bonded friendship that shaped my very being; a friendship that would be foundational to who I am now as a man, a father, and an artist. Today I lost that friend, death took them; the final period in the book of life. As the memories and tears flood in, I will try to share a part of our story, a story that I wish had more pages.

Adam and I both had challenges at home, but we dealt with those challenges in different ways. He looked to the outside world, befriending everyone, seeking acceptance and companionship through human interaction, ultimately fearing the feelings he had when alone in his room. I looked to shut out the world, knowing that if I could just be alone, I could tune out the fears and anxiety, at least for a little while. Needless to say, these two personality types were unlikely to be friends. The one thing that kept bringing us into the same room was that our moms were best friends.

We were over at Adam’s house, with our moms smoking and chatting in the kitchen. Adam was playing a Ninja Turtle video game and kept getting killed by a pixelated villain. I asked him, in a shy whisper, if he would like the game's cheat code. He got a huge smile and was so grateful. We spent the rest of the night playing the game. At the end of the night, we asked our parents if I could sleep over. We spent that weekend together, as well as every weekend that followed, at each other’s house. With one gesture of friendship, we became each other’s player 2. If you are curious, I would choose to play as Michelangelo, and Adam always picked Raphael.

I found someone whom I could talk to without fear or judgment, and he found someone who wanted to be around him with no expectations. On the nights we did not spend together, we spent talking on the phone. I discovered in myself a sense of humour. I loved making him laugh, and I loved making anyone laugh. I had just always been too shy to show anyone that part of myself. Like boys, we would make fart jokes, wrestle, rent video game systems, be stinky, and eat his mom’s fudge and convenience store snacks.

As we transitioned into the testosterone pre-teen years, we started liking girls at the same time. Adam had been hinting all week that he had something to show me and would share when he came over to my house that weekend. After my mom went to bed, he asked me if I liked redheads. He pulled a magazine page out of his pocket; it had been folded as many times as his young hands could fold it, as if each fold progressively kept it more secret. As I opened it up, I saw the first naked woman I had ever seen in my life. In hindsight, the woman was not that attractive; she was well over 40, with red 70’s frizzy hair and big pearls on a necklace long enough to drape down her body (the page had been torn out of what we assumed was a dated porno magazine). He told me I could have it. I kept it for years beside my childhood bed, refolded it (for secrecy), and ultimately was too scared to open it again for fear of being caught. This was our first sexual experience, and in reflection, something that would normally not be shared with a best friend, but we had no one else that we were truly open and truly honest with. Rather than being taught by our parents, we were winging our way through the changes of becoming men.

Both of us wanted a guitar, and we were very poor. He got his a week before me. I can’t recall the name, brand, or model of his, but mine was an El Degas (a Japanese counterfeit brand that no longer exists). Not all the strings worked, and neither of us had an amp, but that did not stop us from playing together. Neither of us could sing, no one had a music lesson to our name, but we figured it out. Our love for guitar has lasted our whole lives, but it started with us humbly sitting on his bedroom floor, both of us holding a guitar too big for our hands. He would go on to play in punk bands, eventually moving to Montreal, where the punk scene was the largest and most vibrant in Canada. I alternated between playing Heavy metal and playing in church. We would argue about what was the best music, what made a great guitar player, and whether songs should have more than 3 chords (an early punk ideal he took on).

Because we did not go to school together, we lived somewhat compartmentalized lives. Although neither of us would explain our bond this way as kids, our friendship was our form of therapy. We used our friendship to block out the noise of the world or to vent about the BS of life, without risking our secrets getting out. Like all young boys, our form of therapy was built around relentlessly mocking each other, knowing deep down we loved and deeply cared about each other.

Although a much longer story is needed to explain it fully, my mother and I moved away without notice. I found myself on the opposite side of the country, but we still spoke on the phone every night. Our first heartbreaks, sexual experiences, grief, hope, goals, and dreams were all shared in a nightly breakdown. There was nothing that happened in those years that was not shared. The phone calls with Adam were often the only escape from poverty, hunger, isolation, and the deceitfully happy face I showed the world. He was there for me, every time without fail, and I like to think I did the same for him.

After a few years, I moved back to New Brunswick, and for the first time, we would be going to the same school. We were both excited, but reality did not live up to the hype. The faces we showed the world did not match who we really were on the inside, and those facades were not people who could be friends, not in the crowd, not with a shared life. The calls stopped coming, and we progressively stepped deeper into new friend groups. Today, more than any other day, I can’t believe I let that happen. We both let a friend closer than a brother slip away.

Adam moved to Montreal, and I went on to enter ministry and start a family. He never had kids or got married; he just found his happiness and purpose in his music and community. Now and then, one of us would reach out to the other. We would talk about the same topics we did as kids. We could escape into a time where it was just two kids finding joy in friendship. We reminded each other that we were still best friends and that we would never share a brotherhood as we did.

As of today, there will be no more catch-ups, no more music debates, no more crying with laughter as we mocked our broken childhoods, no more punk/metal mashup jam sessions, no more phone calls. I can honestly say I love him today as much as I ever have, and I promise I always will. Till we meet again, Adam, you were a rockstar, best friend, and forever my player 2.

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