My First Friend, Ingy

The first friend I ever had was Lucinda "Ingy" Hurley. "Ingy" was pronounced "EEN gee" with a hard "g" sound. I've never known how the Hurley family got "Ingy" out of "Lucinda" but they did.  

From the ages of about 5 to 7 Ingy and I played together all day, everyday. We only lived about a block away from each other.  Ingy and I were both painfully skinny, with me a good half a head taller. Legend has it that we looked pretty damn cute together.  But our time together was brief because my family moved from Piqua, Ohio to Dayton when I was in the third grade.  

Although I didn't give it a thought at the time, I realize now that Ingy was the ultimate tomboy.  She not only wore blue jeans nearly everyday - which was fairly unusual for a non-farm girl in the late 50s and early 60s - she would also occasionally show up at the Smith home sporting a pair of overhauls. Ingy had very long hair that was always in pigtails. I never once saw her without pigtails.

Ingy wasn't a sports-playing tomboy. She was more of a "let's go explore" type tomboy. In retrospect I realize that Ingy was a female Huck Finn. This probably explains the considerable affection for that literary character that I developed later in life - not to mention my lifelong attraction to women with tomboyish traits - but that's another blog entry (or therapy session perhaps).

Ingy and I would spend entire days digging for rocks to add to my rock collection. We also spent hours swinging on the swing set at Mote Park, talking each others ears off as we would swing. And when we weren't digging for rocks or talking on the swings, it seemed like we were constantly walking somewhere - although for the life of me I cannot recall ever arriving anywhere in particular. We would just walk forever and for no apparent reason.

The one distinct memory that I do have from my friendship with Ingy is that we also sang a lot when we were swinging or walking. It is especially noteworthy that we sang as often as we did because our repertoire consisted of one single song - sung over and over again. Truth be told, it wasn't even an entire song. It was the chorus of a song - sung over and over again:


"You take the high road
And I'll take the low road
And I'll get to Scotland before you
'Cause me and my true love
Will never meet again
On the bonny bonny banks of Loch Lomond"




I don't think either one of us knew what the song was about, but we did know that it was awfully pretty and a lot of fun to sing together, and that was all that mattered.

Today when I look at the only two photos that I have of Ingy something that I was oblivious to at the time becomes fairly obvious:

Ingy was beautiful.  

Pig tails and chestnut eyes as deep as the Loch Lomond that we sang about.  

I sometimes wonder when I would have noticed this had our family stayed in Piqua and not moved to Dayton.

I never saw Ingy again after we left Piqua, but interestingly enough my late sister Peggy heard a couple of decades ago that Ingy was living in Dayton and working as a nurse.  If that is the case then it would appear that no matter how many times we sang about it, neither one of us quite made it to Loch Lomond. Nevertheless I can't help but feel at this point in my life that those 2-3 years with Ingy were *it* for me.  They were the place that I will always long to be: in mind, body, and spirit.

I am certain that the majestic shores and cliffs of Scotland are quite noble, but if given the choice between the Scottish highlands and those early days in Piqua, I would choose the latter in a heartbeat. 

For just one more chance to explore those wide-eyed days of innocence and wonderment with Ingy, I would take the high road, the low road - or whatever road was needed - to get me there again.

This is my song for you Ingy:

http://youtu.be/feLT7Btuqpc










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