Patrick Roscoe!

I remember you—we met when you were nine years old.  You were in a class with Belinda Smith and Jane Fairhurst, Chrissy Mitchell and Ben O’Hallaron, Joseph Glube and Lon Holland—but of all these you were the most mercurial and lively.

A few years later I returned to the Grammar School, an apprentice drug-dealer, selling joints for two dollars, three for five—it was a Halloween dance and you came dressed in drag—a bold choice for a twelve year-old—you approached me on the stairs to the AV Room and, leaning off your back foot, head tilted sideways, you said, “For two dollars I’ll throw up on your face.”  “For two dollars, you’ll—wait, what?”  You shook your head at my confusion and moved on to your next audience.

My drug dealer friends did not understand your Python-y performance art, but I admired it, though I was a little scared for you, and many, many years later when we met again inToronto, and I reminded you of this long-ago incident, you blushed and bought me a drink.

You were acerbic, always, unpredictably erudite, and though you challenged my notions about things, you always showed me that you thought what I was doing was worthwhile.  I thank you for that.  And when next we meet, please allow me to buy the drinks.

I worked with Patrick in the 1990's at a company called "Gold Disk".  

He was designing breakthrough multi-media (audio, video) software for the Amiga personal computer.  He sarcastically debased my love of heavy metal music (at that time), and yet proceeded to "digitally sample" a few cut riffs from a "Cinderella" CD for use in one of the demo's he was preparing.  He belatedly admitted there was some small amount of usefulness for that musical genre.
:-)

He and I had wonderful verbal jousts, and he was outstanding at the one liner.  I still have emails from back in the 90's when the internet was just being created that I went through today and found so many funny moments.
 
He signed his emails "- Paty "El Rodente" Roscoe" for reasons I will never understand...
 

Having spent quite a lot of time in the Roscoe household in our school years, I remember much about Patrick.  I remember him playing the piano in some amazing stream-of-consciousness way that I never understood (!), listening to or pretending to be Ziggy Stardust, laughing with or at his brothers and sisters and consuming large quantities of food in the kitchen (except for the groceries Brigid had locked in her bedroom).  I remember him doing an incredible Ziggy Stardust makeover on Ken Wood, as well as stories of him and Ken swapping places in the driver's seat of Ken's car, while driving of course. I'm fairly sure someone's route involved climbing over the roof.  I remember him calling to task anyone who did not quite have their facts straight in a story or joke.  This probably meant that the younger siblings needed to be a bit more on their toes at an earlier age to keep up with the wit of their mercurial older brother.  This was probably a bit tough on poor Harold!  Though I have tried and tried without success to remember the whole expression over the years, I remember Patrick saying this numerous times: "Harold, once is funny . . ., twice is  . . ., but three times is just . . ."
Use your imagination to fill in the gaps, but if anyone can complete this, I am ever grateful.

Even though the last time I saw Patrick was at Pat's place in St Margaret's Bay when Sean Michael and my daughter, Ellie, were one and a half, I shall miss him.  I truly wish I were there for support, but be sure I am sending love to you all.  Have faith and remember the wonderful things.

PS Wasn't it Patrick who sleep-walked as a little guy, and ended up all the way up Young Ave at the Fire Department?  

Whenever Patricia was away, Patrick knew he could call me when he needed to go for errands.  One morning he called to do just that.  I saw it was Patricias' number and said "Hi".  Chatted about the weather and road conditions etc.  He then proceded to say "Liz, can you take me up for some groceries and then the Liquor store for a few things. I replied, certainly "Michael".  Silence then he said my name is Patrick and I said MY name is Elizabeth.  He laughed and laughed.......Sometimes he would still say Liz and I would say Michael........I am going to miss the laughter, the conversations around the dinner table, the pre dinner chatter with cocktails and the movie reviews.  Patrick, it was an honour to know you.  I will miss you.  "Hailing frequencies closed, sir."

I heard a voice from Heaven, saying unto me, Write, From henceforth blessed are the dead which die in the Lord: Even so, saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours.

-Anthem from the BCP