Category: Life

Went to the San Diego County Fair this weekend (it’s still the Del Mar Fair to me, really), and didn’t rage on the food as badly as I did last time.  As far as fried stuff goes, anyway.  I went twice, and the first day had Australian batter fried potatoes.  Awesome, completely awesome.  Had something called a giant western sausage for a late lunch, and they weren’t exaggerating.  That sucker was about a foot long, spicy as hell, and covered with onions and peppers.  Also excellent.

The next day, I tried a fried frog leg, and it really was a lot like chicken. The meat was white, and had the same consistency as chicken.  Except it was FROG.  It was at that food kiosk (or whatever you call it) that I saw something that seemed to stretch the boundaries of all I know about reality.  White Castle burgers, covered with batter and deep fried.  I could not get my mind around it.  Also for sale here, fried Oreos.  And the ever-popular Krispy Kreme chicken sandwich, which is a Jelly doughnut (raspberry, the sign said), garnished with honey and sporting a fried chicken patty.

It made me want to Roto-Rooter my heart just looking at the picture….

2PM She’s Gonna Earn Her Salary Today

Office worker on speakerphone: Hello.
Creepy customer: I was just sitting here eating some creamed corn and thinking about you so I thought that I would give you a call.
Office worker: Please hold and I will transfer you to my supervisor.

  The people who fight for civilization, and those who seek its destruction.
By Christopher Cook

For those of you have yet to see 300 , do yourselves a favor and see it. (Warning: Spoiler Alert)

This movie is not just about the past. It’s about today. Right now.

It’s about each one of you who stands in the breach against the enemy.

And it’s about each one of you who stands against the enemy within, who would happily widen that breach.

Today’s enemy is Islamofascism, but it is little different from the hordes following the tyrannical King Xerxes.

Today’s enemy within is the left, both at home and across the globe. And they too are little different from the scheming legislator Theron and the vile Ephori, who were willing—even eager—to see all Sparta kneel before Xerxes, just to gain power.

How is the left today any different? Do they not see their own nation, their own people, their own military as the enemy? Do they not seek to withdraw us from the field, to give the enemy the day?

And just as Sparta was the lynchpin that defended all Greece—that great cradle of democracy—is not the United States today the last bastion of freedom defending Western civilization?

But what care the left for Western civilization? They HATE Western civilization. They hate the men and women who defend it. They hate themselves.

But truly, this analogue is only the beginning — for what happened at Thermopylae may fairly be said to be the reason we are all breathing the fresh air of freedom today:

Xerxes is on the march. Land after land, king after king is falling under the Persian yoke. And now, Xerxes has set his eyes on Greece.

The Spartan King Leonides knows that the only way to save Greece is to fight. His Queen knows it too:

Queen Gorgo: “Freedom isn’t free at all, that it comes with the highest of costs. The cost of blood.”

Leonides must seek the approval of the Ephori, but these venal magistrates have already been corrupted by Persian gold, as has Theron.

Ephor #1: Sparta wages no war at the time of the Carneia.

King Leonidas: Sparta will burn! Her men will die at arms and her women and children will be slaves or worse!

Ephor #2: Trust the gods, Leonidas.

King Leonidas: I’d prefer you trusted your reason.

Having been denied permission, but knowing they must fight, Leonides is wracked with conflict. He leaves his bed, deep in thought, but his Queen calls him back.

Queen Gorgo: There’s only one woman’s words that should affect the mood of my husband. Those are mine. …

King Leonidas: Then what must a king do to save his world when the very laws he has sworn to protect force him to do nothing?

Queen Gorgo: It is not a question of what a Spartan citizen should do, nor a husband, nor a king. Instead, ask yourself, my dearest love, what should a free man do?

So Leonides finds a way to do what free men must do.

Statesman: My good king! My good king! The oracle has spoken.

Second Statesman: The Ephors have spoken. There must be no march!

Theron: It is the law, my lord. The Spartan army must not go to war.

King Leonidas: Nor shall it. I’ve issued no such orders. I’m here, just taking a stroll, stretching my legs. These, uh, 300 men are my personal bodyguard.

And so Leonides will defend Sparta, and by extension all Greece, by taking his brave 300 to try to hold off Xerxes at the Hot Gates (Thermopylae). He hopes that his actions will awaken the Spartan legislature and people, to mobilize the rest of the army, to act as one against the enemy.

And so they did, eventually, though every single one of the 300 died doing so.

Now stop a moment and think.

These Greek city-states are showing the first stirrings of real democratic governance. A much greater percentage of people in Greece enjoy true freedom than in any of the neighboring lands. And it is about to fall under the yoke of a dictatorship.

What happens if Leonides fails? Does the Grecian experiment in democracy fail too, as Greece is trampled under by Xerxes and his army of slaves?

If the Greek cradle of democracy had fallen, Rome would not have absorbed its ideals.

If Rome hadn’t taken those ideals and spread them into the Western world, where would those ideals be today? How far along would the ideas of representative governance be?

Without the Roman example, what would Great Britain have become? Would she have produced the Magna Carta? Would she have produced us, or any of the other nations of the Anglosphere—the freest nations in human history?

A great king knows what he must do, but the enemy within seeks to prevent him. And so it is his wife’s words that tip the scales. A single moment—words spoken in a bedchamber 2500 years ago—changes history. Leonides knew the stakes all too well:

Leonidas: A new age has begun, an age of freedom. And all will know that 300 Spartans gave their last breath to defend it.

And so we see the how our freedom is dependent on the acts of brave men……and brave women.

One of the greatest moments in the film comes early on, during the meeting with the Persian messenger:

Messenger: What makes this woman think she can speak among men?

Queen Gorgo: Because only Spartan women give birth to real men.

Just like the sacrifice of Leonides and the 300 reverberates to this very day, in the free air we breathe, so too does a comparison between two women of today:

Recently, MoveOn.org put out an ad called “Not Alex.” It features a young mother, holding her son. It is, needless to say, an “anti-war” ad. Here is the text:

“Hi, John McCain; this is Alex. He’s my first. So far, his talents include trying any new food and chasing after our dog — that, and making my heart pound every time I look at him. So, John McCain, when you said you would stay in Iraq for 100 years, were you counting on Alex? Because, if you were, you can’t have him.”

This women says that John McCain—and by extension this great nation—cannot have her son.

But this cowardly woman—who most likely mated with a cowardly wisp of a man—doesn’t realize something vital: John McCain won’t take her son. Neither will the military. She doesn’t decide for him, at age 18 months or 18 years.

When he grows, he will decide—as a free man—whether to wear the uniform of his country.

It will be up to him to choose, not her or her accomplices at MoveOn.org. Perhaps, when he grows, he will throw off the corrosive ideology of his mother and recognize what Queen Gorgo did: “Freedom isn’t free at all, that it comes with the highest of costs.”

Contrast that with another brave woman of today. She is Ania Egland, wife of Air Force Major Eric Egland. Having grown up under the oppressive heel of communism, she knows the value and the price of freedom.

And she has responded to MoveOn.org’s craven ad with an ad of her own. Here is the text:

“Hello Senator McCain, these are my precious boys Noah and Daniel. Their daddy served in Iraq and Afghanistan, and I grew up under communism. So, when you say we have to protect freedom in Iraq, I understand. And, someday, I would be proud if they volunteered to serve this great country. Senator, thank you for your leadership.”

Now THAT’S a woman. A mother of free men.

It is hard for a mother, even a mother who recognizes the cost of freedom, to see her child or her husband go off to war.

You think Ania Egland wants to see her sons die in war?

You think that when Queen Gorgo says to Leonides, “come back with your shield, or on it,” that she wants him dead?

If you’re on the left—with your warped and twisted way of seeing everything—you probably do.

Gorgo desperately wants her man back, but she understands the necessity of his fight. And Leonides’ last words reflect his desire to live and be with her again: My Queen! My wife. My love…

And yet still, he sacrifices himself for the rest of us, so that we can live in freedom.

His Queen understood that. So does Ania Egland.

So now, I say to you, defenders of freedom everywhere—Remember Dilios’ words…

 

Dilios: And so my king died, and my brothers died, barely a year ago. Long I pondered my king’s cryptic talk of victory. Time has proven him wise, for from free Greek to free Greek, the word was spread that bold Leonidas and his three hundred, so far from home, laid down their lives. Not just for Sparta, but for all Greece and the promise this country holds.
[takes his spear from a soldier]

Dilios: Now, here on this ragged patch of earth called Plataea, Xerxes’s hordes face obliteration!

Spartan Army: HA-OOH!

Dilios: Just there the barbarians huddle, sheer terror gripping tight their hearts with icy fingers… knowing full well what merciless horrors they suffered at the swords and spears of three hundred. Yet they stare now across the plain at *ten thousand* Spartans commanding thirty thousand free Greeks! HA-OOH!

Spartan Army: HA-OOH! HA-OOH! HA-OOH!

Dilios: The enemy outnumber us a paltry three to one, good odds for any Greek. This day we rescue a world from mysticism and tyranny and usher in a future brighter than anything we can imagine.
[puts on his helmet]

Dilios: Give thanks, men, to Leonidas and the brave 300! TO VICTORY!
[the Greek army roars and charges]

The left would see us all destroyed for nothing more than their own vile power and purposes. It is up to us—all of us—to stop them.

If 300 can hold of a million, you can make a difference.

You are the tip of the spear. You are Leonides.

Feel like the left is too powerful? Keep fighting.

Does it seem like their arrows are blotting out the sun? Fight in the shade.

Does Obama loom like the god-king Xerxes? Never kneel.

And so I say to the left:

We are the tip of the spear. We will fight you. We will never yield.

This will not be over quickly. You will not enjoy this

 

This weekend was the Relay for Life, at the UCSD track, which not only raised money for various cancer related causes, but maybe even more importantly, raised awareness.  Participants would walk laps around the quarter mile track, usually in conjunction with other teammates (mine was with a few people from work).  There’s no baton handoff, you just walk, and trade off for breaks.  The walk was all day Saturday, and all night, finishing on Sunday afternoon.  Many people camp out for the entire thing.  It was awesome.  Here’s a few random pics:

Later on in the afternoon, they put out the luminaria, which are memorials/tributes to friends or loved ones of all sorts that have either died from cancer, or are still battling it.   They’re paper bags with a candle inside, and later in the evening, there’s a ceremony where the candles are lit (though I left before then).  Must have really been something to see.  As it was, it was moving just looking at the bags.  They first did one lap around the track and set out one every 3 or 4 feet, then did another lap and set one in the middle of each gap.  All the way around the quarter mile track–all lives that had been touched in some way by cancer–even the loss of a pet (there were a couple of those that teared me up).  

 There was also a place where people who’d battled cancer and survived could plant a flower. 

I talked to a few of these people, and they were very cool.  So many incredible stories all over that place.  I met a guy hobbling around the track on crutches with a broken leg.  Several people in wheelchairs. I met people that were defiant, and fierce, and not afraid.  There were many tributes to friends, and many people walking with signs and banners, probably the most extravagant being from a group called Stacy’s Circle of Friends, who were both raising money and awareness for breast cancer.  They were like mardi gras.  Tossing beads at walkers, most of them wearing pink feather boas and masks. http://www.stacyscircleoffriends.org/

So it was quite a day Saturday.  I went home tired, but was glad I went.  It was an honor to meet so many strong people, and hear their stories. 

You can hardly turn on the TV or radio lately without hearing about Ultimate fighting, or MMA.  Whatever you want to call it.  I even heard a bunch of guys talking about it at church, about how great, how exciting it was.  They get together and watch it all the time.  I’d never seen it, and in the interest of not passing judgement until I had, I checked it out Saturday night. 

What I saw was called the “Ultimate Finale,” and was apparently the culminating episode of the “Ultimate Fighter” reality show.  I watched 3 or 4 bouts, and to me, they were neither suspenseful, nor exciting.  It would start off with some boxing, with a few kicks thrown in, and would inevitably end up with the combatants rolling around on the ground wrestling.

I just thought it seemed like a legitimate version of pro wrestling.  Instead of faking and slap fighting, they were actually pounding the snot out of each other.   The main difference I noticed was that the trash talking seemed to take place more outside of the ring (or in this case, the octagon).  So it’s real, for sure. 

But I don’t get it.  I’m no peacenik, but it just doesn’t make sense to me.  I don’t like boxing, either.  What’s so exciting about watching grown adults beat each other up?  Yes, they’re magnificently conditioned athletes, but they make their living hitting people, and being hit in return.

I guess there are just some basic “guy” things that don’t work for me.  This is one of them.  Nothing against the people that do enjoy watching this stuff.  I’d just rather read a book.  Or almost anything else.

There’s been a ton of information (and opinions) flying around TV and the internet about the new ruling on gay marriage and its legality in California.  It looks like the courts will no longer prevent gay marriages from taking place, and I would imagine gay couples are going to start lining up pretty soon.  I read something yesterday that George Takei (Sulu from the original Star Trek) was going to be getting hitched to him partner of more than 20 years.

Anyway, my point is that I find myself unable to get myself worked up about this in either direction.  Some people say that it either threatens or demeans the sanctity of marriage, which is supposed to be between a man and a woman (this is something that’s stated biblically, and I believe it myself, as I accept the Bible as God-breathed and vital).  The part about that I don’t believe is that it threatens the sanctity of marriage.  At least, I don’t think it threatens it any more than a lot of “straight” people do.

By that I mean the kind of ridiculous marriages you see a lot in the media between Hollywood types.  You know what I mean.  They marry on a whim, and then divorce or annul soon after.  Think about it.  It’s kind of disgusting.  Most of the gay people I know have long term partners, and take even the possibility of marriage extremely seriously.  And the other thing is that what does get my ire up is the supposed “Christians” that spew comments like “God hates fags.”

Idiots.  God hates sin, not sinners.

That comes closest to how I feel, I think.  I don’t feel threatened by the possibility (or actuality) of gays getting married.  I can’t say that I support it, but I can’t find it in me to condemn it, either.  It’s not my place to condemn anyone.  That’s up to God. 

What I can do, what I should do, I think, is just love the gay people I come into contact with to the best of my ability.  I’d imagine a lot of the straight people (especially straight Christians) that gays and lesbians come into contact with react with, at best, trepidation, and at worst…God only knows.  Maybe that’s why the gay man in my office has not been more open about it.  Perhaps he thinks I’d give him the “turn or burn” speech (I wouldn’t).

What I plan to do is just treat him like I would everyone else.  Which, by the way, is how I’d treat any gay person I came into contact with.  What’s the point of spewing hate language at people?  Yes, I believe they’re sinning, but so do I, every day.  Just not in the same way.  But after all, isn’t all sin…sin?  Who am I to distinguish one sin from another?

anyway, much to think about, and much to pray about.  While I’m thinking about that, suppose that all the energy expended by purportedly “Christian” people in hating, picketing, screaming at, and otherwise ridiculing gays and lesbians was instead spent on praying for them.  I wonder what would happen then?

Except for when I was younger, I’ve always had a lot of female friends.  Never dated much, and never dated any of those friends.  There were times over the course of my adult life that I wanted to, but I never did, and those girls (women) that I was interested in eventually ended up in the friends “bucket,” as Lorana calls it.  Which, while disappointing from a dating point of view, is not bad at all from a friends one.  And as some of you know, one of those situations not working out is what’s chiefly responsible for changing my life, and getting me here today.

I never really thought to ask myself why I seemed to associate mostly with women, but rather just accepted it as the way my life was going to be.  Before your minds start whirring away, no, it isn’t because I’m a secret member of the Rainbow Coalition.  Never swung that way, in spite of a lot of jokes, and my admitted fondness for musical theater.  I think now what it mostly came down to was fear.  Spending time with women was safe, or safer, anyway.  I would get the benefits of hanging out with the opposite sex (such as interesting conversations–which was hard to get from guys–and I like to talk.  And also the things I liked to do weren’t always the type of things men enjoyed.), without much of the drama that would inevitably occur when dating someone.

And really, the dating experiences I’d had were not good, to say the least.  I had one sort of long term relationship that was born out of loneliness on both our parts, and of course ended when it became obvious we weren’t actually dating at all, but just enjoying each other’s “company.”  She was divorced, and several  years older than me.  The end came one evening when her 5 year old son asked “are you going to marry my Mommy?”

No, I was not. 

My other two situations were both sojourns into what I thought was love, but both ended with me getting hurt.  The first was because I was afraid to say what I felt, and it cost me the only healthy relationship I ever had to that point.  The second was completely my own fault.  I persevered in that situation despite really good advice from a really good friend, and it not only cost me the relationship, but also my best guy friend at the time.

Which reinforced my tendency to not have a lot of guy friends.  And the thing about that is that God has been working on that aspect of my life ever since.  I’ve gotten beau coup healing in that particular area, and had a lot of the lies I’d gone a lifetime believing brought into the light of God’s truth.

Most of these had been so ingrained into my psyche, and my heart, that they seemed completely like truth.  Because I’d been hurt by my brother growing up, I knew that I could not trust men, and I knew they would hurt me if I did (lie #1).  Along these same lines, because I’d always been told no one wanted me (parents, family, friends….), and no one ever would, I believed this, too (lie #2).  And it made sense to not try, because I’d be hurt eventually anyway….

After Ben died, this made the most sense of all.  And there was a period of my life where I had no friends, male OR female, because I simply could not bear to be hurt anymore by anyone, regardless of who they were.  So I withdrew as far as I possibly could, without climbing into the Bell Jar.

Of course, eventually I was able to climb mostly out of this particular abyss, and I began to have friends again, and eventually very good friends.  And then came my second crash.  When that second relationship I mentioned a little while ago ended, along with a decade-long friendship, I knew that my first instinct about guys was correct, and I shouldn’t be close to them.  I’d been hurt again by a person that felt more like a brother to me than my own brother ever had.

Not that long after that, I tried again, and began to forge a friendship with a guy one of my female friends was dating.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.  He went to my church, seemed to be strong in the Lord, and the type of friend it would be good for me to have.  Then his relationship ended with my friend, and with me as well.  He never really understood my friendship with her, and our own friendship was not able to overcome it.  And because of my own issues and brokenness, I told myself that he had only pursued a friendship with me because of my friend.  He had not been interested in my friendship at all.  This was a lie, of course, but it felt like truth….

I haven’t really even tried to date anyone since then.  Only had a couple of opportunities, but I was grateful when they didn’t pan out because it meant I would not have to put anything out there, and if I didn’t do that, then I couldn’t be hurt again.  It made sense to me.

 I have not put myself out there at all.  I haven’t. 

What am I trying to say with this post?  A couple things.  One is that I think God has been working on my heart for a really long time now, preparing it for something.   In the way of friendship, the ones I have with my closest female friends have changed and matured, I think.  Perhaps we are not quite as close as in the past, but in a healthy way.   The way those relationships should be, I think.  I feel good about all three of them.  I think the Lord brought these women into my life for a reason, and I’m going to go out on a limb and say they are all extraordinary friends, and add a great deal to my life.  Their candor, lack of pretension, and sometimes very tough love has been what’s helped me continue to grow, I think.  Both as a follower of Christ and as a man.

As far as guy friends go, I think God knew what he was doing all along, and I can see that now.  I needed to heal a lot my personal wounding before I could pursue healthy and fulfilling friendships with men.  One of the best things that happened to me over the past year, I think, was reconciling (after a fashion) with the guy friend that had been involved in love foray #2.  We both said what we needed to say, and it was good.  I doubt we can recover what we lost, but there was forgiveness and healing done, and that’s all I can ask.  It’s probably better that we don’t go back to where we were, because when I look at it now, that was a dangerous friendship for me in a lot of ways.

But God opened another door for me when he brought Merrill into my life.  He’s been a blessing.  A man I can trust, an elder in my church, and someone I know will not bullshit me about myself.  Our friendship probably leans more toward the mentor/”mentee” side, but that’s what I think I need in a lot of ways–never had it before.

The Lord has also brought me a little distance and perspective in a few other female friendships I’d had over the past couple years, and that’s been healthy as well.  In short, I found out who my real friends were.  Things are getting better, though.  Just recently I met Lorana’s Chris, and he is a really awesome guy.  I think if they lived in the SD, or I lived in ATL, we’d probably become pretty good friends.  I hope we still will. 

I have to say that I’ve also come to like Krysco’s b-law a great deal, and I look forward to getting to know him a little better as well.  What’s my point with all that?  Well, it’s that God is stitching up the rents in my heart.  I’m doing my best to be the man he wants me to be, and to develop healthy relationships with my brothers in Christ.  It’ll take a while, but I’m willing to put in the time.

To that end, I’m probably going to be doing a men’s group with another older gentleman (older than me) in the single’s ministry–it should be good. 

The other thing is that I feel God has been preparing my heart all this time for the person he intends for me to meet.  I don’t know who she is yet, but I’m gonna do the best I can to stop hiding from her.  Can’t meet someone if your head is buried in the freaking sand.  I don’t know exactly how I’m going to do it yet, but I’m going to try and listen when God gives me direction.  And we’ll see.

The last thing for now (since I’ve been meandering like a bastard) is that I can feel myself being strengthened in the spirit daily.  I think the parts of my life that I used to feel were lacking were because I was not yet ready to experience what Jesus had for me in those areas.  Not that I’m totally arrived there yet, but I believe I’m on the way.

I better go–I have about thirty subpoenas next to my keyboard giving me the stinkeye..

a brief postscript.  Been working on restoring my friendship with the guy my friend used to be involved with, too.  I forgot to mention that.  He’s part of the Healing Prayer ministry that has gone a long way toward changing my life.  It will take a while, but Jesus will be there, and I think we’ll end up where He wants us in the end….

There’s a line in the Stephen King novella The Body (the movie version was called Stand By Me) that I think is absolutely true, at least from a boy’s point of view.  It comes toward the end of the story when the narrator is giving a post-script about the lives of his friends.  He says “I never had any friends later on in life, like the ones I had when I was 12.  Jesus, does anyone?”

The guys I grew up with were amazing–these two little blond-haired and blue eyed boys named Ravi and Paavo Laird.  Their mother was a dyed-in-the-wool hippy named Tracye, and the house they lived in was this messed up whirlwind of clothes, musical instruments, and records (yes, records) all over the floor, and piled on every availabale surface.  They had a yardful of animals, and only organic and unfiltered products in the refrigerator (and that stuff was a lot harder to get in the seventies).

But the best thing about them is that they were always there for me when I was growing up.  When I felt like I had to flee my own house (which happened fairly frequently), or when I really felt like I needed to be with people who got me, and seemed to like me without condition or expectation, that was where I went.  It was just the three of us from the first grade until junior high school, when a fourth boy joined our group–a tall, skinny kid named Ben Wise.  That was when our group really began to gel together, and go deeper into things, or at least as deep as you could get for a boy.

A word or two about that.  It’s different with boys than girls, I’d imagine.  We are not so “touchy-feely.”  I am now, of course, but when I was younger, I was pretty much your typical boy in what I liked to do, certainly more so than any other time of my life.  

 And it was a different time, to be sure.  We did play video games, but in arcades, rather then holed up in rooms.  We would ride our bikes or hike around Santee.  We’d watch movies (lots of them), and we’d play football or basketball.  The older we got, it tended to be the latter a lot more frequently than the former.  I’ve never really been much of an athlete, though I did (and do) like sports.  But the time from late elementary school through high school was the closest I ever came to actually being in shape.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget those endless days, afternoons, and evenings with the guys.  Not always playing sperts, but just spending time together, talking about girls, and movies, and music, and life.  We did take those conversations onto the courts and fields, too, and I think those were the best times for me.  Talking, laughing, sweating, swearing.  It was awesome. 

And we also got each other into things we might not have otherwise done.  I never thought about singing, but Ravi got me into choir, and men’s chorus.  Ben, too.  I broke my arm in P.E. in the 9th grade, and ending up taking drama instead of typing because my arm was in a cast–I got both of the Laird brothers into that.  It got to the point where it almost seemed like we could read each other’s minds, or at least that’s what some of the parents speculated.

My father died from a heart attack when I was 16, almost at the end of my sophomore year in high school.  It happened on a Thursday, I think.   But maybe it was Friday, because there wasn’t school the next day. Anyway, when I got off the school bus, and my sister was waiting to take me to the hospital.  I ended up not getting in to see him before he died, and it was pretty tough.  My father and I did not have a close, loving relationship, but he was still my father, and I loved him as best I could. 

I got home from the hospital, and rather than call my friends and tell them what was going on, I just went to my room and listened to music.   I didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to hear the inevitable platitudes from people.  I fell asleep with headphones on, listening to Bruce Springsteen’s The River.

 My bedroom window was right next to the front door, and at a little before 7 the next morning, I heard a knock at the door.  I peeked out my window, and saw my three friends standing in the doorway, with Ben holding a basketball in his hands.

What the hell? It was freaking early…

I quickly dressed and went to the door.   I just stood there for a couple of seconds, kind of glaring out at them.

“Thought you might want to shoot some hoops,” Ben said.

I didn’t want to, I didn’t want to do anything, really, but I nonetheless found myself walking the half mile or so down Prospect Avenue to my old junior high school, and the basketball courts.  I walked in front with Ben, and the Laird brothers followed behind.  I found out later that the three of them had had a feeling something was wrong, and that the brothers had prayed about it.  Then they collectively decided the best thing to do was come over.  They were right.

We got to the school, and just stood around in the key for a few minutes, no one talking.  And then I just said it.

“My dad died.”

They all said they were sorry, and it felt good to hear them say it without any of the awkward things attached people always say when someone dies.  Then Ravi took the ball from Ben and loped up to the hoop for a quick lay-up. 

“Let’s play,” he said.

We played two-on-two that day, and we played our asses off.  To my surprise, I was almost good that day.  It felt good to not think about anything but running, passing, and shooting.  I hardly thought about my dad at all, and to the guys’ credit, they never said anything when I started to cry.  We just kept playing.

I never told them, but I think it was that morning that I first really felt love for anyone besides my family.  I loved those three idiots, though I would have died myself before telling them that.  I wasn’t a chick, for heaven’s sake.  I think now that friendship is the truest, most pure form of love.  And there is nothing later in life like the friendship you experience as a boy.  Your friends really are closer than your brothers in most cases, certainly in mine.

There are another couple of lines in The Body  that also applies to me.  Gordie is talking about the other two people that went on the hike/journey to the body with him and he talks about friends passing in and out of his life like busboys in a restaurant.  That’s so true.  But I believe that the ones that mean the most stay with you in some way.

Later, Gordie is crying over the sudden death of Chris, the boy he was closest to.  He writes: “although I hadn’t seen him in more than ten years, I know I’ll miss him forever.”

I can understand that, and I pretty much feel the same way about the guys.  Although we started to scatter during my senior year of high school.  One day in January, the same day the shuttle Challenger exploded, we found out Ben–who had graduated a semester early so he could join the Marines–had taken his own life.  As a group, we never really recovered from that, and I have to admit his loss colors my life to this day.  So we began to do our own things.  Ravi and Paavo began playing music, and continue to this day (Ravi plays in a local jam/fusion band called Tapwater). 

I see Ravi play occasional, and sometimes Paavo will be there, too.  We have a good time talking and catching up, but then it’s time to go.  And that’s OK.  I’m not the same person I was 20 plus years ago, obviously.  But when I think about them, the picture I see is those three assholes standing on my doorstep after my dad died.  I think about basketball.  I remember how much they meant to me.  And I think with immeasurable gratitude of the friends I have now, who I also love.

www.tapwater.net

check them out sometime….

 I hear that’s the catch-phrase for this monstrosity.  I can see why.  I have a friend that swears by this ride, that it’s one of the best ever, if not the  best ever.  I’m not too sure about that.  I can tell you one thing, though. It scared the crap out of me.  Of course, obviously, the damn elevator is going to really drop you.  But when you get whisked up to the top, and it goes all freaking dark, I nearly shat myself (I just now created that word).  Then drop, up, drop, up, drop….AAAAGGGHHH!   And the worst part is, there’s no way to prepare yourself! It’s different every time!  I felt like my stomach stayed up, and the darn elevator had to go up to catch it again, and just when I was shoving it back in, DROP again….

man, that is an intense freaking ride….