A child has many fathers. For me it has always been my brothers and their friends. As far back as I remember, this bunch has been in my life. From the time I was, maybe 5, they’ve been in and out of my house – hanging with my eldest brother, turning our sala into an Aikido Dojo, chatting with my Mom, sleeping and falling drunk on our front lawn.
They’re all celebrating their 50th birthdays during this stretch and I can’t believe the cool guys of my childhood are now in the golden decade of their lives. Anyway- it was one major dude’s birthday gathering last night, so there I was again with the crew.
They’re shocked at the stories that I remember about them. How could I not record them all in my brain when they were so rowdy and loud and always around? Stories of their high school student council elections, who stole whose girlfriend, and the campus figure who managed to steal ALL their girlfriends. All the way to who ranks best in badminton today.
Last night reminded me of an old quote, (must’ve been a Duke of Florence, one of the Medicis): You shall read that we are commanded to forgive our enemies; but you never read that we are commanded to forgive our friends.
It is exactly that playful non-forgiving that makes for great stories. Stories that need more than fifty years on repeat.
How cool of the fates to deal me these jokers as part of my life’s hand.