Men, do you remember when we had friends?
Back when we first asked in our own way, and without shame, Will you be my friend? Back when we could be vulnerable, known, honest with someone who would still have our back afterward. Back when we didn’t have so many better things to do than kick it with the boys. For me, it was back when the grass was worn to dirt through tackle football, back when the garage was dented from alley-hoops and allowance was spent at the movies. Can you remember that far back?
I mean those days of little league, basketball at recess, and trying to swindle your guys into swapping your PB&J sandwich for more chicken nuggets. Those sleepover days, those “girls have cooties . . . but we still kind of like them” days. Days chasing each other around, stumbling toward manhood, days making their joys your joys and their beef your beef. Back when ball games and bike rides were a sacred place of joke-telling, fear-sharing, dream-making, where friends became brothers — and the fatherless found a family. You know, back when we had friends.
