My college
buddies and I all turn 60 this year.
Incredibly, unbelievably, four decades of friendship have melted away,
leaving us blinking in disbelief, gratitude, and sober reflection. Four of us took a commemorative trip at the
50 year mark so why not at 60? One of
the four buddies could not make it this time but the following account will
resonate with him as if he were with us the whole time.
Road trips seem
to have a natural life cycle all their own.
Born in awkward workaday plans, they grow amid great expectations, then
mature into some successes, some failures, and then finish with warm memories
and a few regrets. They start out
cluttered with the rush of the details of travel: meet times, vehicle decisions,
hotel reservations, packing your bags, instructions to be careful. Then comes the sudden quiet of the open road
and the creeping relaxation and gradual spinning down from a hectic and intense
life: the trip is on. It’s like standing on the first tee of a long
anticipated golf round, full of expectation, promise and uncertainty. A silent prayer of gratitude goes out, a big
breath of morning air for confidence goes in and you’re off! In
moments like that a strange division takes place between such a fun moment and
real life. Simultaneously, the weight,
responsibilities, worries and stress of real life melt away, replaced by the pure,
uncontaminated joy of the moment, which then, all in the same instant, ironically enhances
the clarity, purpose, and perspective of the weight, responsibilities, worries
and stress of real life. They play off
one another, each making the other better, more intense and worthwhile: a see-saw balance of fun and real life. Oh, and the other thing about being a man is
that if we want to, we can get off the see-saw, walk around to the other end,
knock that goofy looking real life stuff right off the thing and replace that
with a fun moment more to our liking! Just
for a little while, anyway. Crazy, right?
Men love that stuff.
College buddies
are forever linked and imprinted on one another in that context. We will always treat each other like we did
then -- irreverent/respectful, insulting/complimentary, jokester/counselor,
rival/ally, gossip/confidant, reveler/pray-er, student/goof-off -- switching
from one to the other freely and without warning in this safe arena of
friendship.
Driving along, the
conversation begins with small talk: family, kids, work. Slowly, the old familiar, comfortable banter that
only decades-long friendships can know, takes over-- stories of college days,
girlfriends (girls who were friends, as well as loves won and lost),
classmates, professors, fraternity drama, jokes retold as if for the first
time. These moments in time, memories of
that carefree time, cause us to drink once again the intoxicating elixir of
youth, passion, beauty, and strength. It
was all-consuming, all-important back then – all relegated into insignificance
now by the slow grind of time, adult responsibilities, stark realities -- and
blessings -- of life: marriages, children, grand-children, illness, death,
financial duties. But now, while mile
after mile slip past unnoticed, we are carried along by this magic remembrance. It occurs to me that those days still have
merit and significance because they helped form us into who we are. Our friendships endure and mature because of
the deep roots of a common bond from long ago- or was it just yesterday? Both, I think. These conversations flow in
rapid succession punctuated by long, comfortable silences that men find meaningful
in ways that women don’t (except, of course, our brilliant and beautiful wives
back home.)
That’s when the
music started. Every song we could think
of, a couple of screen taps away (thank you, i-phone), played at full volume in
the car speakers and in our throats, and we were suddenly back there, back
then, again. All together now,
"Son,
can you play me a memory
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes."
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes."
Our destination was to the campus of Auburn
University where my brother awaited us with his two sons, both Auburn
students. They showed us their apartment
where the party was already into its’ second day. They gave us a tour of the campus, the frat
house and three separate tailgates and introduced us to an endless stream of
friends, guys and girls. No, not just
friends, close buddies…wait a second…this seems very familiar. We older guys had cannonballed into a
glorious, golden pool of college football game-day celebration. Suddenly we were face-to-face with “younger
men” wearing the younger men’s clothes of youth, passion, beauty, and strength;
eyes bright with the joy of life both now and for the future. That used to be us! Those memories we relived
on the drive over were now being played out right before our eyes. It was as if Francis Ford Coppola had filmed every
scene through a gold- tinted filter and played it back to us in real time. What a treat is was to experience that up
close again. The girls were just as
pretty, the sky just as blue, the drinks just as cold, the food just as
satisfying to a bottomless appetite as we remembered. I could sense the genuine pride my nephews
had in bringing us into their world. The
hope, energy, and confidence in their eyes, and the satisfaction of approval
sought and received from “Uncle Steve” and his buddies made the outcome of the
game irrelevant for me.
On the trip home
we all recounted more of our own golden days just like that. We felt grateful that we had experienced
those days, fortunate that we had experienced them with each other, and amazed
that we had survived those days of youthful bravado. We all silently came to
the conclusion that if you are blessed with even one friend like that, those
“clothes” are a good fit at any age.
