Big-Tent Friendships

The skinheads filmed us during the birthday party. Dozens of people in my parents’ house, partying it up, to celebrate our dear friend Robby's 21st birthday. Robby wanted them to film it, but that video is now gone forever.

I think. C'mon, give me a break; it was a long time ago and memories tend to morph into multiverses that may or may not exist. So, for this piece, I'm believe it did. 

They were skinheads, no doubt. That 1960's derivative of UK working-class pride that evolved into the 1970's and 1980's white power subcultures. They were always nice to me, and Robby of course because they were friends of his, but they did keep others we knew on edge (I just thought they were punk rock).

We all had a lot of fun over the years, these best friends of mine, with gravity's center being Robby. Robby who was a swimmer and water polo player in high school. Robby who broke his neck at a swim meet our senior year in high school, changing the trajectory of his life forever. Robby who became emotionally stuck in the spring of 1984. Robby who struggled with pain and day-to-day activities and his life-altering paralysis.

For decades we'd journey to Chico California to visit him. And not just my core group of friends -- Greg, Rob, and Craig -- but other longtime friend groups -- Charles, Donovan, another Greg, and another Craig. And many other men and women over the years. Robby had a pretty big circle of friends since high school; he connected with many flavors of humans over the years. There were those of us from our hometown of Visalia, and many others from Chico where he lived for over 35 years. There were old high school friends and water polo and swimmer friends and artist friends and rocker friends and plain Jane friends and even skinheads as mentioned above.

The list went on and on. When we held Robby's memorial in Visalia, many friends of the past joined us in celebrating Robby's life. Fast forward over a year later and a little bigger circle of friends got together in the Sierras and spent the weekend celebrating Robby, our friendships, our lives, and getting to know others we never really knew that well. And of course, teasing each other relentlessly, which has been our way for 45+ years. Our friend Donovan had made t-shirts for us that said "Robby Day Day" on the front with his birthdate and passing date on the back.

However, it's not all ribbing and guy talk; we're vulnerable with each other, too. Willing to share our highlights and hopes, and our funkiness and fears. Two of us have stopped drinking alcohol. One never drank. Two are retired. One's had open-heart surgery. We talked and laughed and talked and laughed a lot more. I grilled the meats all weekend and Rob and I drove the pontoon boat on the lake. 

We've been brothers to each other for decades, more so now than ever, and miss our brother Robby. We love each other and tell each other. I can't remember the countless phone calls with Robby where he'd end with "I love you, man", like the Paul Rudd and Jason Segel movie of the same name. They're friends who bond over their mutual adoration of the rock band Rush. Not too far off the mark for us either (especially for my friend Troy and me). 

Robby was an empathic big-tent friend sharing big-tent friendships with many. That's one of the many things that made him special. That's why I love watching our own children becoming big-tent friends with others in their social circles in high school with the hope that they'll have similar life-long friendships. And not just in high school either. In college, the workplace, and wherever they go and whatever they do. I do and my wife Amy does, too.

So, here's to big-tent friendships and the toast I made with my friends when we were together in the Sierras (or something like this): 

"Here’s to our torrid pasts, our playful presents (and presence), our bright futures — and to our friendships."

I love you guys. Blessings. 

• The Full Oliver Friendships
• All the Friendship in Between, with Love
• A Spirit Breaking Free
• Because There's Always A Promise
• A Longing for Loving Connection
• What Happens Next
• Superman's Love Letter
• Men of An Influencer Age
• Making a Dent
• A Long-Term Well-Being Win
• Men of a Stand-up Age
• Men of a Vulnerable Age
• Able-Bodied Grateful
• Men of Our Present Age
• The #MeToo Guys
• Men of a Women's Age
• Men of a Consequential Age
• Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future
• Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work
• Big Heart Love to My Class of 1984
• Men of An Unremarkable Age
• Being What Happens Next
• Retro K: A treasure trove of golden memories friendship has forged

Men of a Stand-up Age

When my lovely wife texted me some pictures from the disco party she was at, I smiled. Not just because they included her, who I missed, but because of the picture of our oldest daughter Beatrice and one of her best friends for many years since grade school. Now high school teens, the picture was cute and fun, a refreshing sweetness to see while I was away. This being just one friendship of many she maintains.

Our younger daughter, Bryce, is officially a teen herself, and like her sister, has her own established close friendships. Both girls hang out more with their friends after school and on weekends, spending less time at home than ever before. 

While these changes are bittersweet, our kids no longer kids, it brings an even bigger smile to my face when I see them with their friends. Their relationships are new, honest, and fragile; a multiverse of emotion and inside jokes and laughter, each of them grappling with the overwhelming adolescent changes that become the DNA of their adulthood. Only time will tell if they remain friends over the decades, but there's always that chance. 

For anyone who's had friends for decades, it certainly is a blessing, especially for men who tend to not fare as well as women in the long-term friendship department. In 7th grade I met Robby, a tall and thin boy who befriended me and gave me a cassette tape of two Cheap Trick albums (Heaven Tonight and Live at Budokan), recorded on a discount-bin Thrifty Drug Store cassette mind you, and our rock and roll best friendship was born. I'd love to say I still have that cassette tape, but alas, I don't, just the wonderful memory of when our friendship began.

Then in high school came many new (mutual) friendships, including Jeff, Rob, Greg, Charles, Craig, and many others. And then after right high school came Craig (connected to Robby and other high school friends) and Troy (meet in college). Not all the friendships I've had over the years have withstood the test that time and circumstance bring, but thankfully there are those that have. 

We do get together when we can each year, sometimes together and sometimes one-on-one, and this last time was a wonderful visit, complete with decades of inside jokes and comedy clips (SNL, etc.), lots of laughter, and yes, even serious banter about our lives. It's been decades of friendship. The stereotype of straight male friends isn't lost on us, which is why we thought the Saturday Night Live Straight Male Friend commercial skit was so funny (but a little edgy, so beware if you watch it). Thankfully we're not exactly that (and yet, sometimes we are). 

As I wrote last year in Men of a Vulnerable Age, men can go longer periods of time without talking or seeing each other, and don't necessarily thrive on intimacy and emotional connection as much as women do. But my friends and I have shared quite a bit of our lives (intimately and emotionally) with each other over the years. The good, the bad, the ugly, the meh -- and a whole lot of comedy and tears of laughter. 

Our relationships are a multiverse of life experience, love, and inside jokes. None of us are safe from each other. We relentlessly tease and "bust each other's chops" as the saying goes, and we bust our own chops as well. We're like veteran stand-up comedians heckling an audience of us. It may be perceived as a little harsh and over-the-top at times, and it's especially awkward when we're in mixed company and we see the reaction of others. But for us, it's at times raw, real, retrospective, and always full of love. We're men of a stand-up age, and we've stood by one another for 40+ years. I hope my daughters are as blessed today with their teen friends as I have been. 

Other past posts about and related to these friends of mine:

• Men of a Vulnerable Age
• Endless Possibilities Actually
• Able-Bodied Grateful
• Men of Our Present Age
• The #MeToo Guys
• Men of a Women's Age
• Men of a Consequential Age
• Grown Men Friends and Fathers
• Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future
• Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work
• Big Heart Love to My Class of 1984
• Men of An Unremarkable Age
• Being What Happens Next
• Daddy Day in Monterey

Men of a Vulnerable Age

I stood in the shade of the awning with others, away from the creep of morning valley heat. A slight breeze ebbed and flowed around us as the service began. Soon after, my friend Craig shared reverent words about his mother who had passed. With the exceptions of my long-time dear friends Rob and Greg, Greg's wife Jody, and Craig's wife Noriko, I didn't know Craig's family. I never even knew his mother. 

But I did know about her through him. And for the nearly 35 years I've known Craig, he has always talked fondly of his mother. For nearly 35 years, we've been getting together with our core group of long-time friends (45+ years for those of us who went to junior high and high school together). The last time all of us were together as a group was January 2020. Then COVID hit. 

Since then we haven't seen each much. There was Rob's retirement party, and then some of us individually going to see the other mutual friend from our core group, my best friend since junior high, Robby. Pre-pandemic we've gone to Robby's as a group at least 1-2+ times a year for decades. Robby, who had broken his neck at a swim meet in high school, has been paralyzed ever since. While still living somewhat independently with home healthcare, his travel mobility has decreased dramatically over the decades, and today he doesn't venture beyond his own city limits. Also, outside of this core group, there's Troy, my best friend from college, and we've only seen each other once in the past few years. 

When Craig's mom passed away, he posted when her service and reception would be, and I knew I had to be there for him, as did our friends Rob and Greg. Listening to him talk about his mother at the graveside service reminded me of when my own parents passed back in 2012, only four months apart, and all the emotional upheaval experienced during that time. At his mom's memorial reception, Craig, Rob, Greg and I hugged, talked, and laughed freely, realizing how much we've missed our time together.  

While it may be true that men can go longer periods of time without talking or seeing each other, and don't necessarily thrive on intimacy and emotional connection as much as women do, my friends and I have shared quite a bit of our lives with each other over the years. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the meh. The stormy rainbow yak of life. 

In fact, what I've found is that the intimacy and emotional connections have increased over the years, even without seeing each other or talking to each other that often. Maybe it's simply maturity and nurturing empathy, although we still know how to give each other quite the inappropriate regular ribbing; we are a diverse group, that's for sure. Now in our mid to late 50's, most of us have our own families and children (and grandchildren!), and all of us have lots of life lived behind us, and hopefully lots more ahead. We are now men of a vulnerable age, making peace with our present, and embracing the presence of each other's love. 

Other past posts about these friends of mine:

• The #MeToo Guys
• Men of a Women's Age
• Men of a Consequential Age
• Grown Men Friends and Fathers
• Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future
• Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work
• Men of An Unremarkable Age

Men of Our Present Age

This is dedicated to those who have had lifelong friendships, including Geddy, Alex and Neil of my favorite band Rush. Bless you and your family, Neil. You will be missed. 

The entire restaurant joined in on the birthday song. Afterwards, everyone applauded, and then Robby, my best friend since junior high, was all smile from ear to ear.

"We made it another year," I said.

"Yes, we did," he said.

Then the core of our dearest friends of the past 30-40+ years sitting around the table concurred. We'd been coming to Chico since 1989 to visit Robby at least one to two times per year. Many other dear friends in our overlapping rings of friendships had also been coming to visit for decades as well. If we included the five years post high school when we'd see him, and each other, in Visalia where we grew up, that included a lot of memories of friendships as thick as thieves; we know where many of our bones are buried.

There's also something new revealing itself every time we get together, like this time our friend Rob finding out that Robby had kissed his old girlfriend back in high school. Something he didn't know, and didn't really bother him now, but yet, it kinda did. That conversation went on a bit too long during our meal, as many of our sometimes obsessive, bared-soul conversations can do, but hey, there's always another confession to make and then a bone to bury.

As we got up from the table and headed out for the rest of the day, Robby wheeling himself out in his wheelchair, I thought of an earlier what-if conversation we had. What if we had convinced Robby not to go to the the swim meet that Easter break day in April of our senior year. He was a swimmer and a water polo player, and a handful of us were heading out to Morro Bay for the day, about a two and a half hour drive one way. He thought about it, but really didn't want to miss one of the first swim meets of the season that year. I remember trying to work him over about it, but in the end, he didn't want to miss the meet.

And at that very swim meet was where he broke his neck. Ever since, he uses a wheelchair for mobility. For decades he's lived fairly independently, with regular home health care and help from friends and family.

What would've happened if he never went to that swim meet and went to the coast with us instead? Where would he be now and what would he be doing? He's been an amazing artist over the years and a fervent comic book collector; would he have become a successful commercial artist working for Marvel or DC?

And the even bigger question -- would we all still be friends? Robby has become the cathartic center of so many of our concentric rings of mutual friends, but would we all still be getting together year after year and celebrating these very loving friendships?

That's not really the right question, though, nor a valid one, because the lifetime journeys we've experienced and shared together over the years are real and intact. My dad used to say "should-ofs and could-ofs don't mean squat," only where you're at today and the decisions you make daily are of any consequence. And while there's no one who thinks about the what-if of not breaking his neck more than Robby himself, knowing that he'd trade all the things he's acquired over the years to un-break it, we are all men of our present age, and the years since junior high, high school and beyond of our shared histories are the memories that bind our friendships together today. We've made it another year and have all become the cathartic centers to each other with a present awareness we've never been more grateful for.


Other past posts about these friends of mine:

• The #MeToo Guys
• Men of a Women's Age
• Men of a Consequential Age
• Grown Men Friends and Fathers
• Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future
• Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work
• Men of An Unremarkable Age

Men of a Consequential Age

When we first arrived, I didn't think much about it. It bugged me a little, but I didn't speak up then, the fact that one of my best friends from four decades ago and then some, who I hadn't talked much with for the past 21 years, had gotten out of the car and greeted another mutual friend with multiple expletives.

It was again our annual trek to Chico to see another mutual best friend, one who had broken his neck during a swim meet way back in our senior year of high school. Everyone had already arrived and we were the last three to get there. I unloaded my stuff from the car and noticed Robby's neighbor standing in his yard, since I had to parking partly in front of his house, and I was sure he heard the F-bombs being dropped during the affectionate greeting.

In all fairness he wasn't the only one cursing. Every year when we get together we catch up and talk about our lives and the world around us and always make it a priority to congregate and elevate our connected spirits.

Yes, we're a lot older and supposedly more mature, having somewhat successful professional lives, and half of us having families and children of varying ages, but of course we're not too mature to completely devolve into our ranting, cursing, snorting, pig-like beings of old.

C'mon, give us a break, right? We love each other.

When you've been friends for over 40 years, there's a lot emotional crap that has transpired within our ranks. There are moments like Robby's accident that altered all our worlds dramatically, that forever bound us together, our lives and futures inextricably linked in a lifetime of friendship, always laced with happy silver linings and much needed laughter.

And for guys to stay friends as long as we have, even when some of us had a falling out for a time, that's something to celebrate with beer, fist bumps and F-bombs.

Now back to the latest visit -- after an hour or so I went outside to unload some more of my stuff for the weekend and in front of my friend's neighbor's house sat two little girls in front of a lemonade stand. A pretty decent one for that matter. They were both around my girls ages and they called out to me to buy a glass.

"Do you want to buy some lemonade?"

It's really hot in Chico California during the summertime, and this day was no exception. It was at least 96 degrees outside.

I walked over to the lemonade stand and said, "How much?"

One of the girls said, "Twenty-five cents."

"Wow, that's a great deal. You should be charging more."

I could see them thinking about that, and then one said, "Well, we've already made some money, and twenty-five cents is the going rate you know."

I could see about five quarters nestled neatly in the bottom of one of the plastic cups they served their pink lemonade in.

"Thank you, this is delicious," I said after taking a sip.

"You're welcome," one of the girls answered. "Thank you."

I went back to Robby's house and set the lemonade on the counter. It wasn't until the next morning I realized I hadn't finished it (it was actually really good). I also realized I needed to ask the guys to please keep it down when we were outside together in the backyard and to watch the cursing. Again, half of our group are father's with grown children as well as younger children like mine. Just like the two girls at the lemonade stand.

We are men of a consequential age, and although I have no qualms about the levity we share and the inappropriateness of some of it in the context of our pasts and the present, what we share doesn't need to spill out over the neighbor's fence to the ears of young children, especially little girls. My friends agreed, of course.

Because we're trying to be the good guys, we really are, and unfortunately today more than ever a toxic incivility abounds everywhere we go, one that has seeped into our societal ground water and continues to poison future generations. Too many hateful people think they can and should be able to do whatever they want regardless of race and/or gender and/or socio-economic status and/or political affiliation, spouting hate and untruths and running people down in the streets like what happened with the protests in Virginia, all during the weekend my friends and I spent together.

I love these guys, my friends, I really do, and we have a responsibility to our boys and girls and others younger and older to understand personal responsibility, consequence and empathy. We are men of a consequential age, and our friendship is telling of the healing bonds that can be.

Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future

There we were on the power walk. Not the When Harry Met Sally Billy Crystal and Bruno Kirby overly-animated Central Park stride, but a power walk nonetheless. Moving at a nice four-mile-per-hour clip. Walking and talking along a creek in Chico California about knee surgery, staying in shape and hitting plateaus. We walked and talked, huffed and puffed, my friend Craig and I, and I thought, Wow, we just keep coming back, after all this time.

And for good reason as I've noted before in Men of An Unremarkable Age and Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work. Being friends for decades isn't unusual, but it's usually more emotionally intimate for women than for men, especially over the long haul.

Usually, but we're an exception to the rule. Every year is like reliving a single point in time that solidified our emotional connections forever; we had all experienced a mutual metaphorical monster that forever challenged our sense of normalcy: one fateful spring day at a swim meet our senior year in high school.

My best friend Robby had wanted to go with a group of us to the coast instead of his swim meet, but we all knew he wouldn't miss his meet for anything. When we returned early that evening, we learned he had broken his neck and crushed his spinal cord on his third false start. We rushed to the hospital to see him, and his mother claimed we were family so we could see him in the ICU the next morning when he was conscious.

Three months later he was brought by ambulance from the hospital rehabilitation center to graduate with our senior class, and I had the honor of pushing him into the football stadium and standing by his side throughout the commencement.

Then five years later he moved to Chico and that's where we've been going to hang out with him ever since. Our mutual circle of friends had grown during high school and beyond, and since has remained more or less intact.

We waxed poetic this year, as we always do, with a sprinkle of family chat, economics, colonoscopies, politics, music and more, and added yet another year upon year that we make it a priority to congregate and elevate our connected spirits. Emotional evolution has looked kindly over us since junior high and high school, although we're not too mature to complete devolve into ranting, cursing, snorting, pig-like beings who flip through old yearbooks and comment, "Did you date her? She was really hot."

It's a controlled setting, though. One that we've sealed off from the rest of the world. One that no longer seeps into the groundwater of our daily lives, or worlds of work, or our families. More like a private swimming hole that only we can find one or two times per year, lost the rest of the year inside our tangle of low-testosterone time.

Our swimming hole is always a little chilly at first, but dive in we do, the hot sun taking off the edge and then we're 16 again. And then we're 18 again. And then we're 21 again. And then we're 30. And that's when we remember saying, "Hey, will we be getting together when we're 50?"

The answer to that is a resounding yes. Because we're here today, men of a certain age, an unremarkable age, who continue to invest in a friendship that’s seen many ups and downs, ins and outs, and others who have come and gone over the years. Men divorced and married, with and without children. Men who have experienced hardship and loss as well as success and enduring love. Men finally comfortable in their own skin and who be friends of years to come.

"Do you think we'll still be getting together when we're 70?" we ask each other.

The answer to that, like men knowingly bound to their future, is another resounding yes.

Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work

“It seems to me I could live my life
A lot better than I think I am
I guess that's why they call me
They call me the working man…”

—Rush


The social notification popped up on my phone.

Craig R kettlebellied

I'm sorry, what? I thought.

Wait, that's not quite right. I squinted and read again.

Craig R kettlebelled

What?

I opened up the MapMyRun app to make sure I got it right. Then I made a sarcastic comment on my friend Craig's MapMyRun feed. Then he responded. And then I did again. And so it goes.

And I still didn't get what kettlebelled was, until we got together and talked workout shop that help us old guys fight the effects of age and gravity's depravity.

Because that's how it works. Between friends that work. When you've known each other a long time you're rightfully comfortable in calling each other out, calling each other names and calling the kettlebelly black, all the while like big brothers (although sometimes like stepsisters) who always have the other's back, practicing the lifestyle of true friendship.

For nearly 40 years we’ve collectively been the guys that work. Some of us are childhood friends, some of us meeting later in high school or right after high school, all who in adulthood continue making an annual trek to hangout for a rest day like we did again recently.

Men of a certain age, an unremarkable age, who continue to invest in a friendship that’s seen many ups and downs, ins and outs, and others who have come and gone over the years. Men who have had varying careers, varying relationships, some with children and some without, who have experienced hardship and loss as well as success and enduring love. Men who have created an inclusive culture from a shared collective of unique behaviors and experiences that extend well beyond the bounds of their own inner drum circle, affecting many others in their lives – family, friends, colleagues and today even passerby on social networks.

The guys that work. But it’s not all unconditional bromance love-fest because there’s a valuable return for us all – the catch phrases, the sounding boards, the support networks, the referrals and all the memories that keep us motivated, working hard to keep working together and reinvesting in our mutual friendships.

Just like the guys at work reference that Geddy Lee makes about his bandmates and long-time friends in Rush, a progressive rock band that’s been playing together for over 40 years and my favorite band. But the “guys at work” include everyone who works for, in and around Rush, and their extended families and friends. (Yes, they make fun of me for always fitting in the Rush reference. Hey, I'm only a fan, not a fanatic.)

But the guys at work that work isn't usually the norm, since women still having older and longer-lasting friendships than men. But we've been an exceptional footnote to that data, one that I hope my girls are proud of someday when they look back over 40 years of their friendships.

Because that's how it works with the guys that work. Amen. Let's do a little kettlebellying, my Brothers.

Men of An Unremarkable Age

The pushups, situps, arm band toning and the walking workouts became the "running" joke. I first referred to it affectionately as my Olivia Newton-John workout back in 1989. That's when our annual trek to Chico started, five years out of high school.

But let's jump into the "way back machine" to over 35 years ago, to when a gangly, tall boy by the name of Robin Christopher Day befriended me. We were in the 7th grade at the time and in Mr. Franks "hot hockey stick" history class together. I say hot hockey stick because Mr. Franks had a sawed-off hockey stick he used to rattle the young minds in his class.

And rattle us he did. If you were out of line in class – slam – right on the desk in front of you. Scared the crap out of us every single time. He never physically hit any of us, and God knows no one really gets away with that today, but memorable it was.

During that first year of friendship Robby made me a cassette tape of two Cheap Trick albums and our rock and roll friendship has never looked back. Yes, a mix tape. Feel free to tease (while you reminisce the dozens you made for friends and lovers).

Fast forward to a fateful spring day at a swim meet our senior year in high school. Robby wanted to go with a group of us to the coast instead of his swim meet, and he knew perfectly well he wouldn't miss his meet for anything.

We returned early that evening to learn that he had broken his neck and crushed his spinal cord on a third false start. We rushed to the hospital to see him, and his mother claimed we were family so we could see him in the ICU the next morning when he was conscious.

Three months later he was brought by ambulance from the hospital rehabilitation center to graduate with our senior class, and I had the honor of pushing him into the football stadium and standing by his side throughout the commencement.

Five years later he moved to Chico and that's where we've been going to hang out with him ever since. Our mutual circle of friends had grown during high school and beyond, and since has remained more or less intact.

There are moments like Robby's accident that altered all our worlds dramatically, that forever bound us together, our lives and futures inextricably linked in a lifetime of friendship -- through all the personal tragedy, incremental joy, marriage, children, divorce, career success and failure, falling outs and ins, illness, injury (a recent bum knee for me), addiction, depression, and even death -- always laced with happy silver linings and much needed laughter.

You know, like a bunch of girls.

I write that not disparaging women at all. No, I write that because men don't have the same societal or genetic capacity to stay together in tight-knit support groups like women have for thousands of years.  

But us guys? We've managed to do just that.

Now we're all men of an unremarkable age, just north of prime, more so for Robby, getting together as often as we can, banking all those happy silver linings and laughter, plus a shitload of usually inappropriate "inside baseball" comedic catch phrases.

"Low T, low T!" (which is one of the milder ones)

As in, low testosterone alert. Hey, that's life, kids. So slip on those pink wristbands and headbands and let's get physical. The B-hive is a proud endorser of girlie-men everywhere.

Unremarkable is the new black anyway. Love you, my Brothers.