The Full Oliver Friendships

"Bryce, you didn't ask me if get to see all my boyfriends this week," I said with a smirk. 

Our youngest child, Bryce, processed that statement and then smiled. 

"Dad, do you get to see all your boyfriends this week?"

"Yes, Bryce. Yes I do."

That's become a running joke with our family, especially with our kids, Beatrice and Bryce. The fact that I've had close male friends for 40+ years. Three from junior high to high school, one from post high school, and one from college. Sadly, my best friend from junior high passed away in 2025. 

I consider it a term of endearment because I've always loved these men. They've been the dearest of friends even though we only see each other a few times a year. We've traversed the chasm of decades together, through darkness and light, continuously building bridges of friendship, love, and empathy, and a whole lotta laughter along the way. 

There's a current societal narrative that says men are lonelier than ever. That they feel left out of bridge-building when compared to women. The percentage of men with six or more close friends dropped from 55% in 1990 to just 27% in 2021. Men account for nearly 80% of all suicide deaths and are over three times more likely to die by suicide than women.

The resurgence of toxic masculinity is an unfortunate direct response to feeling left out of the life equation. For the first time, there are more women employed than men, and there's a misinformed visceral backlash to this, movements like #MeToo, and more.

I'm grateful that there's hope in male friendships like ours. Men can have strong, positive connections and loving male friendships. Friendships that mentor and support each other. Those friendships reciprocally can and do make other relationships stronger, like those with our significant others and our children and grandchildren. 

So, Bryce and Beatrice, this was a good week with my boyfriends. First, my best friend from college, Troy, traveled with his oldest son and me to Los Angeles to see our favorite band Rush on their new aptly titled "50 Something Tour". A band we've seen many times together over the years, and one we never thought we'd see play live again after the beloved drummer, Neil Peart, passed away in January of 2020. (And speaking of friendships, the members of Rush were also friends for decades, and the two remaining members, Alex Lifeson and Geddy Lee, have been best friends since junior high. We can gratefully relate.) 

Second, my dear friend from high school, Greg, invited us to his and his wife's 60th birthday party. My other two mutual friends, Rob and Craig (and Craig's wife), attended as well. We always know how to "bust each other's chops", laugh until we cry, and unabashedly hug each other tight.

After we returned home from Rush, my friend Troy texted me: The whole trip was a full Oliver. That's our new Rush "inside baseball" term for "it was everything". The same was true for Greg's birthday party and everything we've done together for decades. Our friendships are the "Full Oliver", forever building transcendent bridges.

More Full Oliver:

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

Because it's all "fire", dude

I told our kids I really was in men's glee in junior high, and then in choir in high school. They wanted proof. High school was easy because, there I was, styling a tux in the yearbook pictures from freshmen through junior years. 

But when I looked in my junior high yearbook, I wasn't in the group picture. Why I don't remember. Maybe I was at a math competition that day. Something else that would've conflicted with the taking of the group picture. Not only I wasn't in the picture, my name wasn't listed either. That was an unfortunate oversight somewhere along the line. Mr. Hannah, our junior high choir teacher, surely would've included my name in the listing.

"Dad, you weren't in men's glee; you're not in the picture," our youngest Bryce.

"Yes, I was," I protested. Why wasn't I in there? I thought.

"You're not in there, Dad," our oldest Beatrice said. 

"C'mon, Dad," my wife Amy said.

"I thought you were an athlete, a brain, and in student government," Bryce said. "You were a nerd, Dad. Except when you were in detention. That was cool."

That's a story our kids love: the fact that when I was student body president, I received lunch detention for too many first period tardies. One of the other kids in detention has said to me, "Dude, aren't you the president?"

Yes. Yes, I was. The kids always laugh at that. 

I continued to defend myself about being in men's glee. Then I had an idea -- I had a cassette recording from men's glee in junior high that Mr. Hannah had recorded and made for all of us and our families. 

"I have proof," I said. "Listen to this."

I pushed play on the only working cassette player we have. Young teenage boys' voices sang an old standard like Erie Canal. 

I stopped the tape. "See?" I said. "I was in men's glee."

The kids laughed. "How do we know you were one of them?"

Sigh. They weren't wrong. I really was in men's glee. No, really. 

Today both our teens are in high school choir and love it -- and we love watching them sing! Bryce has been in choir since middle school and this is Beatrice's first year. Since last fall, they've been excited about their spring trip to a music festival in Anaheim, CA. And so have we. 

Because Disneyland. 

Don't get me wrong -- we really enjoy hearing all the kids sing. They are amazing. But c'mon, it's Disneyland. We've been taking our kids to Disneyland since they were three and five years old. So, we volunteered to be chaperones. Over 50 kids in total and 8 chaperones between two high schools. 

It was wonderful listening to all the high school choirs sing throughout the festival day, especially our two high schools (and especially our kids' choir). There were over 30 choirs from multiple states that participated. Brilliant song choices and inspired singing. These music directors are doing amazing things with these kids who sounded more like professional adult singers than teens. 

As a parent, it's been quite the bumpy joy ride living it all over again through our teens' experiences -- and all the kids on the choir festival trip. Their boisterous energy, anxieties, friendships, camaraderie, teasing, occasional indiscriminate F-bombs, and Gen Z slang flooded the bus on our way to the Anaheim music festival. Our high school choirs performed admirably and won all gold awards. 

Amy and I and all the chaperones powered through with the kids, eating dinner with our hands at Medieval Times, cheering for all the choirs at the awards ceremony (with Mickey, Minnie, Merlin, and friends), finishing off the 10+ mile hike throughout Disney until it closed, and staying up until midnight each night doing room checks. We were all exhausted but elated on the bus ride home. 

"Are you 'locked in', Dad?" Bryce said to me when we left, leveraging some Gen Z slang.

"It's 'fire', dude," I answered. It means something is really good, impressive, or exciting. That always makes our kids smile. 

Because it's all "fire", dude. And that always makes us smile. 

A Spirit Breaking Free

"...the measure of the moment
in a difference of degree
just one little victory
A spirit breaking free..."

–Rush, One Little Victory

In less than two weeks he would've turned 60. We talked about that a lot in the last few years of his life. He looked forward to it, because although living each year beyond 50 was harder, it was a win, nonetheless. For decades he told me he always said he wanted to see what happened next, wanted to be a part of what happened next. And for the most part he did. And was. 

The last time we were all together was right after he turned 59, way back in January. The four of us and Robby, celebrating our over four decades of friendship, and what now feels like a lifetime ago. Because at our age, another year of life can be a lifetime when it's lived well and full. The cosmic joke is that you blink and life races by; your little kids are now teens; your teen friends are now 60. But I'd argue that my dear friends and I, including Robby, have always lived well and full, even when it didn't feel that way. And I've had plenty of feeling that way, especially in my younger years. 

Those younger years are but bittersweet memories now. Bittersweet, building-block years of lessons learned and of letting go. Of embracing each moment since and living it as if it was my last. Of being grateful for my life, my wife, my children, my family, and my friends. 

Last January was a lifetime ago. Since Robby passed away in February, the four of us -- Rob, Greg, Craig, and me -- have seen each other more than in previous years, including Robby's celebration of life, and we're grateful for every visit. Two of us turned 60 and we all celebrated together. Robby would've wanted it that way. He loved having us all together, even when he'd obsessively complain about our past transgressions when we were all together. 

I miss our laughter. I miss our catch phrases and jokes. I miss our high school reminiscing. I even miss his obsessive complaining about our past transgressions. We talked regularly on the phone over the years since we only saw each other once or twice a year. His heart broke for me when my first marriage ended. It broke for me when I had a falling out with another longtime friend of ours. He was happy for me when I finished college. When I finally overcame my darkness. When I met my wife Amy and when we had our two children. And he loved the fact that I learned how to drum when I was 55. 

Paralyzed from a swimming accident our senior year in high school, he became a talented artist over the years. But it got harder for him to draw and paint as his body atrophied, his strength dissipated, and his chronic neurological pain increased. He also struggled with meds. The last two years of his life were difficult for him, and he was in and out of the hospital with broken bones and infections. We're grateful that his sister Diana kept us informed of his health. 

My heart broke for Robby every time we talked. He would've given anything to be able to walk again, to live an able-bodied life like the rest of us. But Robby lived as full of a life he that he could -- happily, and full of warmth, humor, sincerity, and love. His sister was right: "He lived the biggest life anyone in his situation could have. Robby had a golden glow that I’m sure still radiates from him wherever he is."

He talked a lot about getting back to his art. The last five years of his life he'd bring it up in nearly every phone call and I encouraged him to get back to it. Both our children are artists, and when we all visited Robby a few years ago, they were blown away by his artwork (and all his comics and his amazing superhero figurine collection).

After Robby died, his sister shared a picture with us that he had drawn the day before he passed. To me, it expressed the physical pain he'd experienced over the years. But it also embodied a spirit breaking free.

Blessings to you, my friend. We'll celebrate your 60th and your spirit come 2026. 

Sustaining This Sustenance

It was five minutes until the lighting of the Boardwalk Christmas tree. Dusk settled into early evening and there were people everywhere: adults, teens, and families with little ones running around. Santa was spotted and kids rushed over to meet him. The weather was cool but mild with only the need for sweaters, sweatshirts, or light jackets. 

We had found a table right around the corner from the tree across from the pirate ship ride and listened to one of the local high school jazz combos play on the small stage next to the ride. They were amazing. Of course I focused on listening to the drummer who had some fabulous stand-alone jams. 

"It's like we're in a holiday jazz club," my wife Amy said. 

"I know. They're great," I said, and kissed her. We'd never been to a jazz club together, and even though it really wasn't one, it was still a pleasant first.

Our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, were off with their own friends enjoying the Boardwalk evening. It was two days after Thanksgiving and the upbeat crowds moved and sparkled like overlapping projection lights. That was great to see considering the current state of the U.S. and the world around us. Higher prices and fewer jobs weren't holding these folks back. Plus, the free hot chocolate and cookies were nice motivators. 

The countdown commenced, the tree lit up, the crowds cheered, and the kids screamed. No matter where all the people around us were socioeconomically or ideologically, the only thing that mattered were these moments of togetherness and holiday cheer. It sated our appetite for connection and community, of safety and wellbeing, and knowing there's always room to grow.

We moved onto the beach in anticipation of the holiday drone show, a faux fireworks spectacular. Hundreds of people poured onto the beach as well and the drone show commenced. Fireworks would've been prettier but the drones were cool. They morphed into various holiday shapes and words. We all shared our oooo's and ahhhh's, and after 15 minutes, it was over. 

After the Boardwalk holiday tree lighting and drone show, we packed up our chairs and blanket and headed to dinner. But first I again feasted on our community's love of family, friendship, and all the other ingredients for the American values revival we've longed for. Sustaining this sustenance beyond the holidays will be the key for a better future. 

Always Room to Grow

There once was a man who thought not living was life. Who believed not making choices or taking chances could help him bank time for the end of his. To exchange the risk of pleasure and pain for longevity and a lonely but safe obscurity. To extend safe obscurity beyond his ceiling's expiration date. 

He always had a hard time with happy. But everyday not lived wouldn't stop his ceiling from caving into oblivion someday. Because that can happen at any time. 

That was me decades ago. For over the first half of my 60 years in this bittersweet world. Thankfully I was never buried by oblivion because I decide to live and take chances. To live as fully as possible in every moment that I breathe in and out, heart pumping, soul singing, grateful for my wife and my children. Grateful for even when I'm fussy, angry, or frustrated, since I will always be called back by my enlightened soul's siren song to safe harbor, not wrecked on the rocky shore of failure and regret. 

Nearly 30 years ago I met my wife Amy one day at the beach. Early on in our relationship she had bought me a journal with a cover that read "Celebrating the miracle of your choices." That still epitomizes my life lived ever since; Amy always celebrated her choices and helped me do the same. It's part of our wedding vows that we read to each other on our anniversary. Our children are extensions of these celebrations and this blog is a testament to that celebration. 

Speaking of celebrations, some of my dearest friends of over 40 years from high school and college have turned 60 this year, including me. Although we lost a dear friend earlier this year who made it to 59, we're all still bound by decades of shared friendship, values, love, and lessons learned, of surviving failure and regret, of forgiving ourselves and celebrating the miracle of our choices. 

One of those birthday celebrations was for our friend Rob. The evening was filled with reminiscing about the past, celebrating the present, and manifesting our hopeful futures' promise. When the party wound down and we all started to say our goodbyes, Rob asked me how it felt to be 60. Before I answered I asked him how he felt. He said he felt great, that it was crazy we were actually here now. 

I said, "I feel great, too, but I am feeling the ceiling."

Rob's girlfriend asked me what I meant by that, and I responded that maybe there was another 20+ years left, if I stayed healthy. 

"There's much more life to live," she said, smiling. "Don't dwell on the ceiling."

She's right. I may be feeling the ceiling but there's always room to grow.

These Dry Kids Today

What could go wrong with having 14 teenagers over unsupervised for a few hours?

Actually, nothing. Everything went quite right. 

While my wife Amy and I were out celebrating my birthday and our anniversary with dear friends, our oldest Beatrice had thrown herself a belated Halloween birthday party with her good friends (some of whom were the kids of our friends). Bea planned it all, from the decor to the food to the activities. It was quite the production. Amy helped her out with the food before we went out, and I helped a little as well, including decorating for Halloween outside prior to the party because Beatrice loves Halloween. Our youngest Bryce loves their sister but wanted nothing to do with all the teens in our house, so instead spent the night at her best friend's house.

What's great is that Beatrice is taking a culinary class this semester in high school and is learning a lot about food, cooking, and presentation. From a cemetery spinach dip to mummy dogs to ghost pizza and strawberries to spider Oreos, she really had quite the spread for her friends. 

What was missing thankfully were the alcohol and drugs. That's not a joke either. Zero interest from our kids and their friends as far as we know. No vaping either. Nothing. However, when Amy and I were 16 and 17, we had many friends who drank, smoked, and did various drugs. We did as well, although I didn't try alcohol until I was 18 during my senior year. And shortly after high school I started smoking cigarettes. I smoked a pack a day for much of that time until I quit on September 22, 2002. 

But the drinking was common during our teenage years and early adulthood. My sister and I threw many parties at house when our parents were away (which they always knew). We were literally like all the 1980's teen coming of age movies personified. Amy had similar party times as a teenager, too. I was also in a fraternity in college and there was always lots of drinking going on.

Decades later during the pandemic, many parents we knew who drank moderately prior to covid upped their ante on drinking. We were no exceptions. But then Amy stopped drinking just over three years ago, and I drink less frequently overall, even periodically debating about stopping drinking all together myself.

According to a new survey released by Gallup in the summer, only 54 percent of Americans now say they drink alcohol. That’s the lowest share since Gallup began tracking the question way back in 1939, six years after Prohibition was repealed.

Wow. That's down quite a bit, but humans have been drinking alcoholic drinks in some capacity for thousands of years, brewing beer, fermenting wine, and creating other distilled concoctions. The more recent conventional wisdom that moderate drinking is okay and can be good for you, like red wine, just isn't correct. It turns out that the World Health Organization reported "no level of alcohol consumption is safe for our health". Then there are the devastating effects of addiction and alcoholism on the addict directly and their family and friends. 

The good news is that, besides the dip in overall alcohol consumption, it's even more dramatic for teens, with some recent data suggesting that alcohol, tobacco, and other drug usage has been declining significantly since the late 1990s.

That's why it's funny when our kids joke with us and say things like "I'm going to host two parties while you're gone", which Beatrice really said but no other teen ever said (unless it was a Tupperware party). Or, "We're going to find our stoner friends and tell them we'd like to buy one drug, please", which was funny coming from sardonic Bryce when I asked what they were going to do with their best friend when they spent the night. But no, no stoner friends, and no drugs or alcohol. And we check in regularly with them, too. 

Beatrice's Halloween "adulting" birthday bash was a big hit without the bad stuff. Maybe in the future they'll try something, but today they don't. These dry kids today with their culinary skills and safer and stronger social bonds. Mercy me, maybe we should be modeling them instead. 

Because There's Always A Promise

The past few weeks have been a lot. Work changes, tons of school board activities, Beatrice's High School Musical, Bryce's We Will Not Be Erased march, Bryce graduating 8th grade, and my best friend's memorial. And yet, I've never been on a sounder emotional footing.

Thank goodness, because the world around us continues to be a proverbial shit show. But none of that mattered, especially this past week. 

First, attending the elementary school promotion ceremony where both our children went to school from preschool to 5th grade was so very sweet. Our oldest Beatrice was with me because one of her longtime friend's sister was graduating 5th grade. Most of the 5th graders all looked so tiny and young. Now they were on their way to middle school. Beatrice's memories were bittersweet because it was the heart of pandemic when she graduated 5th grade and the school did a drive-through promotion certificate pick up.

When Bryce graduated 5th grade, I wasn't there because I had work travel that week. But, because the school streamed the ceremony via Zoom, I did get to watch Bryce speak along with a few other students from each 5th grade class. 

I was not going to miss their 8th grade graduations, however. Amy and I were there for Beatrice's two years ago and then Bryce's this past week. Being on the school board, I'm grateful that I got to hand both our children their promotion certificates on stage. Plus, there's nothing better when you're the school board president and your punk rock kid puts rabbit ears above your head for the photo. Love that kid!

8th grade was a lot for Bryce. They struggled with an introverted social battery that drained quickly and led to emotional changes and anxiety challenges. Beatrice experienced similar changes and challenges when she was in 8th grade, too, but who's now thriving in high school. Bryce is looking forward to joining her in high school where they'll both be in choir and theater together. Amy and I continue to provide a loving and supportive environment for them that helps them learn to adapt and thrive. 

All of Beatrice's and Bryce's recent school activities (and anxieties) have brought back many of my own bittersweet memories (and anxieties). And since my best friend Robby passed away earlier this year, my high school memories continue to unravel like multicolored streamers in high wind. They ripple, flap, and tangle, weaving and bleeding into each other – an unreliable blend of what happened then, what’s happened in the years since, and how I feel about it all now. Memories that tatter in my heart. Memories that reconcile and heal in my heart.

And it was the healing in my heart that radiated with love and gratitude at our friend's celebration of life memorial. My dearest friends and brothers as I call them helped me plan the memorial, and many other longtime friends helped to pull it off. Nearly 50 of us came together to celebrate Robby, including his sister and niece. There were many faces I hadn't seen in person in decades. There were lots of smiles and hugs, and of course tears, and while we're all certainly a lot older now, our past youthful spirits were aglow with the promise of our lives then and now. 

Because there's always a promise, one we owe to ourselves to fulfill every moment of every day. Blessings to Robby and blessings to us all. 

A Longing for Loving Connection

We were on our way back hiking down the mountain when I shared something with my friends that I hadn't ever shared with them before. The fact that I was molested as a child by my first stepfather. 

They were quiet for a moment, then apologetic and comforting. Even though I had written about it here in this space, it wasn't something I had ever told them directly. I had told Robby a long time ago, my best friend who passed away recently, but I guess it was easier to write about it over the years, and discuss during therapy, than talk about it with my friends. 

We've told each other a lot of things over the years, just not this, but I trusted my friends and felt it was time to be vulnerable and share this traumatic life experience with them. We continued to walk down the hill in silence after I shared this experience, and then one of them said:

"So, I guess you really can point to the place on the doll where he touched you."

Awkward laughter. Relief. Release. And yet another inappropriate exchange between dear friends of 45+ years. But we do care for each other and share a close brotherly love, through all the years of relentless teasing and non-family friendly humor. We shared a lot over the years, warts and all (but not genital warts -- that's a joke, kids). 

This hike we took was part of a recent weekend spent grieving and celebrating our friendships and relationships with each other and our dear friend, Robby. We started planning a memorial for him and put a long playlist together in his honor (which we're targeting for May 31 in Visalia, CA). Music has always been a big part of our lives and each of his adding songs that impacted our lives and his was a lot of fun and cathartic. Thank goodness we've invested in these connective-tissue times together over the years that has deepened our bonds. 

Because unfortunately, too many of us are lonely and depressed these days. According to the Centers for Disease Control (CDC), about 1 in 3 adults in the U.S. report feeling lonely. And about 1 in 4 U.S. adults report not having social and emotional support. 

According to another article specifically on male loneliness: 

Research conducted in 2021 by the American Survey Center reported that 15% of men claim they have no close friends, a 12% increase since 1990. Additionally, Equimundo published a study in 2023 that found a majority of men from Millennials to Gen Z agree with the statement, “No one really knows me well.” In the same publication, a majority of the men said they only have one or two close friends they feel comfortable confiding in outside their family.

And the research goes on and on and it impacts all generations and backgrounds. Unfortunately, too many men turn to toxic masculinity, deriding women and other marginalized groups as a way to deflect from the turmoil and loneliness inside that desperately longs empathic love and support. As I wrote in one of my recent articles, I grew up with an abusive birth father and stepfather and swore that I would never be that way. 

I've struggled with my own loneliness and depression over the years, unable to express how I feel and ask for what I need, but eventually I become an empathic advocate and an ally for men and women alike. My wife has been my greatest advocate and whose friendship I'm deeply grateful for. She's helped me normalize love and empathy in my life, and in turn, I've done the same with our children and my friends. 

But it's these recent times I've spent with my friends, including before Robby passed, that reminded me of how grateful I've been to have these and many other positive male friendships. Even when we don't talk see each other very often, we check in with texts and occasional calls. Each of us talked with Robby at least once a week in recent years.

I hope our children find these types of positive and supportive friendships that are meaningful and nonjudgmental, that make space for vulnerability and understanding, especially when loneliness and depression blinds the heart's optimism and a longing for loving connection. 

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

• Superman's Love Letter
• Men of An Influencer Age
• Making a Dent
• Men of a Stand-up Age
• 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

Superman's Love Letter

The last time I talked with Robby, he sounded good, but he had never been frailer. We talked about the visit we had just had together a week earlier with the five of us -- Robby, Greg, Craig, Rob, and me -- friends of over 45 years. He told me he was grateful for our visit and our friendship. 

He also wanted to again explain why he dug into Greg about our transgressions of the past. The times decades earlier when we'd come visit him and selfishly party it up like we were fraternity brothers on spring break, which we were all complicit in doing, including him. 

He was always the past re-hasher of things and that was okay. It was always his way of working through the continuous trauma of being paralyzed since his swimming accident in 1984. Going to visit him was our annual pilgrimage of doing the same.

During that last conversation, he asked me, "Did you watch the video I made yet?"

I hadn't. "No, not yet. I've been off Facebook for over a month now."

"Oh, I get it, but you should login and watch it," he said.

"I will."

But I didn't. I did remember the last night we were at his house, though. I had already been asleep for a couple of hours, but then I woke up hearing Robby and Greg talking in living room. I went to see what they were doing. Robby sat on the couch with sunglasses on and the big glowing grin he was known for, and Greg sat across from him in a chair. 

"What are you guys doing?" I asked.

"I'm filming Robby," Greg said.

"Yeah man, you're going to want to check it out. It's been about a year and half since the last time I did this," Robby said. 

"Night," I said, and returned to the bedroom and my air mattress. I smiled at them, but I was tired and had to head out early the next morning. 

After we talked that last time on the phone, I still hadn't watched the video. Three days later I got a call from Robby's sister, Diana. Usually, she texts us if something's up with Robby's health, but a phone call meant something entirely different. I knew even before she said the words -- Robby was gone. 

He'd been quite fragile the past few years, his long-term paralysis taking its toll on his body. He'd been in and out of the hospital with brittle broken bones and various infections. He also struggled with chronic neurological pain. His traveling anywhere beyond the city of Chico where he lived had been over for many years. When we last visited him, he had turned 59. 

After our last visit two weeks ago, I wrote (again) about how Robby, broke his neck our senior year in high school. It was spring break, April 18, 1984, and he was a swimmer at a local swim meet. During one of the races, he false started three times in a row, which disqualified him from that race. On the third false start, instead following through on the dive, he went straight down on the back of his neck. 

Some of our other friends, including me, were at the coast for the day (which for us was a 2.5-hour drive). We tried to get him to skip the swim meet, but he really wanted to compete. There were no cell phones back then, so we didn't know what happened until my friend Charles dropped me off in front of my house where dozens of high school friends stood, many crying. After we learned what had happened, we fled to the hospital. 

He relived his accident every day since it happened. We relived it every time we were there with him or when we talked with him on the phone. His accident was a shared trauma for all of us, his friends. It was a shared trauma for our entire high school and our community. 

We were friends before Robby's accident, but our friendships were bound together forever because of it, and our pilgrimages to see him over the decades have been our collective catharsis of healing. He would've given anything to walk again. We would've given anything. Decades of love, laughter (lots of it), and tears were what willed our healing into being.

After I got off the phone with his sister and learned of his passing, I finally watched the video he'd made the last time we were all together, less than two weeks before. I cried. I watched it multiple times and cried again. It was a love letter to our friendships. He was grateful that we remained friends after all these years and that we kept coming to see him. It was classic Robby -- extroverted warmth, humor, sincerity, and of course, soundtracked to music. His sister was right: "He lived the biggest life anyone in his situation could have. Robby had a golden glow that I’m sure still radiates from him wherever he is."

Halloween of our senior year, six months before his accident, Robby dressed up as Superman. It was iconic because he was iconic. After his accident, he was trapped in 1984 forever while he lived the biggest life he could in the decades that followed. He'll always be Superman to us, and the last video he made for us was Superman's love letter to friendship.

Our hearts ache, but we see you standing there now, my friend and brother, and we love you.

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

• Men of An Influencer Age
• Making a Dent
• Men of a Stand-up Age
• 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 An Influencer Age

"We control nothing but we influence everything."

That's a line I heard from a recent Hidden Brain podcast titled Wellness 2.0: The Art of the Unknown and featuring political scientist Brian Klaas. The line above came from social scientist Scott Page, who underscored the theme of the episode: How we respond to the random events that shape our lives, and how we can turn them to our advantage.

And I listened to this podcast on the way home from seeing my dear friends of over 40 years. It got me thinking about all the things that have transpired in our lives over those 4+ decades and why we've remained friends. It also got me wondering about the line above -- "We control nothing but we influence everything." 

My best friend of over 46 years, Robby, broke his neck our senior year in high school. It was spring break, he was a swimmer at a swim meet, and some of the other friends, including me, were at the coast for the day (which for us was a 2.5-hour drive). 

If we had only convinced him to skip his meet and come with us.

If he had only followed through on his dive even though he would've been disqualified from that race.

If only...

"We control nothing but we influence everything."

Now, that doesn't mean the outcome would've been any different, because it wasn't, and neither of those things happened. It could've happened at any one of his swim meets. But it didn't. It happened that fateful day, April 18, 1984. He relives that moment in time every time we get together; he relives that moment every single day. We relive it every time we're there with him and talking with him on the phone. 

What would've happened if he hadn't broken his neck? His able-bodied physical memory is trapped in that fateful day in April 1984. Like The Police song I heard on the way to his house, King of Pain, "There's a fossil that's trapped in a high cliff wall (that's my soul up there)..."

That's his soul up there. I believe that every cathartic conversation we have with him frees him a little from the high cliff wall. But only a little. A little at a time for over 40 years. And that's the thing about geological time: it's like it's forever compared to our brief existence. No matter how much we chip away with our laughter (and our tears). 

Thankfully there's been lots more laughter. Over 40 years of highly (sometimes inappropriate) comedic memories that bring deep-seated guttural laughter and happy tears to our eyes (and that aren't ready for primetime; we're our own late-night SNL production). Our teen kids have gotten in on the act asking me, "How are your boyfriends?"

"My boyfriends are great," I say, even though all us boyfriends have had those "what if" moments throughout our lives, and collectively our learned experience of what we actually controlled versus what we have actually influenced leaves us to the same conclusion year after year: that we are stalwart friends. 

So, when we were out for dinner during our latest visit with Robby, the server asked us, "What's the occasion?"

"Friendship," I said emphatically. 

The guys teased me for that, but they knew I was right. We are men of an influencer age, and that includes the sustained influence of our mutual love and respect for one another. Blessings to my boyfriends.

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

• Making a Dent
• Men of a Stand-up Age
• 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

Making a Dent

Watching the wedding was wonderful. We listened to the bride and groom read their vows to each other and held hands the entire time. It was the daughter of a dear old friend getting married and I'm so grateful my wife Amy and I attended. Two other old friends were there with their wives as well, friends that go back over 40 years. As always, it was great to catch up on our lives, since we only get together a couple of times each year. We continue to invest in our relationships and reap the benefits of friendship, and I'd argue, more loving relationships with our spouses and significant others. 

However, research has always shown that men struggle more than women with sound friendships, love, and intimacy. And now they're lonelier than ever. An article I found referenced a recent study showing nearly one in five Americans reported having no close social connections. And men are faring the worst: More than one in four men (28 percent) under age 30 reported having no close social connections. The percentage worsens as men age.

The pandemic didn't help us here either – women, children, and especially men – all struggled with social interactions and relationships. We're grateful that we had a "pod" group of families that helped with each other's children and still ensured multiple opportunities to socialize. 

But for men in general, it's gotten more and more difficult to maintain long-term intimate relationships and/or friendships. It's gotten worse because for decades, toxic masculinity has defaulted to giving up on these relationships and has fueled a larger global antidemocracy movement that's an unhealthy and destructive reaction to changes in society that make many men feel lost, marginalized and searching for meaning and community in their lives.

Women have always been more of the connective tissue in the social and relationship fabric of today and past generations. Plus, more women are going to college than men today, and more women today are the primary financial breadwinners (even though women still make less than men on average). Unfortunately, it's been easier for disenfranchised men to aggregate to social and political movements that encourage patriarchal dominance through violence, celebrating misogyny, sexism, and racism, while severely discounting and diminishing inclusivity, love, and empathy. 

I've tried to understand the why of this, but I continue to struggle with it, and this is why I'm scared. Scared because of the willingness of so many men to bond indiscriminately in this rage and hate to feel empowered to be in power, jeopardizing the health and safety of women, children, those who are in the LGBTQIA+ community, immigrants, and people of color (except those who are part of the bro bonding above). Jeopardizing the health and safety of families of all flavors who continue to invest in loving empathic relationships across genders and generations. 

Thank God my friends of 40+ years don't think this way, because if they did, we wouldn't really be friends. It's up to those of us who don't think this way in making a dent in this growing gender divide, starting with inclusive joy and love for all. And on that note, please make sure you vote. 

Bea's Sweet 16 Beach Party

She loved Teen Beach and Teen Beach 2 when she first watched them years ago. So much so that she still watches them today and sings all the songs verbatim. Fun old school rock and roll musicals with silly plot lines, puppy love, and teen friendship and fun, light and sweet. 

So it was no surprise that our oldest child, Beatrice, wanted her Sweet 16 birthday to be on the beach with her friends. With a fire to gather around and cook hot dogs and s'mores. And to watch a movie on the beach using a projector and a big screen. 

We're grateful that we her parents could do it. And we did, but it didn't quite go as planned. Nothing too bad, just different, the way things can change even with the best of plans in place. My wife Amy is an amazing planner and packer, so we had everything we needed on the beach. Beatrice also helped her mom pack and also put together her big lit up "16" numbers. One of Beatrice's best friends' father, Andrew, also came early with me to set up. 

We've never done anything like this, having a gathering on a beach with a fire pit. Most of the beaches where we live don't allow fires and we had to drive across town to get to one that does. When Andrew and I arrived early to set up, the beach was more populated that I would have anticipated, especially on a cool foggy day such as this one. Plus, all the fire pits were taken. 

The good news was that where we ended up setting up our party "camp" was near another teen party being set up and the family offered to share their fire pit with us. That was great news, and we had the best of both worlds, because we also brought our propane fire pit, so now we had two. We set up the rest of our party area and were ready to go.

Bea's friends arrived and all went well until 45 minutes into the movie when the projector battery ran out. It was supposed to last up to three hours on a charge. Nope. Didn't happen. Luckily the 25 teens who came to celebrate with Beatrice were just fine talking, laughing, running around, listening to music, and snacking on hot dogs, chips, candy, soda, and cookies -- perfect teen grub. 

Originally, the chairs we brought and the propane fire pit were supposed to be for Amy and I and our two pod families of old (friends and their kids we hung out together with during the pandemic), but the teens claimed them immediately after they got there. We could've kicked them out, but we were just the caterers, and this was for Beatrice and her friends. We all survived and did get a couple of chairs back later in the night. Our friends brought their own fun "air" bean bags to sit and lay on. 

Even though not everything went as planned, Bea's Sweet 16 beach party was still a hit. Her friends had a blast and thanked Amy and I over and over again. Like Bea's favorite old Teen Beach movies, she made her own memories of teen friendship and fun, light and sweet. That's all we wanted for her and we're grateful the universe obliged. 

A Long-Term Well-Being Win

My best friend Robby of 45 years always likes to tell the story of how he almost wasn't part of our long-term friend group. The one that keeps getting together year after year, decades after high school. We first met in 7th grade, and while we became best friends later on in high school, my best friend in 7th grade at the time, Brad, saved Robby from being bullied in wood shop class. Back then I was a skinny, asthmatic, shy, and fearful kid, not a hero, and was relieved and grateful with Brad's intervention. I was also grateful that Robby and I befriended each other through goofy humor and the music of Cheap Trick, Kiss, and many other rock groups at that time.

Our long-time friend-group origin story birthed sometime between our sophomore and junior years in high school. That's when, Robby jokes, he was "included" in our group of friends. It wasn't like one day he got a pass, or any of us for that matter. We had already been amalgamating into this cohort for a few years, based on mutual affection, trust, support, shared interests, communication, respect, humor, and more. 

The thing with me was, I struggled to exclude others. Even when I probably should have. Beyond Robby, my other close friends back in high school, and family, I've had many acquaintances and friends from many differing backgrounds. From college to work to other parents of kids ours go to school with. What I know now, but did quite understand then, was that there was always something to learn from others, friends or not. Sharing knowledge and experiences with one another was how I grew as a person and how it's shaped my life awareness and belief systems over the years. Still is.

The hard part was and is the adulting. My nature was always to be liked, and to exclude others was to not be liked. That can get you in trouble when you're in middle and high school, always trying to please, with it only to backfire on you when you do and say the wrong thing to people about other people. Mercy me I had some failures there.  

But as I failed, grew,  and evolved, there were some difficult adulting decisions to make -- getting a divorce and ending an old friendship from our long-time friend group, just to name a couple. I had to learn boundary-setting and how to exclude others when it came to my own happiness and well-being, sanity and safety, and unfortunately not always empathically either. Conversely, I had to learn that I wouldn't always be included with others and their activities, even when hubris shoved my empathy and understanding to the ground like a bully and said, "What the hell?"

And now our teens are learning about inclusion and exclusion with their own friend groups, and like most normal teens, they want to be liked and included. They need their own space, too, and boundary-setting is new to them and a struggle, but we listen and provide parental and our own experiential feedback. We tell them they don't always have to include, and they will be excluded, and that's okay. 

Boundary-setting and exclusion for well-being and safety is one thing, but exclusion based on fear, ignorance, prejudice, and to purposely hurt can lead only to painful isolation, loneliness, or worse, for both perpetrator and victim. That's a lesson for us all. 

But if they have enduring friendships based on mutual affection, trust, support, shared interests, communication, respect, humor, and more, then it's a long-term well-being win for sure. As I've written before, I'm grateful for the dear inclusive and loving friendships I've had over 40 years now. Blessings to them. I wish the same for our teens as adults. 

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

Endless Possibilities Actually

"Dad, those people are pointing at our car."

A car passed us and I could see some kids pointing at us. Right after our oldest Beatrice said that, a trucker passed us and honked. Then I saw the smoke. White smoke that billowed out from the front of our Santa Fe Hyundai. 

"Shit," I said. "We've got to pull over." I aways cuss a lot when I'm stressed out. 

It was Memorial Day weekend and we were less than two miles from our final exit and less than four miles from our final destination at the KOA campground in Visalia. My wife Amy and I had no idea what was wrong with our car, but I knew that we all needed to get out of it in case it caught fire. 

"Everybody get out of the car," I said, waving the family out. "Fuck," I then said under my breath. 

Once outside of the car, Amy said we should unhook our trailer camper in case there was a fire. Seconds passed that felt like hours. I called my sister, who we were going to see, and then I called for roadside assistance. Cars and trucks blurred past us on the highway. We told our kids to stay away from the highway and hold our dog Jenny. 

Twenty minutes later, as we waited to hear back about the roadside assistance, the white smoke finally subsided. Thankfully there was no car fire. We had put our dog back in the car so she wouldn't get more stressed and try to get away. 

"We have to get to the campsite," Amy said. I agreed and knew it would be a risk to drive again, but that's what we did. I started the Hyundai, pushed the flashing hazard lights button, waited for an opening in the highway, and pulled out. I drove white-knuckled all the way to the campground. We made it there without anymore white smoke, but the engine light did come on. Two weeks before all this we had just had the car serviced. Nothing was wrong then, although they did overfill our oil and not tighten our oil filter all the way, which was something we had to deal with before this trip. We didn't realize then how much foreshadowing that was. 

Of course it was Memorial Day weekend, so by the time we got to the campground, the Hyundai Dealer in town was already closed. We set up camp and my sister came and got us and took us back to her house for dinner. After that, she let us use one of her cars, which was actually my parents car before they had both passed away.

The next day a dear old high school friend who was a mechanic came out to take a look at my car and verified that transmission fluid was leaking from the car and that's what had sprayed onto the engine and smoked. We took our Santa Fe to a local lube and oil place and they ran a diagnostic that confirmed why the engine light went on: the might be an issue with the torque converter in the automatic transmission. And yes, the transmission fluid had leaked out. 

"Shit."

The service center at the Hyundai dealer in town wouldn't be open again until the Tuesday after Memorial Day, so we had to strategize on what to do next. The plan had always been to go home on Memorial Day Monday because we had to get back to work and our kids had appointments. But it was still only Sunday, and Amy and our daughters attended my niece's bridal shower while I hung out with Jenny and worked and wrote. After that, we hung out again at my sister's. 

We still had a nice visit overall, but the whole time I kept worrying about what was wrong with our car and what we were going to have to do about it. 

[More cussing in my head.]

But then my old friend had offered to tow our trailer camper back home and my sister offered to let us use the same car so Amy and our kids could get home. That's what we did on Memorial Day: my family made it home safely and I rode eight hours with my friend to drop off our trailer in Santa Cruz and return to Visalia. We were so grateful to my friend and my sister for all their help. 

What happened when I took our Santa Fe to the local dealer service the next day was completely anti-climatic to how the whole holiday weekend started. In the end, there was nothing wrong with our transmission or anything else. During our last car service back home just two weeks earlier, they had overfilled our transmission fluid by over two quarts. They had also overfilled our oil and not fully tightened the oil filter, which we already knew about. We'd been taking our car to that Hyundai dealer service for seven years and nothing like this had ever happened, until now. 

Two days after Amy and our girls went home, Amy drove my sister's care back to Visalia and we returned home in our car. The universe realigned.

When life goes sideways (in this case with car trouble), our first rule is always safety first for the family. Everything else is just time and money and transitory pains in the asses that will not always be recoverable, but because we're still here living and breathing, there's always the possibility of recovery. Endless possibilities actually. 

That's why the second rule is, we make the most of our moments, wherever they are and however they are. Stewing in uncertainty results in angst-filled inaction, which I'm certainly still guilty of, but endless possibilities make all the difference in the end. Reconnecting with an old friend and spending more time with my sister were moments I wouldn't have had otherwise. Again, we're so grateful for their help.