I checked off an item on my perpetual to do list just a minute ago. I called my old friend Jimmy C (not his real name but I think I like it so maybe I’ll have to make it stick). He’s in Arkansas and we’re going down there this weekend so it’ll be great to see him again. We have one of those once-in-a-lifetime kinda friendships where I can just call outta the blue after a year or two and be all like “hey dude, sup” and he’s all like “dude” and I’m like “yeah it’s me” and he’s like “duuude.” It’s like the Ben Folds song “Learn to Live with What You Are”–
So freak out if you wanna
And I’ll still be here
Don’t call me for years and when you do
Yeah, I’ll still be here
I love you, man. You know, whatever.
So we’re talking and I ask him about his two brothers. And I swear to god he said “Well you know they’re both dead now, right?” As I was in the process of shitting myself, I said something like “What the fuck? Are you serious?” And he said “Yeah, one’s got three kids and the other has one.” Apparently, he said dads instead of dead. Which is great and all, but nonetheless I now have a mess to clean up in my pants.
He’s probably thinking I’m some kind of jerk for freaking out over the fact that his brothers have procreated. Seriously, E and D, I’m sure you’re both excellent fathers. And by the way, I’m glad to hear that you’re both not dead.