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Growing up I thought my Dad could do anything. Yes, my Dad could beat up your Dad. My Dad could run faster than your Dad. My Dad married my Mom… your Dad didn’t. My Dad was a winner. My Dad never cried. My Dad was good at everything.
I have no illusion that two of my kids think I am invincible. They don’t. They are teenagers and they get it… most of the time. They know that I can’t do everything. They know that there are people out there that can beat me up (John Cena, Stone Cold Steve Austin – I do get cool points for Steve as we went to college together). I can run faster than many Dads… just not all of them. I cry at sad movies and the national anthem. I am not good at everything.
My 5 year old still thinks I can do anything. That is tough to live up to. But I try.
I have a friend that meets many of those criteria. Many of the same ones that I would have liked to have been. He’s big. Bigger than life itself sometimes. He takes over when he enters the room. He is hard to miss. He played football at two different colleges. He plays basketball the same way that I do. Find someone and lean on them… call for the ball… take it to the hole. Like me he has a wife and kids. He has a good job. And he loves basketball.
He calls me at least once per month to check in and to let me help him cover some miles. He travels quite often. Texas has many wide open spaces. Spaces that can get monotonous. I try to help whenever I can. Giving him anywhere from 5 to 30 miles of conversation. Helping him get home safely. Helping the time pass just a little faster.
He called me the other day. He needed a phone number of another friend. I didn’t have it but I tracked it down for him. No questions asked. He said he would call me. We needed to talk. Not unusual. He said he would call me back.
Several days passed and he called. He told me that he had some news for me. None of this was unusual as he always has a story to tell. I was not ready for this one. I was not prepared. I was floored.
He has cancer.
He is only two years older than me… and he has cancer.
It was a punch to the stomach for me. I was sick. We have been friends for 20 years. 20 years of having another brother. 20 years of life spent helping each other. 20 years of laughs. 20 years of competing with each other. 20 years… half of my life.
Like usual for him he has consulted the best. He has several options and he has a plan. A plan to live.
My friend is mortal… but he is a fighter… here’s to 20 more years of laughs… and playing on the low block.
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