Clockwork

The calendar pages have flipped by like a time-lapsed scene of an old Western. I hadn’t seen some of the guys in several years. They’ve had kids. They’ve been married and divorced. They’ve become big shots in their own right. They are spread out all over the country.

They all converged on St. Louis to give my brother one last night on the town before he enters the world of marriage…a fine institution, but one that often precludes freedom from answering questions about a night on the town with the boys.

I have just returned from a fine weekend along the Mississippi River. I spent it with nearly 30 guys with whom my brother and I share a past. The are high school friends. College friends. All of them are life-long buddies who share an unbreakable bond. And while trying to coordinate more than two dozen men in the middle of one night of freedom can be challenging, everything went quite well. Even a $460 bar tab before the evening officially began didn’t phase the crew.

That’s the only way things have changed. In years gone by, everyone would’ve closely watched their wallets and eyed their neighbor suspiciously. “Is he kicking for tax and tip or is he only paying for the three chicken wings he ate?” was not an unfamiliar question in the old days.

Now…my brother walks down that final two-week road of planning, cold feet, and…oh, yes, planning. Can’t forget the planning.

Thanks to all the guys who made this weekend so fun for my brother. I know he appreciated it.