Friends

They all come. Precious few stay throughout the duration. Most leave before you think they should. Some come back. Most don't as they fade into memories ... intense point-in-time encounters

I'm talking about friends.

Way back in Seminary, I had a new friend Claude Drouet who taught me lots of new music. Mistakenly born in the cotton fields of Louisiana he knew everything about Broadway. I visited his childhood home when his Dad died and completely understood why Clause preferred New York. But Ike, his Dad, loved me because I cussed and drank wine with him on the massive front porch of a plantation house. So I toasted Ike with his boy, thrown together by chance or brought together by God, to get each other through that particular time.

Claude taught me Stephen Sondheim, Broadways greatest writer as far as I'm concerned (followed by Stephen Schwartz who wrote Godspell, Pippin and Wicked). Sondheim's work ... from West Side Story through Assassins explore relationships.

"Most friends fade or they don't make the grade, new ones are quickly made and in a pinch they'll do. But us old friend? What's to discuss old friend? Here's to us! Who's like us? Damn few."

Sometimes I think I've lost way more than I have.

Then again, it's easier now. Every morning I sign onto Twitter, Facebook and LinkedIn and, lo and behold, there they all are ... Virtually every friend I ever had is virtually there!

Some write, some like, a few follow, but most seem to connect and move on ... collecting affirmation in numbers ... or memories.

It's always surprising to see who is who.

It's funny to see them all collected on the screen of my laptop. They're all busy with their own lives, trying to survive or drowning while life jackets are thrown their way. I can watch it all and choose whether or not I want to join in.

Then again, new communities are being born all of the time. New friends have reached across cyberspace and old friends have raised themselves from the dead by typing on their keyboards. In both instances, the word has become flesh.

As I'm writing this, my son Jeremy and I are sending text back and forth. I'm lucky enough to have children who grew up to be friends. He was my friend even before Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one) but only by a little bit. I met Bill right after Jeremy was born.

Sarah waltzes into the kitchen to feed Winston, the little gay dog, and we embrace and have a quick conversation about the differences between friends and acquaintances. She tells me I confuse the two. I do err on that side. Perhaps its one of my faults. If it is, I've long accepted who I am and while I'm still capable of learning new tricks every day I'm also quiet comfortable in the way that I go about living.

Looking back, someone has always been there at just the right time and I choose to celebrate that and hold people holy. Sure there are a few I would send straight to hell but, knowing me, I would never be able to pull that trigger if it actually came down to it. I'd rather celebrate good times.

So ... here's to us!

Who's like us?

Damn few!