My old man always
told me it was important to learn how to make friends. Know the difference
between an acquaintance and a friend, he said, and you can get through life
with a handful of dear friends.
I have never had a problem meeting people,
but through the years many of those friends have quietly become acquaintances.
My circle has changed with every stage of
life. Different schools, different neighborhoods, different jobs. Then marriage,
kids and divorce came into play. Time has a way of rearranging the chairs
around the table.
I have been fortunate to have some wonderful
friends through the years, but somewhere along the road I lost that one person
I talk to every day. That friend I call after hitting a home run or after
striking out.
Maybe friendships are like beer.
Quality over quantity.
It might be nice to know somebody everywhere
you go, but when life knocks you flat on your ass, it is the one or two people
who run to your side that matter.
The Oldman also liked to remind me that
every stranger is a potential friend. I have always believed that. You never
know who is about to walk into your life or how long they will stay.
Today marks sixty years since I was dunked
into the baptismal font at Saint Ita's in Edgewater. Most of the people who
stood around the altar that day have gone on to Heaven, but I'm grateful they
welcomed me into the Catholic clubhouse before I was old enough to know what
was happening.
If there is a lesson in all of this, it's
probably that friendships don't have to last forever to matter. Some walk
beside you for miles and others only accompany you for a few steps. Each leaves
something behind that makes us who we are.
Powder the nooks and crannies and be
careful today. Our Canadian neighbors are sending smoke signals across another
hot, hazy Chicago morning.
