Mile Nerd

Growth Spurt

Why was the bus driver so unpleasant? Certainly wasn’t subtle. He just seemed to despise all of us kids.

Especially me.

Could see it in his glare through the giant rearview mirror. As if a pile of gouda cheese was right under his nose. The kind of face someone makes when their TV goes out during the Super Bowl. That was him looking at me.  

Every single day. 

Why the dirty looks and constant barking? What was his issue?

Ok, possibly something to do with me being the cockiest 7^th grader in the world. But enough was enough. For me and my crew…it was time to push back.

On the menu this afternoon? Vengeance.

A little Independence Day of our own.

See, nobody treats me and my idiot friends like shit for 30 straight weeks.

Nobody.

We play it cool as we climb off the bus. No smirks or whispers. No indication of what’s to come.

We ignore his ice-cold eyes.

Patiently wait for him to pull away. And then…

Game on.

Imagine Seal Team 6 on one of their missions. We burst into action like a well-oiled machine. Only a few minutes until showtime. His route through the neighborhood will be over quickly. Before we know it, he’ll circle back around. We must be ready for that moment.

Josh unlocks his front door to ensure his mom isn’t home. All three of us toss our backpacks inside, freeing ourselves from any obstructions. Gotta be able to move with agility. We stretch our legs and necks.  

Walking briskly to the middle of this quiet street.

The bus comes around the corner…

With sweaty palms, I throw both middle fingers high into the air.

Powerfully.

My pair of comrades do the same. It’s total exhilaration. A first blast of adulthood. We’re finally taking ownership of our power. This is our world now and nobody’s gonna treat us like—

–uh, oh.

The bus slams to a complete stop with violent force. Brakes squeal. Metal rattles. The wild-eyed driver explodes out of his vehicle with rage in his eyes. Almost like one of those cartons where smoke comes out of someone’s head. But this is no Saturday morning cartoon…

Independence Day is now over.  

Suddenly, we’re living in there-might-be-a-murder day.

Josh sprints like a greyhound toward his house…jumps over the bush…and makes it safely inside.

David, the third member of our trio, does the same.

I’m right behind both of my friends…

Running full speed. Faster than a locomotive, no doubt…

With this furious bus driver on my tail, I leap over the bush–

–and get stuck in it.

Fuck.

Somehow, I misjudged the height.

This is a major problem.

I have no clue how long the next encounter lasted. Probably under 30 seconds. But the emotion? Absolute terror. Looking back, the bus driver probably did have a loose screw or two. Because he grabbed me out of that bush, pulled me by my t-shirt, and screamed vulgarities into my face at full volume.

This lasted for what felt like the next 37 hours.

Adulthood?

Postponed indefinitely.

I try gathering myself. Straighten out my shirt (which now has a very stretched neck hole). And slowly stumble my way back home. I try to calm my breathing. Not working. As soon as I walk through the front door, my mom asks about my day…

And I immediately burst into tears.

So much for owning my power.

Turns out I can’t even get a coherent sentence out of my mouth.

It seems there’s more to being a cowboy than putting on a hat. Maybe I’m nothing more than a poser. A dumb kid who wants to play cowboy but falls flat on his face. This isn’t my world yet. Maybe it never will be.

I recap the entire humiliating story for my mom.

She listens carefully.

I watch her eyes fill with anger…and brace for impact.

But no impact comes. In fact, for the most part, her emotion seems directed at the bus driver. The guy was an adult, after all. And while 12-year-old children should know better, he simply can’t behave like that. She calls the school. Speaks to the principal right away.

Not asking for anything, but telling him what needs to happen.

All of us have a sit-down. Including the bus driver. Genuine apologies from everyone. A healthy conversation. This situation that could have been handled so poorly is now resolved. No permanent damage to any of us.

A few weeks later, I’m sitting in science class.

Back row, of course.

Confidence restored.

Josh is now madly in love with a girl named Dori. I draw a comic of him chasing after her. Buck naked. With a hilariously small penis. He pleads, “Come to me, Dori!” as she laughs at his lack of size. Pointing at it while she runs away.  

This is a masterpiece.

My Sistine Chapel.  

I fold my note carefully and pass it forward. Total stealth mode. My usual Seal Team 6 precision. The sketch makes its way from my row all the way down to Josh in the front. As he reaches for the drawing…

Our teacher, Dr. Carmen, intercepts it.

Fuck.

She unfolds my comedic gold and her eyes get wide. Seemingly as mortified as I am. This is a deeply awkward situation for all parties involved. But then she makes it 30,000 times worse…

By calling my mom.

I sit sheepishly in the hallway after class. Waiting nervously. My nerdy teacher looks as if she’d rather be anywhere but here. And then we see my mom coming around the corner…

Both of us brace for impact.

Dr. Carmen walks us into the classroom. Slowly unfolds the most embarrassing piece of notebook paper on the planet. And says, “This is what your son worked on in class today.”

I feel sick to my stomach.

My mom looks at the drawing, puts it down, and says:

“If he likes drawing so much, maybe we should enroll him in art class.”

Dr. Carmen explodes with laughter. Cracking up with literal belly laughs for the next two minutes.

I exhale.

Another crisis averted.

—————————

After the credits:

I ran into Dr. Carmen every few years for a while…and she always brought up the story. Laughing as she told it. Every single time.

My youngest sister is 14 years younger than me. When she started junior high school, her science teacher was…you guessed it.

Better believe the story still had Dr. Carmen rolling a decade and a half later.

Isn’t it so easy for us humans to make each other sad, angry, and annoyed? Impossible to even remember all of the countless examples. But now think about the huge belly laughs you’ve had in your lifetime.

Not nearly as many, right?

And they’re much harder to forget.

Transcend

The average human rises. Stumbles down to fresh caffeine.

To be armed for daily bullshit…

One requires this machine.

Big sips while rapid scrolling through a wild barrage of news.

All injected in the bloodstream,

Before both feet are placed in shoes.

Driving now. The car needs food. Gas prices get a peek.

“Can’t believe it costs so much,”

Those words repeated every week.

No matter price per gallon, this frown remains the same.

What’s Groundhog Day without the growth?

Well, it’s a very different game.

To the workday. More routines. Switching brain to cruise control.

Fulfilling? No. Mind-numbing? Yes.

But, hey, it doesn’t take your soul.

No, that happens after-hours, when you aren’t on the clock.

Too many years of playing small…

Once-tender hearts grow hard as rock.

Existing in your head for comfort. It becomes the safer choice.

No big tears or raw emotion.

Just the same persistent voice.

More rapidly, the years pass by. You keep remaining “fine.”

Fully camouflaged by habits.

Abandoned dreams all kept in line.

Then, just like that, it’s over. Your arrival at the end.

Those walls you built? To hide from fear…

They never were your friend.

It hits you now, a flash so bright,

There was magic all around.

You never dared to shine your light,

And now live six feet underground.  

Stamp Collecting

There was a wild story in the world of sports last week.

(The wildness of the reaction is even more fascinating – and it’s what we’re here to examine)

We’ll get to that shortly. Here’s the quick backstory for our non-sports fans:

Shohei Ohtani is a generational talent from Japan. If you prefer rom-coms to baseballs, you’ve still probably heard his name. So, how good is he? Well, over the last few years, he’s done things on the field that even Babe Ruth couldn’t.

Shohei doesn’t say much. Never any issues. He’s not spotted at the hottest clubs and restaurants. Just plays baseball. Always accompanied by his interpreter…a dude named Ippei. A necessary guide through this foreign land. The two became very close friends and are typically seen together. Even away from the ballpark. For years, if someone spotted the star athlete, his right-hand man was usually standing next to him. A driver, workout partner, and confidant. Coaches and media went through Ippei to communicate with Shohei. Those two were attached at the hip, so to speak.

Seemingly more like brothers than friends.

Recently, Shohei signed a massive contract to play for the Dodgers. Total lightning bolt of a story. The most desired free agent in the history of this game. Two MVP awards before the age of 30. A complete baseball nerd who lives and breathes the sport. Does the dude even have hobbies? Or does he just wake up in a pod at the stadium?

Of course, communication with him requires assistance.

So Ippei got a nice raise and joined him in Los Angeles.

Which is where all hell broke loose…

Out of nowhere came a pair of wildly confusing statements. With one big consistency – Ippei’s dark secret. A gambling problem to the tune of millions in losses.

Through an illegal bookie.

When this news broke, the Dodgers fired Ippei right away.

The sports world was on red alert. This was the lead story everywhere. Controversy involving the biggest star in the game. A player who barely speaks above a whisper. The questions were endless. What do we know about him anyway? Was he involved in this? And how does Ippei have millions to lose?

So, with the help of a new interpreter, Shohei held a press conference to clear things up…

He explained that Ippei stole money and told lies. Keeping him in the dark. Making up conflicting stories to those around him. Shohei shared his emotional state dealing with this betrayal – shock and sadness. Stating clearly that he never bet on sports. Contrary to worldwide gossip, he’d never had anyone do it on his behalf. This was something learned in the last few days. And, on the advice of his lawyers, he would turn in any Ippei-related information to the proper authorities.

Not exactly peak times for Ippei right now either. No longer safely in the background. Unemployed…in worldwide headlines…at the center of a scandal that might lead to prison. His messaging was very inconsistent in the days before the press conference. First, saying Shohei helped him out of the jam. Then admitting it was untrue. Both times explaining that Shohei had nothing to do with his gambling. It never involved him. And he wasn’t aware it was happening.  

So, let’s get to the reaction…

You might be wondering – did the world feel bad about Shohei getting robbed by his friend?

Uh, no.

As a matter of fact, it was hard to find anyone who believed Shohei’s story. In spite of the following:

-No previous issues of any kind involving him.
-No proof he had anything to do with this.
-No witnesses, teammates, or coaches ever seeing him gamble.

Within days, new issues started to surface about Ippei’s honesty:  

-News reports were looking for content and his resume was posted. It claimed he worked for the Boston Red Sox years earlier. After seeing this news all week, the Red Sox issued a statement. Ippei was never an employee there.
-His resume also claimed he was a graduate of UC Riverside. But, after becoming aware of this in the media, that university issued a statement too. Ippei never attended their school.

None of these details mattered…  

The masses remain convinced that Shohei is guilty. That he gambled and had Ippei take the fall.

And this is what we’re here to talk about today…

Something at the root of how our brains work. 

Now, is it possible Shohei is guilty? Of course. We don’t actually know the guy. Maybe he did gamble. But this isn’t about a single example…

It’s about how quick we are to judge people without needing facts.

How eager we are to assume the worst.

And how difficult it is for us to change our minds.

Now, let’s say it’s confirmed in the next few weeks that Shohei didn’t gamble. That he was a victim of theft. If it happens, I want you to really pay attention to the refusal to believe it. The intensity of it. That, my friends, is essentially a flaw in our brains.

Some will pivot – well, he bailed his friend out from debt. Or he’s a moron for getting robbed. Hopping quickly to that. As if it’s no different than illegal gambling. I want you to really watch the passionate need behind it. That need, in the minds of people, to make him a piece of shit. The lack of any attempt to find understanding within. No voice inside saying, “Hey, this dude was just a young guy in a whirlwind trying to focus on his craft.” No wondering what it might be like to be robbed by a loved one. No considering how different someone else’s reality might be from their own. No imagining what it would be to live in a society while needing daily help to communicate.

And certainly no looking inside…to remember what it feels like to be betrayed.

No connecting.

No relating.

Just putting a stamp on someone and locking the door.  

Obviously, I’m not writing this to talk about Shohei Ohtani.  

This is just one example. But it’s something that can help us look in the mirror.

Remember when I said this reaction is at the root of how our brains work?

I didn’t say “their” brains.

Us.

You and me too.

We all operate this way. Just with different examples.

Decades ago, people had a feeling about the Menendez brothers, right? Of course. Because the story was told to us. Over and over. Until it was burned into our brains. Those creepy-looking motherfuckers murdered their parents. As extreme a wrongdoing as there is.

So, we look at their faces and cringe.

But what about the “minor details” like the part about their father raping them?

How that tormentor may have been a serial monster who raped other boys outside of his family too.

Notice how the initial feeling formed your opinion. And how it became very hard to change that reaction once you put the stamp on them. To look at their faces and not cringe.

To look in those eyes and see something different.

And, hey, most examples aren’t nearly this extreme.

Let’s go to your day-to-day life…

Pay attention to that initial reaction when a person does something in traffic. Or interferes with your comfortable experience at the store. Notice just how quickly you put the stamp on a stranger – that person becomes an asshole or whatever other word goes through your head.

Now watch how quickly it happens inside of you when reading headlines and stories. How eager you are to declare others wrong. How quickly the verdict comes in. With people and situations you don’t really even know.  

Some of you are probably thinking…

“Yeah, but these people are assholes.”

Ok, so let’s play by your own rules. What does that make you then? To define someone’s character as a human being from one interaction. Or one article. A person you don’t know at all.

Is that really how you want to operate?

Sure, maybe someone reading this will say, “Yeah, I’m cool with it.” And that’s ok. It’s their right. But what about the rest of us who want to have more self-awareness…

What do we do?

Why do our brains work this way?

Are we all just programmed to be haters?

Maybe so. No need to invent a fancy word for it. That’s basically what we’re talking about. This dumbing down of ourselves. That need when we have an unpleasant interaction – or see an unpleasant story – to put a stamp on the person’s entire identity right away.

Here’s an idea. And there’s no way to know if it’ll actually work. But I challenge you to try 3 things for a month and see what happens. To make the following conscious changes as you go through your day:

1- Literally mark down each time you stamp a stranger as an asshole, bitch, or whatever judgmental word you might use. Whether from an in-person interaction or when reading stories and headlines. You can keep the tally in your phone notes. Every time you do this in your head with someone, jot down a little number 1. Actually track it.

2- Don’t stay unconscious. Consider what you’re doing in your head. Literally defining the character of someone you don’t know. From one interaction. Or from reading something. Force yourself to see how quickly this happens inside your brain.

3- Whenever the quick-stamping happens, allow yourself a new thought:
“I don’t actually know this person, the facts, or the backstory that led to this moment.”

That’s it. A little science experiment on ourselves. And it might not do anything. But let’s just try it out for a month and see what happens. Because, frankly, there’s usually just one difference between our judgment and our empathy:

Whether we know the person’s story or not.

There’s a part of us that doesn’t want to think like this. Because it feeds on making others wrong. Loves to bust out the shitty person stamp. And has no interest in changing opinions. That part is built on insecurity. And this war lives inside of you each day. Let’s give a little help to the side that needs it.

Aloha Spirit

Many years have passed since this was a miles and points blog.

The impacts on my life?

Profound.

Man, it was such a unique situation. MileNerd fell into a niche that didn’t exist at the time. The readers followed. So, along the way, I encountered almost every type of person…

-One dude decided to capitalize on the growing hobby. He built a business. Started telling people about our close friendship. Was he a nice guy? A douchebag? Hard for me to say. Y’know, considering I never met him. We didn’t speak on the phone. Never any emails. A grand total of zero seconds of interaction. But that didn’t prevent him from talking about our friendship. Pretty new experience for me. People kept referring to a “friend” I didn’t know. Definitely unusual. But then again…

-A couple years later, I started hearing feedback about my plans to speak at a miles-and-points conference. Just one catch. The pesky little detail known as facts. Of course, I had no plans to climb onstage and talk credit cards while charging for admission. But another stranger felt comfortable saying otherwise. This kind of thing was growing less and less surprising. Nerdy hobbies tend to be full of quirky types. Some of whom are socially awkward. To put it mildly. For example…

-The guy who mimicked every aspect of my blog’s layout, copied a long list of my writing patterns, and described himself as “like milenerd.com” in his bio. Definitely weird. But I wanted to be supportive. He mentioned the “awe” he had for me in spite of not usually being “star struck.” Hmm. I think I’ve seen this movie and it didn’t turn out well for Bridget Fonda. Anyway, it turned out the guy was about things that are the exact opposite of what MileNerd was built on. I tried explaining this. Pointing out that it’s not a tribute. That he was leveraging me, my years of work, and the sacrifices I’d made…to try to build his own reputation. That he was taking from me. I explained how this is not being a “nice guy” or being “helpful” as he told himself. This is, in fact, the definition of using someone. And, whether he was doing it consciously or not, I was not ok with it. But, again, that hobby is full of different types. He played completely dumb, of course. As if he had no idea what I was talking about.

It’s as I described above. Experiencing many different types of people since I started doing this. But that goes the other way too. There have been countless thank you messages and kind words. And it goes so far beyond that…

-Like the woman who still checks in almost every month. She’s a professional writer who has off-the-charts intelligence. Was once an undefeated trial lawyer. And she’s the type of person who really likes to connect. Not just run-of-the-mill warmth. Think of how most of the cool people you’ve known aren’t content keeping things surface level. It’s almost too basic for them. Those are the ones who enter our lives and really make a splash. These kinds of people leave a room and have us wondering what the rest of their day will be like. It’s a gift to know people who stand out. They’re a dash of color in a black-and-white world. I feel so lucky to have some friends like that. And it’s amazing that a few of them came directly through this website. For example…

-The Emmy Award-winning musician who was once a complete stranger. And now essentially a brother to me. Sure, he’s my complete opposite in some ways. I can’t get to the end of the week without feeling anger, sadness, joy, and a dozen different emotions. Not him. He’d probably sit down in the middle of a tornado and might even take a nap. I believe his resting heart rate is 11. And I can’t imagine life without him. The older we get, it becomes more clear how meaningful real friendship is. And also how rare…

-Like the beautiful soul who asks (ok, practically begs) for me to come stay at her luxury beach condo. At no charge, of course. This rental property provides a big chunk of her income. But she’d rather have me in town for a week than collect that money. It’s a gesture that has actually helped relationships in my family. Allowing my sisters and I to meet and bond in ways that might not have happened otherwise.

There are other stories to tell. But only so much space here. The point is, there are people I can count on. Some were true allies through my biggest health issues and greatest physical pain. Once just a collection of randos but now so much more. These are people I love and trust. And I never would have known them without MileNerd.

(As I said, the interactions have gone in many different directions)

Plenty of you have been here for a long time. Many since the early years. Like you, I’ve received huge benefits from the world of travel. Such a long list of memories and adventures. Maybe there’s a destination at the top of your list. A place that hurts to leave. Somewhere you long to return. For me, it’s Maui. I’ve been lucky to go there almost every year for the last decade. It feels almost like a home away from home at this point. In fact, I’m typing these words as I fly back from my most recent trip to the island. And I’d like to open up about some of my experiences there…

“Aloha” is a word that gets watered down outside of Hawaii. I think we have a habit of doing this. Walk into a “Cajun casino” in Las Vegas and it’ll bear very little resemblance to New Orleans. A Disney safari park might be fun. But it’s nothing like what you feel in Africa. A word without meaning is just a word. Certain things have to be experienced to be understood…

On my first trip to Maui, I met a man named Mario. We had some fun banter. He pointed out a few good restaurants and seemed like a cool guy. Then I ran into him again – and started getting a much better understanding of what “Aloha spirit” is. We traded numbers and the usual deal. Texted a few times. And, as I left the island, he said I could use his house when he’s on the mainland. Huh? He explained that I didn’t need to spend money on a hotel. He said his place wasn’t very fancy but, hey, at least I’d still get to be on the island. Just fill his car with gas or buy him a steak. Wait, what? Dude, we just met. Now, at home, this might sound like lunatic behavior. Someone potentially dangerous. But he truly was just a warm and welcoming person. Someone I got to know better over the years. And not the last Hawaiian to open up his home to me.

On another trip to Maui, I met a lady named Nani. That was the nickname everyone used for her. She worked overnight at the front desk of the hotel. Her ancestors were caretakers for Kamehameha, the king of Hawaii. Those caretakers started getting land as gifts for their work. Lots of land. Her family has been passing down hundreds of acres of Hawaiian property for generations. And I can’t think of too many friendlier people I’ve ever met. If she’s working, we’ll spend close to an hour talking every morning as her shift ends. When I land on the island, she’ll write something like:

“Welcome home, brahadah!!”

I have multiple text threads from multiple Maui residents in my phone. In order to list all the examples of Aloha spirit I’ve seen, I’d need to write for days. Now, are there are problems everywhere? Yeah, of course. And, in 2024, our brains are programmed to find the flaws. We do it with laser precision. Seeking out examples of imperfection so we can think, “See, it’s not so great.”  

But perfection is not reality. And Maui is a very special place. Full of personality, quirkiness, and real-life magic. If you open yourself up to it. So much of that is rooted in the kind-hearted people there.

In their Aloha spirit.

I hadn’t visited since the fires. So, two weeks ago, as I looked at Lahaina…it felt like someone punched me in the gut. All the adorable little streets. All of those homes burned to the ground. I genuinely feel like I owe that place a debt of gratitude. So, I formulated a plan…

I’d find someone to help. One individual within the long list of victims who are still in deep trouble. Maybe someone with a GoFundMe page that isn’t getting many eyeballs. I have this monthly way to reach caring people. Maybe we could add a bit of light to a very dark time in someone’s life. Now, to be clear, I don’t consider this a big deal at all. It’s just about sharing a story with caring people. I could never repay Maui for all it has given me. And maybe you have the same kind of feeling for your favorite destination. A place that can’t help but contribute great highlights in your life.

So, I tried to find a person…

Spending days to make this happen. Reaching out to every contact on the island. Talking to strangers. Initiating conversations.

There was the guy wanting to help his brother who’d lost everything in the fires. The home he was renting, his car, and the love of his life. She died from smoke inhalation. Losing it all was one thing. But he’s also consumed with guilt. Can’t stop thinking about what he could have done to save her. He thinks of suicide but he’s not giving in. Lost his job serving food to tourists because he didn’t have a car to get there. Staying on a friend’s couch while he tries to get back on his feet.

I spoke to a couple currently living in a tent on the beach. She’s 8 months pregnant with their first child. The fires took everything. They’re both fighting to keep the faith that life will somehow get back on track.

I talked with a woman whose young sister had recently moved to Hawaii. In that moment, all of her dreams went up in smoke. She’d put everything into her fledgling photography business. They didn’t come from money and this was a big swing at a better life. But her camera, photo equipment, car, and home are now all gone.

Siblings wanting to help their brothers and sisters.

Couples trying to find hope.

These were not easy conversations. So many lives were devastated that day.

I explained what the project would be. An interview to shine a light on their story. And I clarified that I didn’t want anything from them. How there isn’t any money in this for me – no ads, affiliate links, or any of that stuff. They all loved the idea. Just some small way to help an individual in huge need. I explained that it probably wouldn’t be enough to fix things but would most likely make a nice difference.

Then I discovered a whole new level of Aloha spirit…

Every single fire victim I spoke to said I should find a person more in need.

Someone who could use more help.  

The young girl who lost it all. The guy who thinks of suicide. Even the couple living in a tent.

All of them said some version of the same thing…

That others need the help more than they do.

I mean, I literally could not find someone who would accept this gesture for themselves.

So what I’d like to say is this…

If funds are tight, maybe you could throw in a little lunch money. And, if you have more to give, maybe you’ll be willing to give a larger sum. But, regardless of your situation, please just take a look at this link. The sorted option is a ton of GoFundMe pages in ascending order. Many of these Lahaina fire victims are still in deep trouble. All I’m asking is that you spend a few minutes reading through some of the descriptions. Then, if someone’s page calls out to you, maybe you can consider a donation. Totally up to you. But please give a few minutes of your time to read through some of these situations. Look, many of us go to incredible destinations. And that’s a good thing. We deserve to celebrate our lives. But there are people there who help serve us and clean after us. As we all know, they are often a big part of why the vacations become so special. Many of these people are in need of a hand. Please just give a few minutes of your time to look through the link.

Look, I apologize if this post isn’t as well-written as my usual work. But I didn’t have much time to prepare. I really expected to be posting an interview. To share someone’s story. But, again, every single Hawaiian I spoke to said another person could use the help more.

I’ve just never seen anything like it.

Watering Plants

It was a badass crew (of junior high school kids).

The lineup included:

Yours truly-
A very regular attendee of after-school detention. If the principal’s office was Cheers, then I was Norm. You knew where to find me. Behind the thick glasses? An encyclopedic knowledge of Yo Momma jokes. Always ready to unleash a clever wisecrack at any moment. Pretty cocky attitude for a kid who hadn’t kissed a girl yet. But that minor detail didn’t prevent me from going by the nickname, “Studman.”

Chad Downey-
Even nerdier looking than the Studman. But widely heralded for his blazing footspeed. His daily wardrobe? Shorts, t-shirt, and running shoes. A reminder to everyone in school that he’d never lost a race. Those lightning bolt legs were always churning. Even while residing in a house full of chain smokers. Which was strangely common at the time, by the way. Chad had one other claim to fame. He looked exactly like Alfred E. Neuman (the character on the cover of Mad Magazine).  

Jimmy Yang-
“Preppy” would be an understatement. He was maybe the youngest GQ subscriber in the nation. A walking, talking database of brand names. Loved reciting random facts about his gore-tex jacket. We had no clue what the hell gore-tex was, but he sure seemed to enjoy it. Jimmy’s closet was his pride and joy. Lined with perfectly ironed Polo shirts in every color. He was my first friend when I moved to town. As my mom tells it, he knocked on the door and asked if the weird kid was home. I sure was. And life grew to become so very exciting for the weird kid after that knock.  

Mike Walsh-
Clearly destined to become an NBA player. Or maybe even a movie star. Those options seemed like the floor of his possibilities. He had everything I didn’t. The type of silky blonde hair that flowed perfectly in the wind. Unlike the tangled mountain of fuzz that resided atop my head. Mike strolled around with a cool skater vibe. Not a care in the world. I stumbled into rooms with a constant state of spaz. He was the most popular kid in school. And my best friend in the whole world.

Yeah, between the four of us, we had it all.

Great style, Olympic-level speed, cool hair…and a very big appetite for life.

Each day was filled with potential. Such boundless excitement. It felt like those adventures we read about in books. Now, in fairness, we were starting to get ourselves into a bit more trouble. Because, as you probably already know…

Adolescent boys are VERY into fireworks.

Don’t ask me why. I can’t really explain the reason. But it’s a total sense of awe.

(One that gets replaced later by boobs, cars, or whatever else comes next)

A few months earlier, I’d actually been visited by the local fire chief. He and my parents had a very simple question for me:

Why on earth did I burn down the woods near our house?

-Ok, well first of all, every backyard in West Virginia is called “the woods.”

-Secondly, it was a total accident. Nobody would actually want to burn down trees.

I guess some lessons just need to be learned though experience.

(Like the one about shooting bottle rockets into a pile of dry leaves)

But life kept moving…

It was now a time of celebration for our crew. This felt like a very special occasion. Mike had somehow managed to get the entire house to himself. Both parents and all three of his brothers were out for the evening.

No rules.

No limits.

It was time to seize the night.

Beyond his athletic prowess and Robert Redford-like hair…Mike Walsh also had the nicest house in the neighborhood. Complete with backyard swimming pool (and regular pool parties). The perks of having a dentist for a dad. As far as we were concerned, the Walsh estate may as well have been Disney World. It felt no less exciting.

Looking back, we should have stuck with a pool party.

Things started out tame. Lighting some run-of-the-mill fireworks. But it quickly grew into something else. Within an hour, we were pouring gasoline onto the soles of our shoes and lighting them up.

Why would anyone do that?

To make it look like we were walking on fire, of course.

(Nobody ever accused teenage boys of being geniuses)

Before long, Mike was filling up a giant Big Gulp cup from 7-Eleven. Essentially a tub of gasoline. All of us were giddy with excitement. We gathered around in a tight circle. He poured a little out and lit it mid-stream…to make fire rain from the cup.

Obviously, the fire moved into that tub of gasoline.

Mike’s hand got hot and dropped the Big Gulp.

Then came a quick decision that would lead to many sleepless nights…

He stomped on the cup.

I felt that heat within an inch of my face. The brightness blinding me for a moment. But my ears still worked. And there was no way to miss the horrifying screams. My eyes began to function again and the first thing I saw was Jimmy’s torso on fire. His Polo shirt engulfed in flames as he frantically spun around. I can still hear those screams today if I let myself remember. The second thing I saw? Chad’s unrecognizable lower body. It was just a wall of fire. Mike and I stood next to each other in a frozen state of shock. Eventually remembering our lessons from school. Shouting at both of them to roll on the ground.

We finally put out the fires. The screams morphing into cries. Jimmy no longer sounded like a kid. It was the first time I’d heard primal sounds from a human being. From somewhere deep inside. Chad’s crying was so much softer, indicating that something more serious might be happening. Like running out of the energy required to make sounds. Mike and I got them closer to the pool. Both of us floating above it all in some disoriented state of shock.

Ideally, one of us would have realized that chlorine would only make things worse.

But we didn’t have that thought.

For the first time in our young lives, we found ourselves in a living nightmare.

Absolutely no idea what to do. The look of their burnt skin…the sounds coming from them…the denial inside us that any of this was actually happening.

I was starting to lose it. And, in a panic, Mike began pleading with them not to tell their parents. A quick moment of desperate self-preservation. As if there was any way to hide what we’d done. Chad couldn’t stand up anymore. Jimmy was unable to form words between his screams. So I picked up the phone and called Chad’s father. My hands shaking. I didn’t recognize the voice coming out of my mouth as I blurted out that we were in serious trouble and needed help.

Within minutes, the car arrived. He looked at each of us, surveyed the situation, and his face filled with rage. He put Chad into the back of their Toyota…and then drove away.

To this day, I still can’t believe he left us there.

But we didn’t have time to waste. Jimmy needed to get to a doctor fast. So, I called my mom. The feeling was complete and utter terror. She drove us to the hospital and I had no idea how much anger was brewing. No clue what type of punishment awaited.

It turned out she was just so relieved that I was ok.

Physically, that is.

But our focus was on Jimmy and Chad.

I sat with Mike in the waiting room of the ER. A movie played on the television. We hardly noticed it. Both of us were somewhere else. Staring blankly ahead. Suddenly, a scene popped up that grabbed our attention. We looked at the tv together and saw an image of a house on fire. Tears began streaming down our faces. The gravity of this night impossible to avoid.

Jimmy and Chad were left with permanent scars on their bodies. A nasty bit of discoloration would now always peek out from underneath Jimmy’s Polo shirts. I never saw how much worse it was underneath. His family moved away soon after that night. And we never saw Chad in shorts again. There were no more races. He started spending much more time on his own.

Mike was grounded for a very long time. I imagine there were lawsuits or settlements. But he and I never saw each other outside of school again. Because of whatever else was happening, he ended up flunking that grade. We lost touch.

That night was the last time our crew ever hung out together.

I haven’t replayed those details in my head for years. But, as I type the words, all of these feelings are still right there inside. That’s how it is with so many of our memories, right? Could be a million years ago but could also be just yesterday.

I remember moving to that town. Watching other kids playing in the street. Wanting desperately to have that in my life.

I remember the excitement of these blooming friendships.

And I remember how quickly they went away.

Man, it’s a dramatic story. Easily the most cinematic ending to a friendship I’ve ever had. But are “normal” endings much different?  

I worked with a guy in my 20’s. We had a quick dinner together every night on our break. I knew about his dreams and fears. He knew about mine. We helped each other outside of work. And, like so many other examples through the years, eventually lost touch.

I was the best man at my college friend’s wedding. At that time, we were the closest thing either of us had to a brother. And now? Just sporadic contact every few years. Surface-level conversations. That tight bond no longer there.  

When we lose the specialness of a connection we once had, there’s some emptiness left behind. Memories and the little whisper of a question – of what might have been.

Usually, there isn’t some dramatic situation. Because making friends is fairly easy. But keeping that alive and healthy is something different. And it gets much harder to stay connected as we grow older. There’s more noise. Internal and external. More to occupy our attention.

I think this is a muscle we can develop…

-To feel a responsibility for deepening the bonds that matter.

-To consciously take the time to invest in those relationships.

-To keep meaningful sparks alive.

I don’t think many of us prioritize this enough in our to-do lists. I look around and see it in others. I look in the mirror and see it in myself.

We should understand this well by now. Deep connections can be made. But they can also be lost.

And it doesn’t always take a Big Gulp full of gasoline to do it.

Just some lack of time and care.

I hope all of us can get better at this. At remembering that our closest friendships aren’t bulletproof. That relationships are living things that need to be watered. Otherwise, they will decay.

I hope all of us can work that muscle.