Once again, I will be heading to the Post to sip a few cocktails and hang with The Usual Suspects. I’ve known most of them for about twenty years, so they definitely qualify as old friends.
Last night I attended a wedding (my Best Man’s daughter), which was attended by a handful of friends I have known since high school and at least one of them since seventh grade. I hadn’t seen them in more than thirty years. The Bride’s father didn’t tell me they were coming, and he didn’t tell them I was coming. He only told them that there would be a “surprise guest.”
Although we’ve all changed in thirty plus years, we recognized one another instantly, and in two minutes the thirty years evaporated. Everyone’s hair has turned gray to one degree or another and a couple of the guys have lost much of their hair (I took a fair amount of ribbing for having kept all of mine).
Even though everyone’s appearance had changed (thirty years will do that to you), I noticed that none of their voices had changed at all. When I closed my eyes when people were talking, it was 1968 all over again. We were seated at the same table, which gave us plenty of time to re-tell old stories, laugh hysterically and generally have a great time.
At the end of a terrific night, we exchanged phone numbers, e-mail address and promises not to let another thirty years go by (as if any of us will live that long).
I, for one, intend to keep my promise.