Not So Great Expectations

I have a friend.  His name is Pat.

He doesn't ride a motorcycle.  He doesn't do physics.  There is no space in his brain for anything related to cars or engines or firearms or bicycles  That man cannot properly wield a hammer or turn a screw in the correct  direction.  His wife does the repairs around the house.

I remember when Pat helped me move from one apartment to another.  He lifted the weight bench in the living room, walked toward the front door, and slammed the bench into both sides of the door frame.  His solution was to back up two steps and walk toward the portal again with the same result.

I collapsed in hysterics and continued to watch through tears as he tried a few more times to get that bench through the door.  3-D spacial relations?  Not his strength.

But I love him to death.  He was a great friend in college and we still enjoy getting together.  We share marriage and family and theology and life.  He's fun.  And he's interested in me and my family.  He remembers most of the things I tell him and I do the same for him.  We don't get together often now.  I miss him.

Even when he's a bore and the situation of his life isn't so good and his voice on the phone is dead because he hardens himself to the trials he faces, it's always good to talk with him.  I wish we talked more often.

The thing about Pat is that he's always been honest.  I know details about his life that haunt me sometimes but he's never held anything back.  Ever.  Even his failings are on full display for his friends.  I am not nearly that honest.

Pat never tries to be anybody else.  Pat is Pat - depend on that.  He has not been through a rocker phase followed by a cowboy phase followed by an paramilitary phase.  His activities and interests have never defined him except that he is a husband, father, and pastor.  Those roles are an outgrowth of his love of people and desire to help.

And that's the thing about my friends.  I want to love them for who they are.  I want them to have a real understanding of themselves and not try to be who they are not.

I did not marry my wonderful wife because she is an expert in physics.  I would have dumped her long ago if our love were based on conversations about the operation of an internal combustion engine.  She really doesn't care that much.  And that's just fine.

I don't care if you can build a nuclear reactor from scratch.  I couldn't care less if you can't even operate your DVR.  Just figure out who you are and who you want to be.  I'm OK with that.

It's when you try to be someone you're not that I have a problem.  Why do things just to impress other people?  It's when you lie in person or online to get more respect or attention that I get crazy.  Or when you arrogantly smack someone down because you think you know something you clearly don't.  That's when I get angry.

Friends are friends because they are honest and real with each other.  Friends become good friends when they share something in common and remember details about each others' lives.  Let's be friends.

Time on the Allegheny

The windsurfer was just two blocks from Grandma's house in Rhode Island.  When the owner told me the price was only $50, I snapped it up, tied it to the roof, and headed home to Pittsburgh.  Fearfully watching the 70 mph winds vibrate the nose of the deck above my hood, I checked my knots every few miles until I gave up worrying and drove home.

Since I figured I would never be coordinated enough to actually surf by wind power, the plan was to use the deck as a sit-on-top kayak.  I took a pair of thrift shop canoe paddles, cut the aluminum shafts, and used the innards of an old lady's walker to form a kayak paddle.

Then I tossed it on the river and had a great time.

It tracks well so I can just paddle and not worry about steering.  I get to see nature and the city from a different perspective and every once in a while it feels like I'm on the salt water creek at Mom's parents' house on the North Fork of Long Island.  I hear the sea gulls and I can almost smell the salty air.

But transportation was a problem with the old car so I tossed it atop the pantry closet in my kitchen where it languished for years.

Paraguayan license plate provided by Romualdo Orzuza

Yesterday was my third ride this year since we have a minivan and transport is not horribly inconvenient.  Plus I'm in another crisis of mid-life.  I put in at Three Rivers Rowing in Millvale and headed upstream