Bri

There are many words that I can use to describe a relationship I've had for over 80% of my life. The picture above does a very good job though, without uttering a syllable.

Two boys sit in kayaks under a bluebird sky in the chill August waters of Lake Huron. One is yellow, bright as a banana and similar in shape. The other is bathed in blue, green and yellow, fading twice in a continuum of color.

We constructed sails from a dutch golf set and broom with garbage bags. Matching the creativity in games imagined and played over the years is the competitiveness with which we play them. It's funny how important it becomes to win a game that was conceived of mere seconds ago, but it's been foundational to our friendship over the years. I used to get truly mad at him in middle school.

Never content to just make something, we use our new "sailboats" for sport. Paddling out past the breakers, we align our vessels for shore and pick a large rock as the finish line. The no-paddle rule is in effect as we let the wind carry us and cleverly "steer" with our paddles to arrive on shore first. We're more pushed by the waves than any effect the wind may have had, but it's a clear and definitive victory for one of us. Our sailing prowess is unmatched by the other and to the victor belong the spoils. And the next day comes with seven more invented games with seven more victors. [Note to the reader: the last two sentences are best read dripping in sarcasm.]

As we've grown older our competitive streaks have subsided...somewhat. They'll never be gone completely though, as board games continue to show. I can't stay mad long though. Since we're still friends I presume the same goes for Brü.

Every time we get back together, after being separated by hundreds of miles and hours of interstate, we can pick up right where we left off from. Just writing this makes me yearn to mosey back to Hudsonville and sit in a basement to play games with Brian, Scott and Jeff. Ah well, you can't always get what you want.

“It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson, Emerson in His Journals