The rewards of work are not the money and promotions. It is the friendships we make and hold for decades and perhaps a lifetime. Last night a longtime friend from my much younger working days came to dinner with his wife. We had not seen each other for more years than I care to think about. Keeping in touch over the years is now made easier by social media.
I met Dan in 1983 when we worked for a national storage company. When I left the mid-west to join the acquisitions department in Seattle, Dan took my position as regional manager.
One had to be partially insane, at least, to work with him, or me for that matter. He is still one of the few people who gets my humor. I get his. We usually laughed through most of the more serious company meetings, seeing comical aspects where others dared not tread. I remember one meeting where we attracted the ire of the company president. Later, we laughed about that, too.
And there were days when I wanted to slap Dan myself because he tended to push the limits, like the day we were in Houston on business and he dropped me off at the airport with nine minutes to make my flight to Denver. Those were, of course, before the days of September 11. As we rushed toward the airport, I threatened to shoot him if I missed my flight. After a hurried goodbye, I pushed my way to the front of check-in, then sprinted down the hall and through the door with an electronic sign flashing “Now Boarding”. Mentally, I swore I was going to shoot him anyway. It all happened so fast. Remembering a trip with a passenger on the incorrect flight, as the plane took off, I turned to the guy sitting next to me and queried, “We are going to Denver, aren’t we?”
We worked hard, but friends like Dan made it palatable. We had a lot of fun, crazy times. We talked about those times last night. We remembered other co-workers, some retired, some still working, some already gone from these earthly bonds.
Our kids are now grown, both of us grandparents. We were dining at my oldest daughter’s home, telling tales of our adventures as five of my grandchildren milled around the table waiting for dessert to be served. My daughter reminisced with us about babysitting Dan’s two children, taking them to all sorts of places in her turquoise colored Dodge.
It is said, “time waits for no one”. And, that is certainly true. The passage of time is inevitable. We often think of time from the perspective of world events, yet for all of us, time is personal. Our time is made up of how we spend it and who we spend it with, fragments woven into tales to be told.