A Toast

I was blessed to be a part of an amazing group of people. More than a staff, we became a family. We were the type of people who saw somebody new and said "Jump in the truck with us, we're going somewhere fun." They loved you because you were you, and they never asked more than that. We shared triumphs and defeats, countless laughs and endless nights. We broke rules and took joy rides. We swam the lake at night, we snuck in and out of each other's cabins pulling pranks and making secrets. We made traditions, and those traditions made our summers matter.

One special tradition goes much much farther than my experience at that job. The "staff lounge" was officially moved to the local dining establishment residing a few miles from our job site. It was the closest place to get a hot pizza or a cold beer, and what was better- they had a karaoke night. The bartenders and the owner knew our names, our favorite songs, and had our orders written down before we were seated at our usual table. Our karaoke was similar. The regulars there knew us, knew our songs, and we knew theirs. We claimed "Piano Man," and "You've Lost that Loving Feeling" among many others. We created a dance floor out of the space between the pool table and the seating area, and we bopped and twirled and joked like awkward middle schoolers.

Those of legal age enjoyed the simple pleasures of beer in a mason jar, while the rest enjoyed cherry coke made with grenadine and the most amazing spicy fries, especially when coated in salt from one of the baby-food jars with holes punched in the top as a salt shaker. A favorite tradition of the evening were the toasts. I don't know where they originated, and I'm sure I'm not getting them right, as it's been far too long since I've used them. But these toasts were crucial to our evening. Lifted glasses of beer, sprite, coke, cans of mountain dew, or a lifted salt shaker when our glasses went dry- you never missed a toast. There were seven.

To the Queen. (Long may she reign!)
To the company. (Here here!)
To friends.
To absent friends.
To John Wayne. (He's gay, you know.)
To furry woodland creatures. (Is the buffalo a furry woodland creature? Only to the extremely jaded!)
To camp directors! (Is ***** a camp director? FUCK *****!)
To the birds: To the stork who brings pretty babies, the crow who brings ugly babies, and the swallow- who brings no babies at all!

These toasts were fun, raunchy, and usually gave us all a laugh. That's what friends like us were for- sharing laughs, sharing time.

Those toasts, those songs, are bittersweet tonight. One of our ranks has fallen. A good man has left us, to wait for us in whatever Beyond is out there. I am told that's the way he wanted it, and I guess that is supposed to comfort me in some way or another. His name was Ian. And he was my friend.

I'm not going to languish in how close we were, because we weren't. We shared a few midnight conversations, a few drinks at the bar, and I attempted to help him rebuild a bridge when it washed out in a storm. But as a person, he taught me things I will carry with me always. He lived what other people merely promote: he worked hard, he did what he felt in his heart was right, he lived passionately, and he loved everybody, whether he liked them or not.

Ian may have been tattooed, and he probably smoked a carton a day, and he may have sworn to make a sailor blush, but he was a good man. He threw himself into every project, may it be fixing tents, diving into the water fully-clothed to help find something in the water, cutting trees, fixing plumbing, or just making somebody feel better on a rough day. He cared. About everything.

And that's a model we can all follow. It's easy to support and care about the things that matter to you- your own friends and your own causes. But all too often we turn a blind eye to those people and causes that we aren't particularly interested in. We'd rather stay warm and dry than go out in the rain and mud to tow a stuck vehicle by hand. We'd rather allow ourselves to believe "They'll be fine," when we see a less-desirable person having a rough time. They may not be our friend, but they are a living, feeling creature. And whether you like them or not, sitting down across from them and saying "What's up?" may turn somebody's day around.

So tonight, I sit in my apartment, listening to the keys tap out my dedication. I hesitate before turning on the radio- I am yet too fragile to cope if one of our songs were to come over the speakers. But I sit, and I am prepared. I'm going to pay an honor to a lost friend, in a way that reminds me of the good times, not in a way that dwells on this darkness. I sit at my computer, a shot glass at my side. Ian- you were an amazing man. I'm sad to see you go. Rest well, and give 'em Hell. This one's for you.



To absent friends.