old friends

Years ago I did a tile job in the bathrooms of a new fish hatchery.

It was winter, high in the mountains of Idaho and it was cold, like 35 to 45 below zero each night. The car was plugged in at night or it would never start in the morning.

But inside the building, it was warm and we worked good hours.

One day the fish biologist came by. I asked him what he did (he was wearing a uniform). I told him I had a classmate from high school who was a fish guy. “What is his name?”

“Charlie Smith.” “Ahh, he is the authority in this field.”

Neither Charlie nor I would have been voted likely to be successful based on our high school experience. But early in college, Charlie took the right classes and met the right people and had a career plan that plugged into his skills and background. It was one of those perfect matches.

It served him well.

I visited today with him, the first real visit since we were teens in high school. His book shelves are lined with thick books about biology and fish and diseases. This, I reminded myself, is the very same Charlie I used to cut class with.

I am exceedingly proud of him and his success. He worked hard for it and he deserves it.

We have not kept up because we did not like each other. We lived too far away and our paths rarely crossed. It seems, though, that when we can reconnect we really must. It was that way for many of the people in our class.

Thanks for a good day my friend.