It would be a whole lot easier if somebody would maim or kill one of your fathers.  Not because I don’t like your fathers.  They’re great.  So we could form a posse and hunt down the assailant. Hopefully, he has a posse too…with baseball bats. That way you could see me take blow after blow as I charge in a frenzy of revenge. And maybe in your grief you’d look upon me and think, “Gosh he’s loyal. I really love that guy.” Just to think it would be enough for me.

Or maybe someone you know gets sexually assaulted.  Who gets sexually assaulted isn’t important.  You getting to see me hold the attacker down and sexually assault him hard right back, that’s what’s important.  I love you buddy, that’s what that says.

Other times I dream that, after a few drinks, we find ourselves in the sauna at YMCA talking about the old times, laughing, maybe crying.  That’d be great.  Then maybe the building gets surrounded by fanatics crying out for our blood.  There would be nothing left for us to do but burst forth, naked, or maybe wrapped in towels, katanas in hand, to meet them.  Where did we get katanas?  Brothers always have katanas.

And maybe I have a moment in the bedlam and carnage to look down at the blood that’s pouring out of my many wounds.  And maybe as I raise my bloodied sword-arm high and collapse to my knees I see you, Jay, whirling through our enemies with a naginata. Now, I don't know where you got that you lovely bastard.  A naginata will take the legs clean off a horse. Fight on, friend.  Fight on, my brother.

Then, as another arrow thwacks into my chest and I am spun around for the final time, maybe I see you, Neil, carrying Tim off the field with one arm, bashing away overwhelming foes with the other. Are those tears of pain?  There would be no shame in that brother.  Those wounds are deep and will most likely never heal.  Or are they tears of pride?  Perhaps the same tears of pride coursing down your face, Dan, as you whip off your towel and wave it to and fro like a banner, rallying us all to fight on to the bitter end!?!

I admit I don’t expect any of these scenarios to come to pass.  Someday though, through fate or extraordinary circumstance, we may find ourselves on the poop deck of our own pirate ship chasing plunder on the high seas, or manning turrets on an apocalyptic battlewagon we built out of a school bus. Either way, I’ll seize the advantage, and make sure you all understand: I love you guys.