The Boys

A father and his boys. I found this picture while going doing some late(by about three months) unpacking. It was taken - I think - three years ago. I don't remember whose idea it was, but all the boys of the family where asked to stand together: My younger brother Mike, me, my younger brothers Scott(the Marine) and James(in the red), and my father.

It's the only picture I have and may be the only picture that exists of all five of us together. In the three years since it was taken, Scott has left the Marines with an honorable discharge, Mike and James have both graduated from high school and gone on to college, and I've gone through a divorce.

For most of that, we weren't together. Mike and James still lived in the house we all grew up in, Scott was at various times in California and North Carolina, and I was in between places in DC. Wherever I was, I had this photograph. At one point, I had two copies; one for work, and one on my nightstand, resting on the lamp(I was always meaning to get a proper frame, but I kept forgetting).

Through the hard and hardest times, the photograph would remind me I was not alone. It was taken before my grandmother's funeral, one of the hardest. And even in the wake of grief, we managed some joy. We were all together,all four of us; and when that happens, something unspoken - that assurance of home, comfort, and belonging - takes over. It's having three best friends who will always be there; they will always have your back.

Now, instead of four boys, my parents have four men. James, the youngest, is 18, and I, the eldest, will turn 28 soon. The bonds that bridge ten years are strong, but men need more room then boys do. As boys we played, went to school, fought, cursed, and laughed with each other for what seemed like endless days. As men, the times together are shorter, and they come less and less. School, jobs, careers, and girlfriends all take up our time now. The endless days have ended.

Yet, when we get the chance to hang out, get drunk and play some video games, and fuck with each other the way only brothers do; we get to go back in time. Even if it's only for a night.

My father has one brother, and they rarely speak. That's what years, distance - life - can do. I can't imagine that happening to us, even though as of today, I haven't spoken to Scott in weeks since he moved to a new apartment in Crofton. Where do we find the time? Besides, I will see him(and the rest) at Thanksgiving. Right?

I hope that photograph is never the only reminder I have family.