A long time ago I stepped into a foreign land known as the friend zone.
It was uncharted waters. Mountains yet to be climbed, coupons soon to be clipped…yes, I’ll stop.
Like any kid new to the game I had no idea such a thing existed and when it ended I was positive I was the only one in the history of human existence to live through such a thing.
As time passed I was grateful for the experience. I was the type of kid who made a mistake, learned and stopped myself from repeating it.
Fool me once as the old saying goes.
What’s in a name?
Years later it happened again but this time there were no games. She was a great friend and I was the luckiest kid on the planet.
The story would have ended beautifully had it not been for one tiny wrinkle:
Her father’s name.
He may have told me his first name the day we met or she may have said it at another time or place but for the life of me I could not remember.
A simple solution would have been to ask. An explanation that I’m terrible with names. We should all have a permanent name tag embedded in our forehead. Don’t laugh, I think it’s a great idea.
A little messy but great.
I’ll take Mr. French’s first name for $100
The problem would have been solved in seconds. An embarrassing laugh and a promise to remember her father’s name would have smoothed out the embarrassing wrinkle.
But who says I’m a problem solver?
I was known in her family as the polite boy. The only one who addressed the father of the house by his last name.
Sure, I knew her mom’s first name, her sisters, the cats and dogs and the rabbit that liked to nibble on my shoe.
But her dad’s name was a no-show
I tried to be creative. I would ask people around town if they knew him. I would listen closely hoping his name was called out. Every ounce of creativity and imagination ended in epic failure.
As time has passed I have made it a mission, a bucket list if you will, to solve this pesky mystery.
Yes, I can hear say, why don’t you simple ask but where is the challenge in that?
I don’t do cemeteries
Sadly, this good man died twenty years ago. Yes, I could pay a visit to his grave but I prefer memories instead.
That in of itself is a post of its own.
So the question is this – Do I really need to know his first name? Will that mystery take away the spark of who he was?
He was an excellent father to my friend and her sisters, a wonderful husband and a good friend to me. He also liked rabbits.
But damn it! What the hell was his first name!
On the bright side I will go down in history as the polite kid and if I can walk away with that, I’ll take it.
Happy Friday Everyone!!!!