Tomorrow is the beginning of a bro trip for me.
Nine of us will meet for a weekend on a beach somewhere in America. We grew up together and still gather the whole group once a year for maximum bro time.
There will be disc golf. There will be golf golf. There will be a live fantasy football draft.
We’ll eat well. The nine of us grew up on the Gulf coast in Alabama. Seafood will rule the weekend. One of my brüs is a chef and another should be. Few people will eat as well as I will this weekend.
We’ll listen to 90’s rap music that makes us think we were much cooler than we were. We’ll talk about staying up late playing Goldeneye, Mario Party and NFL Blitz and drinking more Mountain Dew than any one person really should.
We’ll rehash stories that have been told a million times. And we’ll laugh again at details we forgot. We’ll give each other shit for past follies and transgressions.
We’ll talk mainly about our kids. And how they remind us of when we were young. And how kids these days have it both so easy and so hard while we nod our heads to look like the years have imparted some wisdom into our thick skulls.
We’ll toast to each other’s continued successes in life, and we’ll pour one out for what we’ve lost.
And then it will be over again, and we’ll go back.
Back to being dads, back to being husbands, back to work, back to the lives we’ve built as we’ve grown up to take on the world.
But we’ll go back to these places firm in the knowledge that some good friends have our backs too.