I hate myself.
Maybe that’s why we get along.
High school was sorta traumatic, what with me killing a couple of friends in a car crash, doing jail time, and then going to university and hiding myself in my studies so that I eventually became a prof.
But I was always an asshole.
Over the years I’ve reconnected with some of those Brantford friends – facebook can be wonderful – and am grateful to learn what I never expected.
My high school friend Bob, who was always there for me, sent me a note the other day, saying, “And that’s why you are loved. If it helps I now cook all bbq with a thermometer-because of you-and the food is better; cross contaminated perhaps, but better tasting.
What an unexpected and kind thing to say.
Changing the world, one thermometer at a time (Chapman, I’m running out).
It’s really hard for me to accept love, for whatever reason.
But if I can coach hockey and be lineman for my first game, with people screaming at me, then maybe I can welcome some love too.