War Stories

Tales of personal experiences, often overcoming a challenge, hardship, peril or other obstacle. Best when shared with others. The second sentence is more mine than the first. Last week, I attended a women’s college basketball game. Not the hottest ticket in town but a friend’s daughter was playing and I was there to support them. That was appreciated because, like my son’s college swim meets, the audience is largely family and friends. Afterwards, a group of us went out for an informal dinner. The older folk discussed the coming holidays, the price of gas and other “adult topics,” virtually oblivious to the young women at that point. The latter were exchanging insights about the game; things no spectator could’ve picked up. One had a contact lens go wonky while taking foul shots. Another accidentally tripped an opponent and it didn’t get called. The opposition’s number five was wearing cologne that would wake up a dead mule. I knew some of this would be retold and enjoyed for years if not decades. My friend caught me eavesdropping. “War stories,” he whispered. “Bet you miss that since you retired.” True. I’ve been lucky to share some good times with great people on the job. While a lot of us stay in touch, it isn’t the same as the weekly beer after work. The same is true with old class and team mates. Few things compare to the ride home in the team bus after a game. I suppose it helps that we never lost. Fortunately, the one tie was a home game. Even then, it was played under monsoon-like conditions that turned the field into a swamp and would be rich fodder for future stories of epic proportion. There I go, digressing into one of those sagas. I pondered my friend’s observation for a few days, wondering why I hadn’t felt the pang. Then, I kayaked with some friends in our paddling group. We went for a late lunch afterwards. And there they were. The war stories. A rich vein of ten years worth of laughs, missteps and wondrous experiences. Enjoyed together over a decade. Like whiskey, they get better with age. So that’s plugging the gap that work would’ve filled. Thankfully so. War stories are part of the glue that binds us together.