My Friend

If everyone reached out as far as he does, there would be no wars, no poverty and no hunger, of spirit, or body. The world would be one of compassion, love and those random acts of kindness that keep people slightly off kilter and in line.

How does one grow a man like this? Intelligent, kind, creative, reasonable? Do we give the credit to his mother, or someone else? Surely he did not get here alone and yet, knowing what I do, I find that quite possible. Whatever the formula, we need to discover it before one more child grows up without it.

Perhaps it was a series of helping hands along the way, each one adding just a bit more to a man who is already generous beyond understanding. He seems to give back to this world with an abandon that would leave most of us fearing for ourselves.

I am hard put to find any fault in him at all. Yet, I know it is there because he is so very exquisitely human. Both his tears and his rants adding to the perfection of his humanity, making him one of the most approachable people I have ever met.

I call him my friend, but the reality of that leaves me in an almost constant state of wonder.