We Were Free

My old man called me while I was on my way into work the other day- whenever that happens I always think that someone died or he has to tell me he's got some disease- he just doesn't call much. Well he did tell me that someone died, his best friend had a heart attack while driving and crashed into a house...now I don't remember ever meeting this friend of my Dad's, but I respect the hell out of the way he went out...that's pretty rock star.

But the purpose of the call was to ask me if I remembered a particular weekend from my childhood when he and all of his childhood buddies took their kids out to a house on the Cape and we all ran wild like a pack of ferrell dogs for two or three days. I learned how to throw a knife that weekend, I was about 10 I think.

I learned how to open a beer bottle with literally anything short of a cotton ball that you hand to me.

I talked about running away from home with my best friend Lenny.

I fell down a mountain and read a bunch of "Little Monster" comic books.

I cooked without supervision for the first time in my life.

Yeah, Pop, I remember.

I have one picture from that weekend- it's the one above. Me in my Celtics jacket, Little Mikey is the 8 year old with the knife in his mouth like a pirate, Lenny is the one with the bow and arrow and Jason is the sweet smiling 7 year old that grew up to be a 6'5" linebacker for Pitt. I haven't seen any of the people in this picture in almost 10 years. I haven't seen Lenny in probably closer to 15.

But I remember.

My Dad recently had another birthday- he lies about his age on Facebook, but I know how old he really is- and his closest friend is gone, he's three times divorced, he's a hell of a sweet guy and I'm just like him, for good and bad- I'm charming as hell, but riddled with neuroses.

I wonder if when I'm in my 60's and I have another birthday, if I'll think about this day and want to call someone?

My Dad said that that weekend would be one of the freest times I'll ever have in my life. And he's right and I thought about that all day. It depressed the fuck out of me to be honest. Everywhere people talk about freedom and being free and thanks to my Old Man I realized that the older you get the less free you'll ever be. You're attached to your memories and your regrets and your fears and prejudices...and, honestly? That's OK. I think that it is all up to you how you choose to remember your life, mourn your losses and that if you can figure out how to be ok with it all, you might just get somewhere at the end of the day.

And maybe that's the great freedom conundrum...you can't figure out how to be free until you remember you already are...