Quarter Of A Century

My Max is turning 25 today.

Middle children are awesome, no?

Earlier this year, a friend of his (who'd recently turned 40) shared a story about Max that took place four years ago.

He (let's call him Cobra) had just arrived at the recovery house that Max had been living at for two months. He, Cobra, was a fresh mess from Vancouver's East side, coming off a high in a painful way, he was waiting in the reception area for the paperwork to be filled out. Max just came and sat beside him and said hi.

Cobra was suspicious. What did this entitled, young, good-lookin' kid want? He (Cobra) had nothing to offer, and he wasn't interested in getting to know what Max's game was. He just ignored him. Max continued to stay at his side, in case Cobra wanted to talk. Cobra didn't.

Cobra kept his eyes on Max the following day, and while he seemed like a nice enough kid, he was sceptical.

Another new kid arrived. He was coming off a heroin bender and was dope sick in a serious way. Max sat at his side; simply being a presence to let the new guy know he wasn't alone. That night the new guy was sick all over his bed, and Cobra watched Max clean it up.

It was at that point he knew he wanted whatever friendship Max was offering.

He went on to share that Max is that guy. The one you can count on to be at your side. Max doesn't care how old you are, what your background is, what color your skin is, or what situation you come from.
You can count on him. To be there. And to say what needs to be said when you're making some bad decisions.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Max.

I am proud of you.
Your compassion.
Your discernment.
Your capacity to love.
Your stick-to-it-tive-ness.
Your faithfulness.
Your honesty.
Your creativity.

Your commitment to staying clean.
Your commitment to NA through service.

You are kind. Quick-witted. Ridiculously smart. And humorously sarcastic.



I love you.

Happy Birthday,
xo