You've got a friend in me!

As humans, we crave affiliation, connection, and familiarity, so when we finally secure true friendships, the kind that can be placed on hold, seemingly indefinitely, and restarted with a nod, grin, or jab, we grasp those reins with a vice-like grip, and do everything in out power to ensure those in the circle understand their value. Like singer Randy Newman's little ditty You've got a friend in me, made famous as the theme song from Pixar's 1995 "Toy Story", we need to be reminded every once in a while that we can rely on some in our lives to have our backs. Building friendships like the ones we cultivated during my years at Barrie Central takes time, allegiance, and consternation, the roots running deep, the limbs spreading to capture the life-giving light of kinship, a longevity of decades the goal.

With the passing of Canada Day 2023, 16 bosom buddies marked the completion of the school year with an annual pilgrimage northward along the byways of Muskoka. Ox Narrows the destination, we rendezvous at the cottage of one of my bestest buddies, Ron Andrews, for the Barrie Central Boy's Cottage Bash on the forested shores of Kushog Lake. Marking the 11th time in 14 years (Covid, eh?), we push our familial responsibilities to the side to celebrate those cherished bonds, reacquaint with the like-minded, revisit the memorable, shine the lustre of the figurative chains that bind our collective. We inevitably find ourselves gasping for oxygen as our diaphragms spasmed thanks to gems of the purest hilarity like, as so eloquently offered by one of those colleagues, "monkeys discovering ice cream". 

I've written at length about my feelings and opinions stemming from my years at ol' BCC so I'll beg your forgiveness at the risk of repetition, but I arrived home in the Beach this year with a profound sense of contentment that I was a part of something remarkable, something that i'd wager very few high schools can lay claim to, and that connection spurred me to share thoughts surrounding it's glowing warmth. 

We're quite the eclectic bunch, if I'm honest.

Stemming from a wide assortment of backgrounds, talents, lineages, and experiences, the one unifying force is the genuine affinity we share for each other's company, the pure delight of proximity evident on the group's faces as we arrive in shifts thanks to the water-locked nature of our host's Muskoka oasis, his 'tinny' the only means with which to join in the festivities. Our highlighter-green tank tops, custom designed and produced, emblematic of both location and remembrance, easily identify the members of our cadre from across the water's expanse. Our group is a reflection of the high school halls that spawned us with stereotypical groups like jocks, techies, artsies, rockers, and academics represented, creating a gloriously Canadian Multicultural regiment of educational warriors, some retired, some still toiling in the trenches, but all a part of an exclusive fraternity that no longer pledges members with the wrecker's ball fate of our beloved alma mater.

Considering both the consanguinity and maturity of the group, the well lubricated gears instantaneously spin at dizzying speeds as the good natured scurrilousness of our banter results in belly laughs that echo down the lake with ferocious intensity. No one is spared, but all accept the barbs with a sheepish grin and a school boy giggle, the tables quickly turning on the tormentor as familiar themes of discussion are dredged from our grey matter. No topic nor persona escapes our collective, highlights and lowlights of our shared experience the logs that fuel the flames of our delight. Like any quality gathering, the fare is potluck with waves of deliciousness the target of delighted appetites that would never populate dietary recommendation lists. With each left to his own devices on choice of beverage and protein, the afternoon on the dock is punctuated by PHSSSST, MMMMM, and HaHaHaHa while the sun shines high in the horizon. With yet another glorious Kushog sunset, the complex smells of an assortment of BBQ fills the property and we are chased inside to escape the bloodthirsty of clouds of insects. 

The banter always extends deep into the wee hours of the night, some staying the course, others surrendering to exhaustion partly due to habit, partly due to the completion of an always hectic June. 

The morning after ALWAYS lives up to its name!

Buckets of coffee wash down the traditional breakfast hash and toast, cobwebs are swept out of the grey matter, sunglasses are worn religiously as antidote to the glare, and the conversations pick up right where they left off. Attempts at clean up are made but we all know that our steps will be retraced by Ron when we're gone, the inevitable result of 16 well lubricated old farts inside 900 square feet of shelter, and we struggle to adequately show him our gratitude for continuing to share his little slice of heaven with us. At the close, all that remains are the warm embraces and thanks for another epic night of friendship.

To my 'Brothers from another Mother', please know that your continuing allegiance means the world to me, and I truly hope that we will continue to celebrate our little fraternity for years to come.