Manhood, brotherhood, and U.S. Canadian Relations

I've been blessed in life with many good male friends.

Maybe none so much as a fellow that lives just outside Toronto, Canada.

He is a man I trust and love. If someone has to hold my heart during thoracic surgery, I would choose him.

Of all my male friends, I think he's the only one I've slept with.

Not like that.

There was only one hotel room. It was in his name. And we shared.

No spooning. No cuddling.

He drew the line the next morning with a note.

"I love you, but don't touch my toothbrush."

This is such a good man and such a good father.

Here's how good he is.

One Easter years ago, he and his wife had put their kids to bed on Easter eve.

His wife suggested that he might go out then and put out the Easter eggs.

Being a man, he said he would do it in the morning before the kids got up.

When his wife nudged him awake the next morning, he looked outside and there was a foot of snow on the ground where they live in the countryside of Canada.

My hero went to his garage. He found wood and his bandsaw.

He cut out oversized bunny feet and strapped them on.

He hopped thru the snow to hide the eggs to keep the dream alive.

That's a man. That's a father.

But he is also a friggin' Canadian.

He played hockey like us Americans play baseball and basketball.

He has actually curled.

So, today, the U.S. vs. Canadian hockey game was a test of everything we've been thru.

In true men's style, we bet.

And I made the stakes.

Loser has to kiss the winner's butt in front of Macy's Herald Square.

Oh, Lord, Ryan Miller. If you'd only closed the 5 hole.

Photo opps will be available sometime soon for the payoff.

I'm just hoping the Canadian requirement for French acknowledgement isn't imposed.