Remembering John

A few decades ago, at this time in the afternoon on St. Patrick’s Day, I would have been well into my third hour of drinking. My best friend and favorite drinking buddy, John, would have been right by my side, bellying up to the bar at the Tipperary Pub in Detroit.

“The Tip,” as we fondly referred to it, was where we did some of our finest drinking and studying (yes, studying) during our college years. John was the perfect accomplice in my “I don’t want or need a boyfriend” early 20s because a) everyone thought he was my boyfriend, so no one bothered me, and b) he was gay, so there was no chance of romance complicating things. The fact that he was just as wild and crazy as me certainly helped our friendship to blossom. We were inseparable, and we had the time of our lives.

So, here’s to the memory of a true friend, who would have followed me anywhere — to the Irish pub or the punk club. An entire day of drinking is well out of reach for me these days, but I’ll be raising a glass to you later, Johnny Boy. Sláinte!

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