Friends Named Cheva

     I like friends.  I have a friend who now lives in North Carolina coming to see me on Monday.  It may not sound like a story for a blog but this friend is special.  And special friends are hard to come by and they always come with a story.  Friends become special when you share exciting, happy, sad or fun times.  Much was exciting when we were young and full of piss and vinegar. 

     I have many friends and they all don’t live in the neighborhood I grew up in.  Marc was someone who took me under his wing when I showed up to a new job.  I was young, probably not even twenty.  I was confident and sure of myself but sometimes that is tested in certain situations.  My job had taken me from Spain to Boston Massachusetts.  My job was to be a sailor on a tin-can destroyer.  A great chance to work hard and the opportunity to play hard.  On the first day on my new ship I rolled into the mess (cafeteria) at lunch and was confronted with the need to find a friendly place to sit.  And like a new kid in high school “who the fucks the new guy” was an anthem that appeared to be playing out with the sailors around me.  One guy with a broad smile, surrounded by other jovial sailors, looked up and said “Hey come on over and sit here.”  So as to make room for me on the bench he pushed himself left and then pushed himself to his right moving other guys . 

     He introduced himself to me as “Marc, but my friends call me Cheva” and asked me what my name was and what my job was on the ship.  I introduced myself as “John and I’m a Boatswains Mate.”  With a thunderous clap on my back he said “Johnny Boats, welcome to the USS Edson.”  The details of our conversation during that lunch escape me but that moment never will.  Neither will the nickname.  Twenty two years have passed since that moment and apparently neither will our friendship.  I like friends.