By JOHN JAMES MARSHALL/Designated Writers

We were together three weeks ago, somewhere about 20 miles from nowhere. It was one of those weekends as a not-yet-senior male adult that you dream about and lives up to every expectation you had. A group of friends you’ve had for decades and who know you so well they remember things about you that you don’t even remember. There was lots of golf, lots of food and beverage and even more BS. But mostly it was an opportunity just to be together, because you never really know when you’ll get opportunities like it ever again.

I really hope you go back and read that last sentence one more time.

Three weeks later, one of us in the group has suffered an unspeakable tragedy with the loss of an adult child. In the blink of an eye, everything in his life changed. Earlier this year, he also lost his father, but that was an end-of-life passing. There was no preparing for this.

And so all of my idle thoughts this week — and I do mean all — have been for my friend and his family. I prayed like I’ve never prayed before, even though it was for a young woman whom I had barely even met.

I’ve thought about how normal his life seemed three weeks ago. How we were all moving into a new decade of age and just laughing it off as best we could. As if that was the biggest problem we all had to face.

And then it all changed. Every one of us who gathered last month has had to go through pain and sadness and life-changing moments. But not like this. Nothing is like this.

Which is why I asked you to read that first paragraph sentence again. You never really know.

I’m particularly struck by the seasonal timing of what has happened. Without wanting to appear to be finger-wagging, there are mothers and fathers we all know who are agonizing about dropping their kids off at college these days. (I’ve been in those shoes three times.) And how it seems like the hardest thing you’ll ever had to do. Sure, it’s tough. No, you can’t really prepare for it. It is a big moment, no question. Very tough to drive away.

However that lump in your throat is going to go away. They’ll call, you’ll text and there will be a FaceTime probably before you even get home. But you’ll get back to normal.

Just be thankful that you can.

By TEDDY ALLEN/Designated Writers

Never had a stye

In my eye.

I will not lie.

No not I.

But…

(I’ll have

Pastrami

On rye.

Don’t ask me why.

Since I don’t even like pastram-eye.)

In the bye and bye

Maybe I

Will have a stye

Like a big pizza pie

That’s amore!

(With apologies to Dr. Seuss. And I apologize for the breakdown in iambic pentameter..)

Understandably, that ‘poem’ makes little sense. Even though it does sort of rhyme.

(I love Dr. Seuss but I am still a bit p’o’ed at him for writing a bestseller using only 26-or-so words and making more money than he can count. Doctors!)

The point is, my boy child had a stye this week. It’s been growing for several months. When he thought it might become a third eye or second nose, he went to the eye doctor. I went with him, for moral support. And because he couldn’t see.

A stye, i understand from studying up, is an oil gland that has become backed up. Sort of like a pimple on your eye lid. The opposite of joy. My guy’s grew until it was the size of a fist. The fist of a big man’s hand.

The doctor Sir Lancelot-ed it. (Lanced it. Cut it so the ‘bad’ would come out.) And then the patient/son had a big hole in his head, right below his right eye.

The body is amazing. It’s healed itself now, with the help of a little prescribed cream.

Of course, my guy got a virus, non-eye-related, 72 hours later. Such is life.

But this is the lesson. If you THINK you are getting a stye, get a warm towel and put it on your eye to draw the bad stuff out so it won’t become an Official Stye. Then you can self-lance. That will save you a trip to the doctor, plus a co-pay.

You’re welcome.

Break!

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