T-pisode 217: Boys To Gentlemen

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Real men drink shots of sambuca and toast to everything
Real men drink shots of sambuca and toast to everything

It’s not often that I get the chance to have a night out with my cousins like I used to. Life has changed who we are and has placed each of us in different places. Not in different physical places. Just in different places in our lives. Trying to get a single man in his 30s living in the city; a single man in his 20s living with his parents; a married man and a father of three living in the suburbs and coming up on 10 years married; a soon to be married man and a father of one from the suburbs; and a man in a long-term serious relationship together is almost impossible. Five guys who were once boys and have now become grown men. Friends. Cousins. Brothers.  A night out used to be debauchery. Chaos. Trouble. Mayhem. That was when we were little boys. This time around we were going out as gentlemen.

The five of us gathered at a new bar in my Fenway neighborhood. There was no itinerary for the night. The only prerequisite? To come out and enjoy the night as five men. No outsiders. No women. No club. No loud music. No grungy bar. No games on the TV. We got a table. We always get tables. We sat. We ordered the first round. And that’s when it started. The wait staff immediately knew that this was no normal gathering among a group of guys. We weren’t rookies looking to get laid. To get hammered. To fight. To cause trouble. We were veterans. We had the scars, the experience and loud war stories to prove it. Anyone near our table could hear the tales. Could hear the laughter. Could hear the respect and love we had for each other in the tones of our voices. We took over the place without trying. There was no food ordered that night. Just the liquid of the gods. Alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. That night each of us indulged in my Signature Drink. To the point where we stopped calling them Jack & Gingers and just ordered T-blawgs. Then the ordering stopped and the waitress just knew to bring them over when one of us started to see the bottom of the glass. We mixed up the T-blawgs with the occasional shot of ‘buca. That’s sambuca for all you non-Italians. Ok, it wasn’t the occasional shot. There were a lot of them. The younger gentlemen stopped with the shots after a few of them. They had their fill. My cousin…my best friend…my brother and I did what the two of us do best. We took it there. We kept going. We all got drunk. Not from the alcohol per say but from the night. Drunk off life. From the vibe. From how we feed off each other once we get into our zone. We told about a thousand tales. About growing up. What we did. Where we came from. Where each of us is going. We shared advice with each other from each of our very passionate perspectives. Even if it wasn’t wanted at times but was definitely appreciated and occasionally very needed. About life. About family. About women. About love. About failure. About success. If the five of us were vikings after a long hard fought battle, this is what the celebration would be like. If we were King Arthur and his knights seated at his round table, this is how the accumulation of many victorious battles would be celebrated. This was a night that was necessary.

After hours and hours of doing what we do better than most, the night came to an end. Or so we thought. One of us suggested some late night nourishment at an old Boston stomping ground that served food into the wee hours. At this point we were done however. Mentally. Physically. We just wanted to eat so we ate. However, this is where the young Eastie & Revere cousins still deep down inside each of us wanted to come out. To play. To leave our mark. To show the young squires & stable boys that they could never wear our armor. But to our surprise, we stayed as the gentlemen who started that night. It was time to go home. The hugs went around and the knights told each other “It was an honor serving with you good sir.” The night had ended and we vowed to do this again. A knight always keeps his vow. A gentleman always keeps his promise. Family always makes good on it’s word. So until that next gathering I say, the honor was all mine gentlemen.


Until next time. Always take it there.