The Swishers

I am apparently going through a retrospective phase of my life. I suppose this happens when you reach your forties. I am in the process of hunting people down that I knew 25 years ago. But sometimes opportunities fall in your lap. I got to spend time with the Swishers this weekend.

Butch Swisher was one of my scouting, high school buddies and friend till this day. I have done a lousy job over the years keeping track of many people from high school, but I have for some reason have kept track of Butch. For the rest of the internet audience that may be reading this he goes by Author now, but he will always be Butch.

I have teased Butch through the years and have called him Eeyore, with his rather interesting perspective on life, but he has remained a friend and not just a friend from 25 years ago.

Somewhere out there are pictures of Butch and me in Indian regalia preparing to perform an Order of the Arrow Ceremony. We inducted his little brother Michael to the Brotherhood in 1983. We were both delegates to the Model United Nations in High School. Luck would have it he would go to Texas Christian University so he has remained in North Texas since 1985. Since then we have played bad rounds of golf, many hours of video games, gone to football games, and random other events. As the years have gone by, we don’t see each other as much as we should, but we still communicate.

Carol and I went to McKinney on Saturday afternoon and got to visit the entire Swisher family. Col. Swisher and Dr. Sallie Swisher were visiting from Florida and were at Michael’s house in McKinney. We have not seen Butch’s parents since our wedding.

The matriarch of the Swisher Family, Dr. Swisher, was my second mom when I was in High School. The Swishers lived right across from the high school and we would spend many of lunch hours eating in her kitchen or as a weigh point on the way home. I always let myself in the Swisher home, with a quick knock and announce my presence. I would wander into the kitchen and visit with Mrs. Swisher before finding Butch. In retrospect, I have come to realized that the school pscyolisits that was Butch’s mom, doubled as my therapist. She was always asking questions of “Why do you feel that way? Or how does that make me feel?” She was always easy to talk to and still is to this day.

It was a glorious afternoon of sharing old stories and catching up to where our families our now. Times like this I have come to cherish.