I’m a firm believer in printing what you’re passionate about. It’s why I write about sports, pro wrestling (which, as we all know, is TECHNICALLY “sports entertainment”), good music, etc.

I’m also passionate about my home life, my friends, and, as weird as it is to state publicly, to a “lesser extent,” my faith. I’m one of those C, E, and SO Catholics (Christmas, Easter, and special occasions, like when my grandparents recently celebrated their 65th wedding anniversary, which I think is the Pacemaker Anniversary…). I have a great home life with a wonderful wife whom I adore. We have our differences, sure, but if I were stuck with one person for the rest of my life, I’d choose her again. I do very little around the house. I take out the trash, do some laundry, do the dishes on occasion, and when it’s the right season, I sort of insist on mowing the lawn. I also help take care of our “child,” a 45-pound hound named Lucky. But when you think about it, I really don’t do a lot, and I know I could certainly do more. Oh, and I do cook an occasional AWESOME meal.

Lucky - she's cute, in a destructive sort of way.

Then there is the issue of my friends. And here is why I’m writing tonight at near 1am instead of crawling into bed with my sleeping bride and the dog (who, despite our attempts, insists on sleeping in between the two of us). I was driving home from podcasting tonight (www.bigkev.fm) when I came to the realization that, at some of my friends’ most important times, I haven’t been there for them.

I am an individual who firmly believes that it is not just our actions that define us, but our non-actions as well.

Which brought me to the conclusion of “I can, at times, be a shitty friend.” When my best friend was stepping up to what was the biggest day of his life at that time, his wedding day, he asked me to be there. And I wanted to be there. This, after all, was the guy who stood by me at the altar when I said “I do.” This was the guy who fell asleep guilt-free the night of my bachelor party when I was up puking all night telling my soon-to-be wife that it was “all RJ’s fault” (a claim he’ll never live down). I told my friend that I couldn’t be there because I couldn’t get off work. Why couldn’t I get off work? I forgot to request the time off. That’s it. Joe, Danielle, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I failed as a friend, and I failed on an epic scale.

I’m not looking for any sympathy, my words here should not convey one to thoughts of the sort. I know that I have grown more in the last six months than I had the five years prior. And yet, sometimes, I catch myself wondering if I’ve grown into the kind of man I was raised to be.

As a writer, sometimes words flow freely, and sometimes they need a nudge. Sometimes we get the speeches of grandeur worked up in our minds, but they don’t always gravitate to the page, err, screen that way.

In high school, I often would lay in bed at night wondering what would be said of me if I didn’t wake up that next morning. I’m sure it’s something most teens do, or did. I often wonder about my legacy – how would I be remembered?

I know I don’t want to be the guy known as not being there for his friends. I want others to know they can count on me, as I can count on them. I’ve been fortunate in my life to have some amazing friends. I hope that – to those who call me “friend,” – I can be equally amazing.

The muse doesn’t always tell me how to end a written work – so I’ll keep it simple this time and say only this:

Thank you to the people who have entered my life and hung around, and also, thank you to those who, for whatever reason didn’t stick around, but made an impact nonetheless. And… thanks to those of you who put up with me and my shenanigans on a regular basis. I know it’s not an easy task and you don’t get paid nearly enough.

Speaking of not getting paid nearly enough… no, that’s a blog for another time.

If you’re wondering why I tagged “Superman” and “John Williams,” it’s because it’s playing on the iTunes right now. That is all.