Every time I walk past an American Legion building in a nearby town, there are always a couple of grizzled dudes hanging around outside. Sometimes they’re smoking. Other times, they’re tinkering under the hood of a 10-year old Buick or polishing a spit-shiny Goldwing. When I peer through the darkened windows of the place, I can see a handful of guys watching a game. Snatches of conversation punctuated by the occasional shouted instructions of the coaches hugging the barstools floats out of the door. The place has the feeling of a comfortable living room, and the guys who hang out there give me the impression many of them are like family to one another.
I envy those guys. [Read more]