Seven non-strangers, picked to attend a bachelor party in Indianapolis, where people stopped getting nice and instead got nicer. No stereotypical bachelor party, we. But growing up, we apparently are.
I thought of the first bachelor party I attended, five years ago. We went golfing. We ate. We drank. We played video games. And at my most recent bachelor party, we went golfing. We ate. We drank. We played video games.
But oh, how things have changed in the meantime.
Two of the attendees of the most recent one are married. One has a child, which enabled him to provide our, uh, “party bus”:
Another just got his PhD. Another is in med school. Another is studying to become a nurse practitioner.
Five years ago, the party was at that groom’s parents’ house. This time, it was based at this groom’s apartment, which he will soon share with his bride. Five years ago, we were up virtually all night. This year, it was a struggle to make it to 2 a.m. Back then, we all had hair. Now, grrrrrrrrrrrrrr. (It’s a sore spot.) Five years ago, we mostly lived close to each other and could hang out easier; now, not so much. We’ve had some dropoffs and some additions to the circle of friends, and we’ve had our own personal ups and downs.
But at the core, the fundamentals of our friendship still hold. We have more in common than we do different (in most but not all cases, our Catholic faith being a significant part of that). Serious disagreements are rare and almost never blow up out of proportion.
We don’t get to hang out too much anymore. We’re spread farther apart than we used to be, and some of us have families and busy jobs. But if things went down, you bet your bottom dollar we’d be there for each other. And you can’t ask for much better than that.