He died in Iraq about two years ago. We hadn’t seen each other in 15 years, but for several years we were close friends. We kept in touch, on and off.
He was a very funny guy – he used to play the 16 string guitar, and he loved playing Stairway to Heaven. The first few times we heard it, we all loved it. But he only played the long version, which was well over ten minutes. We got tired of it.
The thought that crossed my mind when his face first flashed into my head was, “I bet he stopped playing the guitar”.
And I don’t want to “stop playing the guitar” either – I don’t want to stop doing what I enjoy. I don’t want to grow up, if growing up means I “stop playing the guitar”. Yeah – I’m 45 – what’s your point?