I was 19, and you were 20 the first time we met in your little room next door to mine.  In retrospect, I felt an immediate kinship that I know now to be the explorer spirit, ironic since I hadn't yet realized I was one too.  And now, all these years later,  I count you amongst my dearest friends.  You have the uncanny ability to transport me back to being 19, and without fail, our visits are laden with laughter as we recall those post class drives away from the microcosm of campus and up into the Blue Ridge mountains and all the other shenanigans that ensued.  The fact you always had fishing gear in your trunk impressed my father immensely.   Years later after he started calling you Dr. and only Dr., I realized he talked with you in ways he never spoke to any of my other friends.   I love how much you meant to him as much as I love watching you now with your wife spread kindness to my mother and Lucy.  Every year, I call you on this day to wish you a Happy Birthday and pronounce that you are older than me.  It gives me great joy for the three months to the day for which it is a truth.  This routine, this regimen, this anniversary, is one of my treasures in a chest of them.