We all have memories of long ago friends. Those memories often shape who we are, adding a touch of joy here, a bit of laughter there. Over the years the details may diminish, but somehow the ideas remain. Like unused bookmarks in our cerebral web browser, they might sit for years without being used.
Sometimes, if we are lucky, we reconnect with our old friend after years of absence and realize the friendship never wavered. Better still, we learn the old friend has weaved in and out of our lives ever so closely, yet never so close as to be noticeable. We have unknown shared histories waiting to be explored.
This post is about one such person in my life.
Bob is the tall kid in the back row. I’m the second tallest boy, wearing the preppy red sweater.
I walked into Mrs. Martini’s first grade class at Booksin Elementary School and had no idea what to expect. This was real school, not that kindergarten stuff. I knew a few of the guys in the class — my great friend and neighbor Greg Boydston most importantly. But ever the introvert, I was anxious.
One big guy stood out. He was the only guy taller than me, with mopish hair and a freckled face that smiled often if shyly. In time he became a good friend.
It was Bob Goff.
Over the years we had several classes together. Seems like Bob and I spent a lot of our time standing in line next to each other because teachers lined us up alphabetically. After school we would hang out together, play baseball, ride bikes, and do all the things that kids did back in the day. It was a good friendship because we both loved to laugh and enjoy life.
I moved just before high school and eventually lost touch with Bob. It wasn’t until years later — decades, actually — that we reconnected. Curiously, we found out our lives had unknowingly revolved around each other in dozens of ways.
For instance, Bob’s law school roommate had been a college classmate of mine. One of Bob’s early publications was a contribution to the book Zealous Love, which also included a chapter by my daughter Rachel and was edited by her friends from Westmont. Or there was the time I was sharing the PathLight story to a group of potential donors when one of them said, “You know who you should meet? This guy named Bob Goff…” There was even the time I heard Bob speak at the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington D.C., but somehow didn’t realize it was the same Bob Goff I had met in first grade!
Like I said, our lives have floated around each other, often overlapping but never making the others presence known.
It took an email about Mrs. Martini, our old first grade teacher, to reconnect us. Anther guy from that class, Greg Yoder, had met with her and sent out an email to those of us from the class. I saw Bob’s email address and thought, “Wow, really, it’s the same Bob Goff?” So I dropped him a note. That was about 4 years ago.
Since then we have discovered all the parallels in our lives. Bob and I lived by faith and have been active in various churches and ministries as we tried to live as followers of Jesus. We married the loves of our youth and have considered ourselves lucky ever since. Bob became a successful attorney. I did well in real estate. Bob did wild and crazy things. I did a few too. Bob started a program in Uganda to help at-risk kids. I started one in Belize.
From the moment we arranged to connect in a hotel lobby on the East Coast a couple of years ago, I knew we’d be laughing like old friends quickly. There’s no way we couldn’t when one of the first things he said after not seeing me for decades was, “I gave up pop tarts and lost tons of weight.” Bob is hilariously random like that, and I love him for it. As Bob recently told somebody, he had his first sleepover at my house. Those are the kinds of memories you don’t forget, that shape you, that create a deep friendship that should never go away.
So you might be asking why I’m writing about Bob now. That’s simple — because he has a new book, and I think you should read it.
Love Does: Discover a Secretly Incredible Life in an Ordinary World
Besides, you’ll get a laugh out of this stories about his childhood. I remember that black eye he came to school with. And that fight he had in seventh grade? I think I had one with the same bully.
Bob is a blessing. Love Does is his gift to us. So buy it, read it, and then drop him a note about how he still owes me a nickel for the popsicle I bought for him in 1965.
