Twenty-some years ago, God created an unlikely group of friends on the north side of Houston. The group was quite large, however the core of the group were known only by their nicknames. Chris was the “Bomber,” Todd was “Hutch,” Todd was “T-Dog,” and Dave was “D-Man.” I was (and still am) “The Jerman.” The group did something together every weekend…and I do mean EVERY weekend. Of course, the Bomber emerged as our benevolent leader because he knew everybody, everywhere, and knew where to find the fun. Suffice to say, his enthusiasm for living life and having fun was a force to contend with. On any given weekend, you could find us trying to eat the “World’s Biggest Burger,” playing water volleyball, hanging out at the 19th Hole (drinking beer and playing trivia), taking a trip to a new ice house, bar-b-qing, or dining at the latest and greatest Mexican restaurant. And God forbid if you weren't into going on one of his adventures…Chris would hound you to try to convince you that you were about to have more fun than you’ve ever had. Interestingly though, all of Chris’ “field trips” were simply extra-credit fun on top of the group’s main passion- bowling. Nearly every Saturday, we’d have dinner and head to the Woodlands bowling alley for a night of rock and roll bowl…complete with black lights and glow in the dark pins. And despite the distractions of the alley we competed, we laughed, we had fun… An interesting twist to our regular mandatory bowling nights (that kept us all coming back) was that Chris knew the bowling alley manager. I kid you not, every Saturday night he would patrol the lanes to find a bowling lane next to a group of girls and then would work his magic with the manager to assign us near them (he probably bribed him with free coffee, I'm just sayin'...) And, believe it or not, the Bomber’s evil plan worked…I met a girl who became my best friend and I am happily married to her this day. Unfortunately, we all had to grow up. The group drifted apart…we got married, we had kids, we transferred away. I tried to keep in touch, but it happened only occasionally. And yet, on the few times I spoke with Chris, I somehow hung up the phone energized, more enthusiastic, and happier. Despite having lost touch, I have had nothing but mad love for my friend, the Bomber. I will miss you my friend. I will be forever thankful for how your craziness enriched my life. And so I close with just one warning to my dear departed friend: Please don’t try to convince me Heaven is fun. I’m just not ready yet. Until we meet again, The Jerman