A reconciliation?

The summer after I officially graduated from high school, I took a second job at "Wiener Take All." "Wiener" was a fast food place in town, that sold burgers, Polish and Italian sausage, pizza puffs, fries, onion rings, cheese balls, and mozzarella ticks, and of course, hot dogs. I was originally hired as the delivery driver for their entrance into the pizza business. It was an easy job. In between deliveries, I got to hang out with my friends who owned and worked at the restaurant. Tony Bondi and Dave Silvestri are two of the four people who also have "BBG" tattoos.

Dave was a lifelong friend. Someone who was more like a brother than a friend. He was six years older than me, originally my brother Darrell's friend from junior high. But eventually raising above the ranks of regular friendship with everyone in my immediate family. Tony was originally my neighbor's boyfriend--it was the scandal of the circle, being that Tony was several years older than Sharon--and our circle of friends opened up and accepted him easily into the mix. Tony owned the store with a guy named Al, and hired Dave to be the manager.

Eventually, the company expanded, and bought another place, "Frato's" (Frank and Tony's). When they bought the restaurant, they kept the name because it had a good, solid reputation. I would work for Al and Tony on and off during college (winter and summer breaks, occasional weekends when they needed me and I was available), eventually running the place my final summer before moving to Arizona.

I have fond memories of my time at Wiener Take All and Frato's. They were the places that helped define who I am. They were the places where I would go to connect with the people that meant something to me at the time. We would work together, and often they were the after hours meeting places. We would hang out, listen to music, sing, drink beer, laugh, and dream.

As you age, life gets in the way. When I came back from Arizona and started working for ManorCare (the place where I met and fell in love with my wife, Cyndi), I could not keep my connection with Frato's, no matter how much I wanted to. The nursing home became my primary source of income, and I could not put something else before this commitment.

My falling out with Tony stems from this idea. One day, he called and asked me to cover for him a couple of nights. I agreed to help. I was easily able to work the first night, jumping right in and just like riding a bike, I knew what I was doing. However, I had to call Tony early the next day to break my promise to him. I knew I was not going to be able to make the drive from Libertyville to Schaumburg in time to cover the last shift. Tony was not happy, understandably. This, I believe, is what severed a long friendship.

I have not seen Tony in eight years. Tonight, I ran into someone we mutually knew during my time as a hot dog slinger. I have not seen this guy for probably 15 years, but I recognized him right away. We used to call Terry "The Juice Man." We talked tonight for a few minutes and he told me that he still sees Tony on a regular basis; yesterday, in fact. He told me that Tony's mother passed away about six months ago. She, too, worked at both places. We all called her, "Ma." Terry told me that Tony is struggling with losing his mother. He's having a tough time.

I get it. He's grieving. The softer side of me wants to reach out, reconcile, walk into Frato's and let him know I'm sorry for his loss. Death is a cruel part of life, but sometimes it brings people closer together.

It also brings them back.