Growing up, I watched my mom and Sue surround themselves with people who loved each other like family.
I knew what friendship was supposed to look like: unconditional, loyal, steady.
What I didn’t know was how rare it was to find it for myself.
Then one day, I knocked on a door expecting to see an old wrestling buddy and met two strangers instead.
That moment changed everything.
Freedom With Responsibility
When my mom moved in with Debi, I decided to stay behind and sublet the townhouse.
I found a couple of roommates and, for the first time, I was truly living on my own.
Growing up, my mom had always given me freedom. She trusted me to make my own decisions and face the consequences of those choices.
But even with that freedom, I always had something incredibly important: her steady presence.
My mom was my backstop.
No matter what, I knew she was there, loving me unconditionally, ready to help me stand back up if I stumbled.
One of the greatest privileges of my life has been the security of knowing that, even if I failed, I wouldn’t face that failure alone.
As I settled into my own place, I carried with me the lessons of my childhood.
I carried the loyalty, love, and community my mom and Sue had built around me. Even if, at times, I couldn’t see how much I still needed them.
Now, as I started this new chapter of paying bills, managing roommates, and making decisions that affected only me, I was stepping into full responsibility.
The safety net of my mom’s love was still there, but for the first time, I felt what it meant to own my life.
The Right Door
The last chapter ended with me walking away from the chaos of the Maryland City crew.
I’d made the painful decision to leave Diane, Rick, and that entire world behind because I knew it wasn’t healthy for me.
I didn’t know what would come next, only that I couldn’t keep living like that.
What I couldn’t have imagined was how quickly the next part of my life would begin and how it would start with a simple knock on a door.
One afternoon, I drove to see an old friend, Chris, a guy I used to wrestle with back at Meade.
I wanted to reconnect and maybe rekindle a friendship that had faded during the chaos of the past year and a half.
When I knocked, it wasn’t Chris who answered.
It was Dave N, a little quieter and more thoughtful, and Dave R, who was quick-witted and always ready with a joke. Dave N was Chris’s younger brother and Chris wasn’t home.
Standing in the doorway, they looked at me, then at each other, and in perfect unison asked:
“Want to come in and hang out?”
I shrugged and said,
“Sure.”
And just like that, my life changed.
It wasn’t the wrong door, just the right one opened by someone unexpected.
Becoming Dave, Dave, and Joe
From that day forward, everything was different.
Dave and Dave had been best friends since grade school.
They had their own rhythm, their own inside jokes, their own shared history.
And yet, somehow, I fit right in.
It was effortless. Like the three of us had always been meant to find each other.
In no time at all, it wasn’t just Dave and Dave anymore.
It became Dave, Dave, and Joe.
For the next two or three years, we were inseparable.
I can’t fully explain how or why it worked, it just did.
They made space for me in their world, and in doing so, they gave me something I’d never had before: true, unconditional friendship.
The First True Friends I’d Ever Had
Growing up, I had seen what friendship was supposed to look like.
My mom and Sue surrounded themselves with people who loved one another deeply.
Their friends didn’t just show up for parties or dinners, they showed up for life.
For tough times.
For celebrations.
For ordinary moments that turned extraordinary simply because they were shared.
I didn’t just see that loyalty; I felt it.
But I had never experienced it for myself.
Sure, the Maryland City crew had been my closest friends for the past year and a half.
And while I’m grateful for them, if I’m being completely honest, that was not a healthy year and a half.
It was loud, chaotic, destructive, and it certainly wasn’t leading me anywhere positive.
Dave and Dave were different.
For the first time, I had friends who saw me for exactly who I was.
Not just the surface version of me, but the whole messy, complicated picture.
Even after knowing everything about me, they stayed.
When they found out my mom was gay, they didn’t flinch.
They didn’t whisper behind my back or make crude jokes like other kids had.
Instead, they asked questions. They wanted to understand.
And in true Dave and Dave fashion, they teased me about it. But always with humor, never cruelty.
It was their way of saying,
“You’re one of us.”
And in that moment, they made me feel like it was the most natural thing in the world. A reaction I didn’t even realize I’d been longing for.
For the first time, I didn’t have to perform or pretend.
I could just be Joe. Flawed, hopeful, sometimes lost, but always loved.
Stories of Us
Oh, the memories and stories I could tell.
For a couple of years, my life revolved around Dave and Dave.
There were parties, sporting events, prom drama, new girlfriends, and breakups.
All the usual teenage and young adult chaos.
But through it all, the three of us were a constant.
And while other friends came and went, Dave and Dave were always there.
This wasn’t just friendship.
It was the foundation of the person I would eventually become.
Saturday Night All-Nighters
It started with what we called Saturday Night All-Nighters.
At the time, I was working nights at UPS, so my body clock was wired to be up all night.
Dave and Dave didn’t mind one bit. They loved the idea.
Before long, it became our weekly ritual.
Some Saturdays we’d go out first, parties, concerts, wherever the night took us, and then end up back at my townhouse. Other times, we’d start and end the night there. Either way, we always closed it down together.
People would float in and out throughout the night, Danny, Timmy, Kevin, Kelly, Sarah, Gina, Jessie, and so many others. But the three constants were always the same: Dave, Dave, and Joe.
The nights were full of cards and games, football in the grassy clearing beside the building, and endless music blasting from cheap speakers.
We’d stay up laughing and talking until sunrise. When the sun finally came up, we’d crash for a few hours, then wake up on Sunday afternoon, pile into the car, and head to 7-Eleven for Gatorade and cigarettes; because somehow, we were always out from the night before.
It wasn’t just fun. It was ritual.
A rhythm that carried us for more than a year.
The Day We Thought We Killed Dave
One of my favorite memories, at least now that enough time has passed, is the day we thought we killed Dave.
Dave R was a senior in high school, playing lacrosse.
The night before a big game, we were out and he wanted to go home early to get some rest.
But being the “great friends” we were, Dave N and I talked him into staying out with us instead.
The next morning, struggling, we dragged ourselves out of bed and went to the game to support him, feeling only slightly guilty about keeping him out past midnight.
During the game, Dave got a clean breakaway.
He was sprinting down the field with no one around him, about to score, when out of nowhere, a player from the other team blindsided him.
Everything went flying. His stick, his gloves, maybe even his soul.
He hit the ground and didn’t move.
Not even a twitch.
Dave N and I froze.
I remember looking at him, horrified, thinking:
“Oh, shit. This is all our fault.”
Finally, after what felt like forever, he stirred.
Slowly, he got to his feet, gathered his stick and gloves, and staggered off the field, stumbling more than once.
Out of respect for our friend’s pride, we didn’t speak of that incident for years.
At least not to his face.
The Quiet Nights
The parties, the games, the football in the clearing. All of that was fun.
But when I think back now, my favorite memories aren’t the wild nights.
They’re the quiet nights, when it was just the three of us.
Sometimes others were there, like Timmy or Kevin, but my clearest memories are of us sitting together, drinking Milwaukee’s Best, smoking cigarettes, and talking about everything.
Hopes, dreams, plans, fears, family, relationships, religion, politics, the news. Nothing was off the table.
We had the most open, honest conversations I’ve ever had in my life.
The best part? We didn’t have to agree.
Some of our discussions got heated. We’d argue, challenge each other, even get loud.
From the outside, it probably looked like chaos. We didn’t hold back. We’d argue, tease, and push each other’s buttons.
Stephie later told me that the first time she saw the three of us go at it, she was genuinely worried something bad was about to happen.
What she couldn’t see yet was the deep trust underneath it all. We could be brutal with each other, but it was always safe.
Those arguments always ended the same way: with laughter, smiles, and a deeper respect for one another.
The more we talked, debated, and listened, the more we understood each other.
And the more we understood each other, the stronger our bond became.
I miss those nights. Not just for the conversations, but for the rare freedom they gave us. Freedom to be completely ourselves, knowing we’d be better for it on the other side.
Three Different Worlds
Looking back, it’s almost funny how different the three of us were:
Dave N came from a traditional family. His dad was in the military, his mom worked, and they lived in a nice house in a beautiful neighborhood. He was the youngest of three kids with an older sister and brother.
Dave R came from a loud Italian Catholic family with eight kids. His house was always chaotic, and he shared a bedroom with his three brothers. He was the third oldest of the eight kids. His father was a Deacon and his mother is one of the sweetest humans I have ever met in this world.
And then there was me.
The son of a gay woman, living in a modest townhouse with just my mom.
On paper, we couldn’t have been more different.
But through countless conversations, some willingly shared, others coaxed out with patience, we built a foundation of trust that made those differences irrelevant.
The Echo of Sue and My Mom
Looking back, I realize now why this friendship felt so right.
The way Dave and Dave showed up for me wasn’t new.
It was familiar.
It was the same kind of love and loyalty I’d grown up watching in Sue and my mom’s circle of friends.
At the time, I thought I was out there forging my own path completely separate from the world I’d been raised in.
But the truth is, their lessons were still guiding me, even when I didn’t realize it.
I may have been drifting in other parts of my life, quitting jobs, unsure of my future, but when it came to choosing who I let closest to me, I chose well.
I chose them.
The Test of Time
As the years passed, one thing never changed: Dave and Dave.
Even as life pulled us in different directions, our bond stayed unshakable.
They visited us wherever we were stationed: Sault Ste. Marie, MI; Fort Pierce, FL; Wilmington, NC. And whenever we would go back to Maryland, Dave and Dave were on the top of the list of people we needed to see.
They stood beside me as best men at my wedding, and we were there for theirs.
They were there the day Courtney was born.
To my kids, they weren’t just my friends, they were true uncles.
To this day, they’re still called Uncle Dave.
Both of them.
Even now, decades later, I know that if I called either of them, no matter how many years had passed, they’d be there.
And they know the same is true in return.
Just a few weeks ago, as I write this, Dave and Dave stood beside me once again. This time at my son’s wedding.
Not just them, but their families too.
Seeing the three of us together that night, surrounded by our grown kids and the next generation of stories, was a moment that stopped me in my tracks.
It felt like looking back at that first picture of us as teenagers, standing at the start of our lives and realizing that somehow, through all the twists and turns, we’d made it here, still side by side.
As Dave R once put it:
“There is never an accusatory WHERE have you been, only a meaningful HOW have you been.”
Dave and Dave weren’t just my friends.
They were, and still are, my chosen brothers.
Through laughter, arguments, late-night talks, and endless Saturdays, we built something rare and extraordinary. The kind of bond you spend a lifetime grateful for.
Next up: Although everything was going great, I wasn’t done making questionable decisions. During the spring and summer of 1990, my life was about to shift again. And one ordinary night would change the direction of my entire future.
I want a whole book just on stories with Dave Dave, this one made me so happy to read🥲
Finally! DAVE AND DAVE ❤️❤️❤️