If Only I Could Write This Post In The Tiniest Font Possible: This Is Happiness.

In 2001, the Turtle graduated from the Brown School, a member of my first freshman class and the only group of kids who had me, and only me, as their English teacher - poor souls. In 2018, Jon flies to Syracuse where he has work to do up north in Fort Drum, and he asks, "Frog, any chance you'll be in Syracuse this weekend."

Nope. But the Eagle is there. Chitunga. They met a couple of years ago when we toured the University of Louisville and Chitunga decided, "Nope, not for me." Secretly, I wanted Tunga to walk on to the football team, but I'm thrilled he didn't go. He now has Syracuse in his blood.

Chitunga picked up Jon at Hancock International and took him to the Clam Bar. The report was some guy named Bill took the photo - well, Chitunga said, "Let's call him Bill."

Jon's been in Syracuse before when a van of No More Violence stopped at my parents on the way to the Mohawk Valley BOCES to do a workshop. He was a teenager then, and now he is in his 30s, married, and with two kids.

This is the magic of life, and the two of them are the 'still waters run deep' types. I'm not sure what they talked about at the Clam Bar, but I hoped they ate well.

Jon went to Eastern Kentucky State University, ran track, and made a career in psychology. He's the original recipient of Perks of Being a Wallflower, and I absolutely loved having him for four years - my dog-sitter when I went to Japan and Denmark and the kid I always said would be family for life.

He's still family.

And his handwriting was the tiniest crap I ever read. He was a brilliant thinker, but he wrote so small and always in pencil or light pen. All of my eye problems today, I can blame on him!

The photo: Chitunga and Jon at the Clam Bar in North Syracuse, New York, is absolutely classic. I could spend the rest of this morning writing about it, but I could not capture how wonderful I think this photograph actually is. I hate that I wasn't with them, but love the fact that they had to make small talk (probably tiny, minuscule dialogue that both of them had to desperately pull out of one another) hopefully over sea food and a beer.

Here's to the strange way the Great Whatever works. Now, I need to get back to work.