Reflections: What Happens in Vegas
From near the top of the Wynn you see
Beautiful mountains, busy streets, and fancy fountains.
I’m thinking, how did these founders find this place,
And marveling at how they filled this desert space.
Thinking about how many times I’ve been here,
Had so much fun but never wanted to live there.
Ate and drank more than Kool Aid,
The best there is that’s available (man-made).
Went with an old friend, and like in the past,
We talked a lot about how friendships last.
We’re not as young as we were before,
And didn’t spend much time on the gaming floor.
We gawked a lot like tourists do,
And didn’t try too much that was brand new.
Like two old pros who’d been around,
We stuck with the stuff that was safe and sound.
Many old haunts disappeared to our alarm,
But some are there and welcomed us back with open arms.
Their age and secrets added to the charm.
And driving home we reminisced,
As we drove by the dam in the morning mist.
We talked about the days and nights gone by,
As the sun grew warm in the eastern sky.
We went back and forth with tales of glory,
And how this trip would add to the story.
How each experience shapes us,
How each experience makes us.
And I’d tell you more, but this you already know.
Although it will never plague us,
What happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas!
Editors Note: As our readers know, I edit lightly, if at all. These are our author’s stories, not mine. But I suppose, there are some instances, perhaps one-in-one-hundred, where I’m actually part of the story. In the case of this poetry from Bob Weirauch, I had the pleasure of riding shotgun with Bob from Arizona to Nevada and back a few days later.
Our story isn’t what happened on this trip or any of the dozens of conventions and business meetings we attended in Las Vegas for more than four decades. It isn’t about the food we ate (much of it good); the shows we saw (much of them bad); or the deals we cut (a mix of both). It is about, as Bob mentions above, lasting friendships, particularly of the male variety.
I don’t know what happened to male friendships. Why simplicity turned into complexity. How emotion turned into demotion. And how grace is no longer the showcase. If I could instill one insight into the minds of today’s male youth, it would be how to take that grace and show them the real man’s embrace.
When I said goodbye to Bob and headed home to Tucson, we gave each other the tried-and-true bearhug. Five pats on the back, delivered in unison, followed by the words, “I love you.” Not this newfangled, withdrawn, shoulder-to-shoulder bump-brush followed by the run-on words, “Preciate-u-man.” Or worse yet, the elbow-to-elbow tap, faces as far apart as possible, followed by whatever “Hey” means.
It's a small detail, until it isn’t.
That’s because the second hug, the one that’s lasting, and at our age, might have to last forever, isn’t a small detail. “Dude, I need one more,” I say. And we repeat. Another big hug, five pats on the back, and the words, “I really love you.”
Children of mine. Men of mine. This is the grace of the embrace. It’s not a drive-by, touch-and-go, get the hell-out-of-here-and-go occurrence. It is, as Bob writes; Went with an old friend, and like in the past, we talked a lot about how friendships last.
It’s lasting. Because it needs to be. We’re men. We need to love each other. Trust me, it makes our remaining years so much better. And shit like that never needs to stay in Vegas.
