2 Days: Ryan and Jeff

To strangers and friends alike, I often try to describe my two older brothers in a way that they'd understand.  Inevitably, I inform them that I am a unique blend of both, sharing some of Ryan's traits on one hand, some of Jeff's on the other.  It's convenient, it's quick, and it's kind of a feel-good anecdote.

It's also bullshit.  In truth, I offer such a description as a way to stroke my ego, feel good about myself, and make strangers and friends alike go away feeling like I'm somehow my brothers equal, or even their superior.  Sure, I share some of Jeff's characteristics.  And, sure, I share some of Ryan's traits.  But, one has to have some serious balls to place themselves on either one of these dudes' levels.

No one who has met Ryan has disliked Ryan.  His affable nature is obvious; his charm even more so. He's intelligent in a way that doesn't intimidate; he's personable in a way that doesn't overwhelm.  His ability to relate to people of very different interests and very different personalities is only approached by my mother.  The ease at which people feel being around him is uncommon.  The way my nephews look at him makes one want to have children, be a father, and then go out and be the best father in the world.  Even his wife, my beautiful sister-in-law, would have to grudgingly admit to his appeal.  People just *like* the dude; I just love him.

Nearly 16 years ago to the day, I attempted to give a speech at his wedding.  Due to an unique lack of ability to speak about those special to me without bawling like my future 2-yr old, I wasn't able to get out anything past.....well, I wasnt able to say shit. But, what I wanted to say is that my biggest regret was that, due to a seven year age difference, I didn't really know who my oldest brother was.  Sure, I remember him ignoring me as a young kid; I remember the beautiful women he would bring over to the house; I remember hearing stories about he creatively earned demerits in high school; I remember the hilarious home videos that he and his friends would create; I remember hearing the stories from people that did know him; I remember some of his specific sports accolades (or lack there of); and, sure, I remember him going away like an f'n *man* to the U.S. Naval Academy.  But, I never really *knew* him.

16 years later, one of my proudest accomplishments in my life is that, not only have I gotten to really know my oldest brother, he's one of my best friends.  Sure, he'll likely not admit that.  And, sure, he often doesn't answer my phone calls.  And, yeah, I think he likes Jeff a lot more than I.  But, damn, I think he actually thinks I'm kind of funny; I think he actually thinks I'm kind of smart; I think he actually thinks I'm kind of cool.  And, to a younger brother, any younger brother, but especially a younger brother to Ryan James Smalley.....well, that's the best compliment one could give me.  He's my idol.  He's who I aspire to be.  He's who I want people to say I'm like.  He's my oldest brother....and I f'n love him.

My other brother, Jeff, is the man that I constantly strive to please.  He always has been.  He's that guy that, even when not around, is that presence in your head that makes you want to be a better man.  I've never wanted to disappoint him; I never want him to think I'm a lost cause.  His values are unshakable; his faith is unwavering; his love for his wife is awe inspiring; his strength, not physical - thought he's jacked - is something my family has relied upon during some very difficult times.  He's the *rock* of the Smalley family.  He's the best father that William, Benjamin, and Natalie could ever want or ever could have.  He's just really, really special.  And, I love him.

Jeff is the athlete I've always competed against.  I know that sounds weird, perhaps even selfish and misplaced.  Despite never actually playing against him due to a 4 yr age difference and despite being his biggest fan,  he was my opponent every day in high school.  Jeff was the best athlete I've ever known; no one wanted to win more than Jeff.  Thats why he was my opponent; I wanted people to think of me like they thought of him.  His competitiveness is otherworldly; his drive to be great - in anything he does - is inspiring.  I always thought, "Be like Jeff - but better."
 That was my goal.  And, though that never happened, never came all that close to happening....it set my path.  It gave me something to strive for.  He was both my opponent and who I aspired to be.  I love my brother, Jeff.

When choosing who your best man is for your wedding, I presume it's created a lot of difficult choices for grooms around the world.  My choice was easy; I simply chose the *best* men I've ever known.  Nothing, outside of seeing my mother and my future wife smile as the latter walks down the aisle, will give me more joy than being next to these two great men.  I'm honored that I was chosen to be their best man at their weddings; I'm f'n overjoyed that they'll be next to me at my own.

They've always shown me the way, always paved the road. I respect and loved them deeply for doing so.

My Best Men, Ryan Smalley and Jeffrey Smalley.  What an honor!

3 days: Groomsman, Brian Xavier Manni

In any circle of friends, there is always 'that guy' that other friends are drawn to.  The guy that makes everyone laugh; the guy that everyone wants to be with.  He makes the mundane seem exciting, the routine seem fresh, and the party seem live.  He always says the right thing at the right time.  His jokes are funny, his mood uplifting, his clothes finely pressed.  He's in perfect shape, his appearance is on point, and his demeanor is calm, cool, and collected.  If an altercation breaks out, he's the guy that causes the other side to run for the hills.  He's usually the same guy ladies are most attracted to, parents are amused by, and younger kids are fascinated with.  In essence, he's the guy that all of the other guys want to be.  As it's been said, "Men want to be him, women want to be with him."

And, in my circle of friends, that guy is.....me.  Obviously.

But, if it wasn't me, it'd be Brian Xavier Manni.  

Most of you are unfamiliar with 'Frank', as I call him, so I'd like to briefly tell his story. Frank was an all-State wide receiver from a small town outside Harrisburg.  Naturally athletic, possessing great hand/eye coordination, and blessed with uncommon speed. Frank gets scholarship to small Division 1 school, Frank blows out his knee for a second time, Frank gets caught up in a school scandal, Frank gets booted from said small Division 1 school, and Frank ends up transferring to a party school, Penn State University.  Frank meets another dipshit (yours truly), discovers a love for beer, Chinese food, and betting on sports.  During college, Frank also puts on about 30 lbs.   Frank barely graduates, skips the graduation, takes a dead-end job in Philly.  Frank eventually gets married to a woman who he doesn't deserve, has a child (he's awesome and his middle name is 'Franco'), discovers a love for Tito's vodka, and becomes an insurance salesman, Frank eventually eats himself further out of shape and drifts into obscurity, never to be seen or heard again by anyone that matters.  End of Frank's story.

Frank's general story is all too familiar.  We all know the guy destined for stardom, born with the Hollywood looks, who seems like he has the world by the balls.  And, then life happens....and he ends up just getting kicked in the balls.  The proverbial fall from grace.  It happens; it's familiar.  But, as someone who has had a front row seat to this phenomenon; as someone who has felt the collateral damage of this man's life; as someone who has been his wing-man for the last 16 years....I can assure you that Frank's life story (or stories) has been anything but familiar.

*****There was the first time Frank and I golfed together.  Frank represented himself to be a scratch-golfer, or to those not familiar with the term, Frank represented himself to be just short of qualifying for the PGA Tour.  Frank's very first tee shot duck-hooked directly left, caused numerous bystanders to duck in fear, hit the side of a maintenance garage shed, and made a sound that approached something like ten shotguns fired at point-blank range.  Frank didn't break a score of 100 that day.

*****There was also the time when Frank represented himself as the President of Tau Kappa Epsilon.  A fellow TKE member from West Virginia came to our fraternity house and 'challenged' Frank.  In fraternity-lingo, to 'challenge' someone is to request them to prove that they are indeed a fellow brother - usually by a handshake and a password - and then embrace in brotherhood.  Frank, who could barely tell you what the T in TKE stood for and surely wasn't familiar with the frat word of 'challenge', thought that the individual was challenging him to a fight.  So, naturally, Frank obliged, chased the kid from our room, threw a beer can at his dome, chased him down the steps, and forced him from the premises.  All the kid wanted was a hug.

*****There was the time that Frank took an entire semester's worth of classes for me to square a gambling debt he owed me.  Frank, never to be confused with an astronaut (ie: Frank isn't real smart) had a surprisingly uncanny ability to do well in ECON classes at PSU.  As a result, rather than pay me the $400 he owed me, I simply said, "Hey, Frank, take this ECON 301 class for me and we're even."  He immediately agreed.  Without fail, Frank always identified himself and answered to "Andrew Smalley" and developed a strong rapport with a teacher that had no idea who he really was.  Frank not only aced the class, but he also went to numerous one-on-one, tutoring sessions with the teacher on weekends.

In all honesty, these stories don't really do him justice.  There are so many more that my friends and I know and tell with great regularity.  And, they're indicative of a fun dude.  

But, Frank is more than just a story or funny anecdote to me.  When I was growing up, my mother used to speak on the phone to Jan Eberle for *hours*.  I was amazed at it, still am.  How could two people possibly talk about nothing for that damn long?  But, after becoming best friends with Frank, I get it. Frank and I have seemingly been talking about nothing for 16 years.  If one of us is bored, we call the other.  If one of us thought of something funny, we call the other.  If one of us wants to feel good about themselves at the expense of the other, we call the other.  Schadenfreude is real in our relationship; we laugh at each others misery.  Frank is the easiest guy to get along with that I've ever met.  Frank is the funniest guy I've ever met.  Frank is the most outgoing, personable, witty, social, friendly guy I've ever met.  I've never met a guy that I like hanging out with more than Frank.

Also, underneath the wit and the charm, Frank is a man of persistent loyalty.  Right or wrong - often the latter - Frank has had my back and been by my side for nearly two decades.  We have an uncommon bond, in my eyes.  I can only remember a couple times that we've actually been mad at each other; all of them, naturally, my fault.  Our time is spent laughing, talking, and living.  I've never been in a bad mood when I know I'm about to see Frank.  It's always a joy; it's always an 'event'.

People don't laugh enough these days, in my opinion.  People should be forced to know Frank.  Frank would make people laugh.  Frank's been making me laugh for 16 years.  

Groomsman, Brian Xavier Manni.  Where 'Xavier' is made up, as Frank is Italian, and doesn't have a middle name.  Anyways.  I can't wait to see what he has in store for me this weekend.  I'm looking forward to seeing you and Kami, good buddy.  You're the best.  And, the worst.  

4 days: Groomsman Jeffrey James Raymond

In all of our lives, there are seminal moments.  Those moments where we remember where we were when they occurred; those moments that we look back upon fondly or with great sadness.  For some, it's the birth of a child; for others, it's the death of a family member.  Perhaps a change in career, a chance encounter with a beautiful woman, or even a careless decision that caused awful consequences.  Such moments separate time:  before it came, after it passed.

The first crucial, formative moment in my life was a childhood ass-kicking.  The latter occurred at Will Howell's age-8 birthday extravaganza at his home in Sagamore Hills.  Will and I had been best friends for a few years, as his home was just 7 houses down from my own.  We were always together, never apart.  In fact, the only time we weren't with each other was when I was at Woolrich Elementary School and he was at the Catholic School in Lock Haven.  Unbeknownst to me, Will had other friends at his school.  Even more troubling, he apparently had grown as close with another young kid, by the name of Jeffrey James Raymond, as he had been with me.  This, naturally, caused some jealousy on behalf of the young, slightly overweight ginger up the street.  Put simply, I was not prepared to share my best friend from the neighborhood with some Catholic, city-slicker from Lock Haven.

So, when the day of the party came, all I could think about was that line made famous by the Nature Boy, Ric Flair:  "To be the man, you got to beat the man."  At this party, on this day, for this friend, I was prepared to *beat the man*.  And, that man was Jeff Raymond.  So, after we ate cake, Will blew out the candles, and I kissed a couple of girls, I decided to make my move.  I saw an unsuspecting Raymond with his back turned and his attention focused elsewhere.  This was my moment; I would not let it pass.  I charged at him, speared him in the back, and perfectly form-tackled him down the side of the hill.  A totally manly and courageous move from my 8-year-old perspective.  He cried out of pain; I cried because that's what I typically do.  We tussled.  I punched, he scratched; I put him in a rear-naked choke, he pinched me in the ass; I dropped 12-to-6 elbows on his nose; he stuck his fingers in my eyes.  I believe it was Mrs. Howell who mercifully took pity on young Raymond and the ass-kicking was broken up before it had the chance to get real ugly for the kid from Dunnstown.  I had beaten the man; I was now the man.

Ironically, after beating the hell out of him, I eventually ended up respecting the hell out of him. From 7th grade on, through senior high, through our respective colleges, and then living with him during the majority of law school, Jeff Raymond and I have developed a friendship that has stood the test of time.  And, to be honest, it's kind of strange.  In a lot of ways, Jeff and I are polar opposites.  He's a man of few words; I never shut up.  His words carry meaning and substance; mine are just flourishes to hear myself speak.  He knows how to use tools and fix things; I usually have a penchant for breaking things that, in turn, need fixed.  He's responsible, hard-working, and serious; I'm....well, I'm not that.  He's a dentist; I'm an anti-dentite.  His favorite song is 'Downlow' by R. Kelly; I'm embarrassed to know who R. Kelly is.  In 7th grade, he said he wanted to be "third string *defense* on the junior high basketball team" (no, that doesn't make any sense); I was dominating hoops and dunking balls by the 3rd grade.  He has owned numerous motorcycles and handles them with ease; I once owned a scooter in high school and once wrecked a motorcycle into the side of his parents' home.  He has perfectly shaped abdominal muscles; I'm convinced I was born without them.  And, so on and so on.

But, Jeff Raymond has always been easy for me to like.  He's the guy that most of us wish they could be:  a man's man.  Reliable, dependable, honest, trustworthy, respectful of others, self-deprecating among his friends, full of integrity, and *loyal* - no matter the situation.  The first guy you call when you need help; the last guy you want to call when you've f'd up.  Not because he won't help you - he will and has - but because he'll also tell you what you don't *want* to hear but what you *need* to hear.  His values don't change; they're as solid as his abs.  He's a rock.  He is a guy you can count on. He is a guy you want with you when shit goes wrong.  He is a guy you want with you when you're marrying the love of your life.

The best thing about Jeff Raymond?  If *he* likes you, that says a lot of good about you.

I was honored to be by his side when he married his beautiful wife, Jennifer.  I'm *thrilled* that he'll be by my side when I marry Stacey.

Groomsman, Jeffrey James Raymond.  I can't wait to see you and Jennifer on Friday, my man.

5 Days: Groomsman Shepard

We all have seemingly heard the maxim, or some variation thereof, "You're only as good as the company you keep."  And, while I like cliches like the aforementioned about as much as I like *leg* day in the weight room (or, you know, *any* day in the weight room), there are obviously some kernels of truth in such a notion.  Hang around with dipshits, you're likely to be a dipshit; hang around with quality individuals, you're likely to be a solid dude.  So, while the concept is hardly *difficult* to understand, identifying such people of the highest such character can be exceedingly so. Fortunately for myself, the individual I wish to discuss today *exudes* such quality that you'd have to be a *dipshit* not to identify him.

In 1990, midway through the year, I arrived at Robb Elementary School to much fanfare and adulation.  The young schoolgirls were excited to see an actual man show up, rather than the tired little boys that they had to currently choose from.  They would thank me every opportunity they got, saying such things as, "Your ginger mane is so exotic and soft", and, "There aren't any real men in our class", and, finally, "No boys are man enough to try to kiss me."  These aren't things that I hadn't heard before, mind you.  I was used to being the top-dog, the alpha-male, the reason why young schoolgirls first started telling their moms they were interested in boys.  But, what I wasn't used to was another kid thinking *he* was that dude.  And, while I knew that line of thought was fantasy, I did respect the hustle.  In fact, I liked it.  And, I liked him.  Immediately.

Jason Shepard will never be confused with cool.  He's slightly awkward, both in terms of coordination and in social circles.  His skin is pale, his hair is floppy, and his back is crooked to the point of constant pain.  If he was a dog, the frequency and speed at which he drinks would be indicative of a urinary tract infection.  He often says strange things at strange times; consequently, on more than a few occasions, strangers have wondered if he has Tourette's syndrome.  Being polite, he often takes great liberty with the truth; being blunt, he lies a lot, about a lot of shit, a lot of the time.  His basketball game is below-average, despite him thinking it's above-average.  He is of the opinion that his ability to play cards is average, when in reality, it's horrendous.  He's been a diabetic since the age of 4.  That's not an indictment of him, obviously; however, I wanted to simply inform that he's indeed diabetic.  And, yes, he's been awful at that as well.

But, what he's been *good* at since I've known him.....is being a best friend.  Everyone should be blessed to have a best friend like Jason Shepard.  The kind of friend that your family wants to bring on vacations to Ocean City, New Jersey; the kind of friend that your older brothers like having around at the house to play RBI Baseball; the kind of friend that your fiance looks forward to taking a road trip to visit.  Exceptionally kind, abnormally patient, and doggedly loyal.  I've never had to question the motives or intentions of Jason Shepard.  If they involved me, I know what he was saying or what he was doing was borne out of a deep respect and shared history.  We *know* each other, both good and bad.  No one knows my faults and strengths like Jason Shepard.  

The stories I've told about him leading up to his wedding are only the easy-to-tell, humorous anecdotes that give everyone a good laugh.  But, he and I know about the other stories.  The ones that he and I shared with each other as young teenagers, driving around in his old, red minivan.  The ones that involved no one else and involved no laughing.  The ones that involve two young men that had been kicked in the nuts by circumstance.  The ones that involve two hurt dudes that needed one another to lean on.  He was *the* guy I would lean on.  He always has been.

I was honored to be at his side at his wedding.  I'm honored that he'll be by my side at my wedding.  

Groomsman, Jason Edward Shepard.  I can't wait to see you and Laura.