Happy Birthday, Mugsy

It was my birthday on Monday (no, I'm not offended, no reason you would have known). Yesterday was my old pal Mugsy's birthday. I haven't seen him since 1974, but we were good friends until then. Funny how you lose touch with people when you move somewhere else. Mugsy and I were in a gang. No, not that kind of a gang - this was the sixties. We were just a group of pals who used to play football, drink Tizer (ask your parents) and ride our bikes around the wasteland near our homes. As well as Mugsy, there was Spanish Mick, Maria the Legs, Sexy Sandra, Woody Woodger, Michelle the Voice, Rosser the Tosser and Squid (whose real name escapes me to this day). Me? OK, I was Big Al.

We were a tribe, I suppose. For a period of maybe five years, most of us gathered together nearly every night. We had other friends at school, family, and later on work, but we felt comfortable in each others' company. I doubt if many of us even send Christmas cards to each other these days. But this is not a nostalgic paean to lost friendship. Rather, it's a recognition that we all still need our tribes.

My tribe these days is other speakers. When I go to speaker conventions I feel really at home, in the company of people with a similar lifestyle. We don't need to explain to each other what we do. We understand.

I hope Mugsy, wherever he is, has found a new tribe too. Happy Birthday, Mugsy.