Today is the birthday of one of my good friends. He's well known in the world of computer security - he's a famous hacker who uses his skills for good, not evil - and one of the most unique people I've ever known. And for a period in the first part of this century, we relied on each other heavily.
We met through work, when we were the two youngest on an executive team attempting to build a world class security firm. At first, we had zero in common other than that teaming. Though I had worked with technical people my whole career, this guy and his crew were in a league by themselves. And I don't mean that in a good way. Or at least I didn't at first. Let's just say they were an acquired taste. But I grew to love and respect them all.
This guy, however, I didn't know what to make of. Brilliant, for certain. I respect smart. I made an assumption of arrogance, but I was wrong. I confused the "persona" with the real person. He, as well as his team, all went by "handles." For those not in the know, these are essentially nicknames that conceal your true identity. I learned to separate that persona from the real guy. And quickly found an amazing human being.
We bonded over a love of Porsche 911s and music. I took him to get his first (and I believe last) tattoo. And we worked together to figure out how to build a company that would attract people just like he and his team. And we were successful.
More importantly, though, we became family.
For a period of time, we lived two blocks away from each other in the Back Bay. My husband was traveling often for work, and I had recently given birth to my first child. It was the middle of winter. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. And this guy, the one with the waist length honey blond hair and one word name, was my savior.
I will be 97 years old and never forget one of his kind gestures on one snowy evening. He trudged through a snowstorm - worked had been cancelled for the day - and rocked my screaming infant to sleep. I was in awe, because I had been trying for hours with no success. And when she was settled in her crib, he put my dog on his leash and walked him around the neighborhood. It was a simple act of kindness that hadn't been asked for but just happened because he knew it was needed. And so, so appreciated.
Later on, he relied on me when he needed help. And I was happy to repay the favor. Because that's what you do for your family.
And when he finally found love, he asked me to be his best man. And I was honored. For the record, yes, I wore a dress. And while I didn't need to plan a bachelor party, I did put a lot of effort into my toast.
It was simple, but meaningful. And one probably only a woman playing the role of a best man could give. The world knows this guy as a persona. Through his incredible technical talents, and the image that has been created around that. I had had the privilege of really getting to know the man behind all that. And if he was the kind of friend who would think to carry a pregnant woman's luggage through an airport, or rock a crying baby to sleep, or walk a dog in a snow storm, I could only imagine what kind of husband he would make.
That toast made him cry. And that made me cry. And that made us both happy.
They are thriving in their life together, and on to new adventures in California. I miss my friend, but am so grateful we got a chance to grow up through a part of our adulthood together. Happy Birthday, P.
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