Brothers for Life
This past weekend, I and six other fifty-something buddies reconvened at a rustic rented chalet in The Blue Mountains to participate in the 25th Annual Stan Slam boys weekend. It is a two-day event which includes all manner of typical male shenanigans including golf, competitive yard games, copious amounts of grilled meat and more than a few adult beverages. 25 years is a long time for any group of friends, and I’d argue particularly impressive for a bunch of men, to stay so committed to an annual get-together. The number and composition of attendees has in fact changed several times from year one to 25, but the core pack has remained the same.
I should point out, most of the members of this ragtag group have known each other since grade school. I’m actually the “newest” friend who was adopted via a university connection made a mere 34 years ago.
However, as life and death will dictate, the wholeness of our yearly gathering was dealt a severe blow a few years back. On January 7th, 2016 we lost a kind, compassionate, clever, cool, caring, cuddly, courageous, corny, charismatic, classy, complex, close brother by choice, not by blood, to another hard “c” word we all recognize, but loathe to see, hear or say. Mark Lockhart, aka Poobie or Poobs for short, was a big man, both in stature and personality. His thought/speech process had little to no filter, which made him all the more lovable, whether you’d known him forever or just met him for the first time. Though you’d best be on your toes, lest he made you an unwitting target of his sharp wit.
Uncle Poobs loved kids and they all loved him back; no doubt sharing a connection to his inner child, which was quite often on full display. He was a giver and taker of hugs like no other.
Mark was an awesome story teller with a keen eye for detail. He could take an entire room for a ride and keep his audience riveted to his every word.
Poobie wasn’t perfect, nor did he ever claim to be. Rather, his self-deprecating humour drew you in even more. If he had any luck, it was mostly bad, but he made up for it with an unbelievable work ethic and unmatched loyalty to friends and family. Mark’s boys were and are his everything. He would, and often did, go anywhere and do anything for them; beaming with an unparalleled father’s pride all along the way. He is no doubt still beaming as they continue to grow and become upstanding young men.
So, as life also dictates, we support each other in our extended families and soldier on. Each year a ceremonial “Cheers to Lockhart!” kicks off our brotherly festivities. This year our 25 years of Stan Slamming was commemorated by personalized t-shirts with well-earned nicknames printed on our sleeves and the initials ML emblazoned on the back just below the collar in honour of our fallen friend.
Custom golf ball markers and weighty beer mugs likewise bore the names of the most recent 8 members and a freshly designed SSXXV logo.
The victor in our golf and lawn game competition since 2017 has been graciously bestowed the honorary and much coveted Poobie Cup. Plenty of our mostly juvenile stories, accompanied by roaring laughter or the occasional reminiscent tear, revolve around our shared experiences of so many Stan Slams past.
I sorely miss Poobs. We all miss Mark and he certainly left an indelible one on our family circle.
#peaceandlove ✌️❤️
#fuckcancer 🖕💩
p.s. I’ve previously shared a few more well-deserved words on my dear departed brother from another mother, should you be so inclined to learn more — https://www.imahockeydad.com/2015/11/08/learning-how-to-dad-from-the-best-in-the-business/
