I never told you this story, but when I was a three, I had to have physical therapy for a broken femur. Every single day we drove to PT, we went over a small, fairly insignificant overpass with had a shopping plaza below it. The address for the shopping plaza was just barely visible over the bridge. And it was 603.
And every single day as we went over, I would excitedly blurt out the numbers to show my mom I recognized them. This turned into a game for us. And eventually, a tradition.
Fast forward into my "more grown up" ages ... like ... high school. And, if you could be a fly in my truck, you would have without a doubt witnessed me driving over the overpass by myself and, sure enough, I'd just say it ... "six oh three."
Shortly after high school is when I met Seth, Tommy, Leif, Troy, and Jonesy in Gainesville. Still, there was no connection. Their friends and families came to visit, we then bonded, they returned home, and still, nothing. It wasn't until the boys moved home and gave me their NH phone numbers that I realized fate is a sneaky bitch.
From the time I was three years old, I've considered 603 to be a favorite number of mine -- one that holds substantial and significant value. That hasn't changed. Twenty-one years later, I still believe it's one of few continuous threads in my life.
A very large part of who I am is directly related to the core group of my friends living in New Hampshire -- all living in the 603. A number, to them, seemingly unimportant. But to me, 603 has now been present for two very key periods on my life: rehabilitating a broken femur and meeting the friends who would eventually help define me.
603 -- this one's for you.
And every single day as we went over, I would excitedly blurt out the numbers to show my mom I recognized them. This turned into a game for us. And eventually, a tradition.
Fast forward into my "more grown up" ages ... like ... high school. And, if you could be a fly in my truck, you would have without a doubt witnessed me driving over the overpass by myself and, sure enough, I'd just say it ... "six oh three."
Shortly after high school is when I met Seth, Tommy, Leif, Troy, and Jonesy in Gainesville. Still, there was no connection. Their friends and families came to visit, we then bonded, they returned home, and still, nothing. It wasn't until the boys moved home and gave me their NH phone numbers that I realized fate is a sneaky bitch.
From the time I was three years old, I've considered 603 to be a favorite number of mine -- one that holds substantial and significant value. That hasn't changed. Twenty-one years later, I still believe it's one of few continuous threads in my life.
A very large part of who I am is directly related to the core group of my friends living in New Hampshire -- all living in the 603. A number, to them, seemingly unimportant. But to me, 603 has now been present for two very key periods on my life: rehabilitating a broken femur and meeting the friends who would eventually help define me.
603 -- this one's for you.
Comments
Btw, I'm in NH. :) Hiya.
I love NH! Hiya to you too! =]
Maybe you've just snorted too much meth...just sayin'.
WTF was that all about?