Van,
We haven't talked in way too long. That's my fault. When I leave a newspaper, I need to do a better job maintaining contact with my former bosses. You called me a time or two during the past two years, but I never found time to do the same in kind. You might've told me the score if I had. Then again, that shouldn't matter. I still read the Paris News religiously, yet couldn't even be bothered to drop you a note, not even to remind you that no matter what anyone says, those cities shouldn't be pronounced DEEE-troit, Buh-GO-tuh, and DEEE-Kab. Sorry. I was busy. We move on, change time zones and bury ourselves in the new world, working, working, working. Right? That's what I'm telling myself today, anyway. We certainly had our ups and downs; with a two-man staff, how could we not? At times, I thought you were lazy and told you as much, but as I've learned in our time apart, you always were the wise one. Not me. You left work at the office and found time for your family and hobbies. You probably thought I was an asshole for suggesting that you were doing it wrong, that you as a 44-year-old father and husband should be as excited about some bull**** high school game as a 28-year-old dickwad who thought he was smarter than he really was. You had the balance, though. You knew how to live, and you were a better boss than I ever let on. You gave me room to succeed; you gave me room to fail. I learned more from you than I could comprehend at the time. I'm sorry you'll never hear me say that you helped teach me how to live, how to balance work and play. But you did. With any luck, I'll carry that knowledge with me until I join you again. Thanks, Van. You were much more important to me than you ever knew.
-LC