For the last five years Cinco de Mayo has been one of the hardest days of my life. I have always acknowledged that in some way or another when this day comes up. And it comes every year. But one thing that I have never done is written about why Homer was such a great friend to me. I’ve cried and I’ve missed him, I’ve talked about how his funeral was the first time that I had gone to Mass in years and how his death led me to Austin which ended with us in Round Rock and me in RCIA. The rest of that is history……
But I have never talked about our friendship and all the great memories that I have of him. I think of those times every other day of the year, but I guess that I’ve never blogged about them because on this day it is not easy to think about them. Maybe it’s time to change that. Today is hard, I want to drown myself in a bottle of grey goose and sleep it away, but instead I’m going to tell ya’ll a little about Homer.
Homer and I met when he started working at Club Baloo in Amarillo. It was a Tejano bar, and nobody could stand working next to me behind the bar. If you think that I’m annoying now, just imagine me without Jesus! I was even worse. There was room for two bartenders behind the bar that I worked, one was taken by me, and the other was either empty or filled with someone who got on my nerves and would quit. The thing is; I’m a pretty good bartender, and so I was not going anywhere.
When Homer started working there I was so rude to him. And he didn’t care. He was still nice to me. He helped me when I needed it and he smiled at me. He did his job and went home, no drama and no hateration. I had no idea what to do with that except start being nice back. And that is how we became the best of friends. We would laugh so hard at people dancing, we would dance, he would hold down the bar so that I could go dance on the speakers and we would get more traffic at our bar. Yeah, that’s not so modest, but it was fun at the time. And we banked.
I can’t even begin to tell people how many times Homer and I laughed. If there was something going on in my life he would always listen to me then say something stupid to make me laugh, then buy me a shot.
He came up with a chart detailing which combination of shots would cause me to act which way. It was so funny because it was accurate. There were countless times when after telling him my deepest heartache his response was “Wanna a shot of Tuaca?”
One time Homer’s truck got broken into in the bar parking lot. He called the police because that is what you do when someone breaks into your truck. Well he didn’t realize that he had warrant out for his arrest for something and ended up getting arrested and going to jail. I got everyone to pitch in money and bailed him out. But who does that? Who goes to jail when someone breaks in THEIR car?!
We would send each other either messages, texts, and meet at the bar every day after work. There was not a day that went by that I did not talk to him in some way. Until May 6th 2007. That was the first time in four years that I sent him a text and he didn’t answer me.
I have many more stories, maybe I will start sharing them more.
Homer was a great guy; he was the kind of friend that makes you a better person without ever giving you an ounce of advice. He broke through the wall of anger and misery I had built around myself, and I believe that it prepared me to be open to hear the message of Christ when I went to RCIA.
I pray that God has mercy on him because of my conversion. It would not have been possible without Homer in my life.
How long will they mourn me? Every single day Homie.