“I still think that you’re overlooking something,” he said. “You say you have this great bond. But how can you, if he doesn’t know you?”
“Come on, Dad,” I said. “He knows me.”
“He does?” he asked.
I could see he didn’t understand that knowing a person is about more than knowing whom they fantasize about. That’s the small stuff, actually. Not the big stuff. The big stuff is lying next to a guy on the floor and locking eyes and having deep conversations about philosophy. The big stuff is letting a friend know your hopes and your fears and not having to make a joke about it. That’s what matters.