It takes a while to figure out how to react to the severely injured members of our armed forces, but after almost three years of being around them, I think I have it figured out. This year's IED of Golf was the first time I'd met Brendan, with whom it is impossible to shake hands, play footsie, chest bump or, for that matter, pull his finger. A stump-to-knuckles thing had to suffice, and after that I embarked on what is now my normal procedure for getting to know a new member of my F-troop, who was being driven around in a cart by his brother Mike. It went something like this:
Me: "You know, you're not as tall as I thought you'd be."
Brendan: "I used to be taller."
"Yes, I can imagine. So, what would you like to do today?"
"I'd like to kick your ass."
"Well, that seems unlikely. Obviously you can't walk, but you look like you'd bounce pretty well. Are you going to be okay in that cart without a seat belt?
"Yeah, I can hold on with my butt cheeks."
"Excellent! Well, clench on, brother — I'll see you out there."
(Later that morning)
Me: "Hey, Stumpy, how's it going?"
Brendan: "I like this — is there any chance I can go watch Tiger with you this week?"
"I'll get you inside the ropes if I have to wear you like a f-----g hat."
