My Best Friend

I found out last week what “BFF” stands for. I had always wondered why girls would call each other BFF’s. My far too active imagination came up with many possible meanings, none of them flattering, and none fitting the personalities of the girls who made such brash statements.

Then someone told me. Best Friends Forever.

Oh. That sent my mind on another road trip. If so many people had wonderful BFF’s, who was my BFF? Obviously, this had very little to do with my current mission. But the current mission was going a little slow at the moment, so I allowed myself to be distracted.

It had to be someone I could respect, someone I could look up to, someone with more wisdom and intelligence than I. Someone I could rely on to be there when I needed him, through thick-and-thin, to the bitter end, and all that jazz. It took an arduous 120 seconds, but I think I finally found him.

You can see him in the picture above. My BFF. Thomas Jefferson.

Talk about a guy with intelligence! I mean, it takes a considerable amount of brain power to manage to get a hold of a piece of property as big as the Louisiana purchase. And without him, there would never have been the Morrill Act of 1862. And without the Morrill Act, there would never have been thousands of acres of land to be sold to fund higher education. What am I talking about? I’m talking about MIZZOU! Good ‘old M-I-Z Z-O-U rah!

Why do you think this place exists? Because Thomas Jefferson, my BFF, signed that treaty in 1803.

This guy has been my friend for 207 years. Talk about someone who sticks with you through thick and thin. He’s always sitting there on the quad, re-enacting that glorious moment who he signed my life in existence.

At least, my current mode of existence into existence. Because the university means classes, and classes mean textbooks, and textbooks mean jobs, which means existence.