Night Drives: A Friendship Written in Headlights and Harmony

Some friendships are loud.
Some are fleeting.
And then there’s the kind like I have with Lee—quiet, constant, woven into every stage of life like a familiar song that never loses its power.

We go back. Way back.
High school hallways and guitar riffs.
Late nights spent chasing Redbox flicks and McDonald’s fries (always eaten first, obviously).
Music brought us together—he played, I engineered. And from that moment, it was more than just friends… we were brothers.

It was during that time that I fell hard for live sound and DJing. I’d been playing music before, but Lee’s band gave me the first real taste of being the man behind the mix. I was his personal sound engineer—and that spark never left me. Nearly 20 years later, I own a production company, and I’m still chasing that same passion that started in basements and borrowed venues.

But as much as music bonded us, it was the night drives that carved the deepest parts of our connection.

We had a routine. Load up on snacks, energy drinks, candy. Roll the windows down. Let the silence of the backroads carry our conversations. These weren’t short drives either—sometimes 45 minutes to an hour each way. Just two friends navigating the dark, talking about life, challenges, what came next.

And it always came back to understanding.

Lee saw me. Not just as a friend, but as someone walking a harder path—especially when it came to my family. He knew how hard things were with my parents. The silence. The hurt. The complicated grief. And he showed up. He always checked in, long before I understood what it meant to have a safe space. That kind of compassion? It doesn’t fade.

I haven’t had contact with either parent in over five years now. But even in that silence, Lee’s voice was a constant. One of the few who ever truly got it.

And now, after years of growing, living, parenting, and building our lives—we’re back in touch. Planning our next night drive, nearly a decade later. I didn’t know how much I needed that until it happened. And it reminded me how sacred some friendships really are.

Lee’s got a beautiful family now—his second child just arrived. I’ve got my son, Lucian, and my incredible wife Kat. Life looks different now, but it’s just as meaningful. And soon, the people who shaped my past—Lee, his wife Gina (who I also went to high school with), and her amazing mother Donna—will meet the people who shape my present.

Donna… she deserves her own paragraph. A steady, compassionate presence in high school when everything else felt unstable. She offered kindness without condition, and never once made me feel small for being different. Just like Lee, she loved without needing an explanation. And that stays with you.

This blog is a thank-you letter.

To the people who saw me before I knew I was worth seeing.
To the friend who never wavered.
To the bond built on fries, chords, and crickets in the country night.
To the families we’ve grown, and the moments yet to come.

It’s been 20 years of memories.
And somehow, I know the best night drives are still ahead.