Have you ever met someone and become instant friends? All my best friends have been instant friends. One shared a tent at summer camp when we were eight years old and that was it. One sat at the back of a political conference next to me and we chortled out loud at the same absurd assertions. One walked into my biology class and made a beeline, hand outstretched for a shake, to another friend and me, and became our permanent third bestie through grad school. One sat across the room from me in a support group and I just knew I had to know her and sure enough, instant friend. One was the parent of my daughter’s best friend and I called her and said I wanted to be her friend. We’ve watched our children grow up together and now wait for grandchildren. And so it was with Michael Valentine. He was a donor to The American Spectator and I needed to get to know him better, so I set up a phone call. Two minutes in, he was an instant friend. Like me, Michael is a midwesterner. We discussed our families and their migration. We discussed interstate rivalries and personality differences between Michigan, Ohio, and Indiana. We discussed business regulations and politics and policies. We didn’t talk about radar for cars (something he invented), and we didn’t talk about my previous life as a doctor. We discussed important things like children and homes and dreams for the future of the country. Instant friends. Michael died just over a month ago and it grieves me to think of it. He was a good man; decent and kind and devoted to family. He’s the sort of man who makes America great: an engineer and inventor who put it all on the line to do something no one else had done. America is full of these men and women. These are people who don’t take their freedom for granted but use it and make something for their fellow citizens — and in this case, something very useful to avoid getting caught speeding. Freedom, baby! The death of Michael caused me to meditate on friendship of the best and instant kind. What magical thing happens to cause this sort of connection? It can’t really be explained — the attraction and inner knowing. In one case, it was shared laughter and an eye roll. In another, it was a warm, strong handshake paired with a booming voice and eye contact. In another, it was the absurdity of owning chickens and having them in her suburban backyard. Her open face and self-awareness, made me feel that thing. In another, it was the quiet intelligence and wry comments. There was more to this lady. I think back to meeting a different friend at a conference. He was young, nerdy, and overly confident in his outrageous opinions. I thought he was full of shit and immediately liked him. My friends tend to be a strange cast of characters. I like individuals, mold-breakers, the people who are wholly and unapologetically themselves. It’s probably why I like writers so much even though, as a species, they’re royal pains in the ass. They have points-of-view and they’re whip-smart, usually funny, and with an “off” sense of reality. At The American Spectator, I have the privilege of interacting daily with these lovable weirdos. I’m better for it. I admire people who ever seek truth and a court jester’s ability to see through the artifice and reveal the contours of our culture while making us laugh at the same time. Writers have called me at midnight and said things like, “Melissa, I have this story. I can’t write about it yet, but I just had to tell somebody!” I’ve had the privilege of doing first passes on chapters of books and giving feedback. Sometimes, writers even listen! It’s an honor to sit alongside writers, encourage them, watch their thoughts come to fruition, and see their anguish as they get their work across the finish line. Creation is an arduous business or can be. How blessed am I to have the friendship of these amazing people? I’m so grateful. So this Thanksgiving, a shout-out to instant friends who become friends for life. What started with kismet, that ephemeral soul-knowing, in so many cases, turned into enduring kinship. When one of these instant friends dies, it’s a painful reminder of the impermanence of life. I felt confident that Michael would just be there. He was relatively young (although, as I get older, young keeps getting redefined) and so alive. It seems impossible that he’s gone. It’s been over five years now since one of my other instant and lifelong friends died of cancer. She shared a tent with me when we were eight and we knew all, and I mean all, of each others’ secrets. I miss her every day. Friendship, of all the blessings we have as humans, is quite possibly the greatest because it’s not, as C.S. Lewis points out, necessary. Friendship just adds color and texture to life. Friendship makes life worth living. Michael Valentine made a difference in the world in so many tangible and important ways. What I’ll remember him for, though, is the instant friendship we formed on a phone call a couple of years ago. It was a small connection that made a significant difference in my life. For him, I am grateful. May his memory be blessed. READ MORE from Melissa Mackenzie: Mitch McConnell Did Not Win a Mandate What Trump’s Cabinet Picks All Have in Common: They Don’t Give a ____ About Tolerance The post Thankful for Instant Friends Like Michael Valentine appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.