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Scott’s Column: Two Scotts

Rev. Dr. E. Scott Jones
November 14 2017

Two Scotts

One spring evening in 1979 there was a tornado near our home in Grove, Oklahoma, and my father did what most Oklahomans do—he went outside to watch it.  Fortunately for us, the funnel stayed on the other side of the lake.  While standing outside, a neighbor from down the street took the opportunity to introduce himself to Dad, as we were new to the block, which was itself a new development.  Dick LaBoyteaux and Randall Jones hit it off.  But more importantly Dick had a five year old son named Scott.

And so in the wake of the tornado when more sensible wives and their children went outside, I met my oldest best friend.  We only lived on the same block for one year, but in that time we did everything together, and everything usually centered around Star Wars.  When I watch the hit TV show Stranger Things I identify with aspects of that childhood friendship.

Over the decades we continued to connect with the LaBoyteaux for birthdays and weddings and other significant events.  Scott spent most of his growing up years on the family farm in Marshfield, Missouri.  I was planning to visit him for Spring Break in 1990 when my Dad died the night before.

Back in April of this year, someone posted on Facebook “Who is your oldest Facebook friend?”  I knew my oldest friend was Scott LaBoyteaux and went to tag him, when I realized we weren’t Facebook friends.  We had been MySpace friends back in the day, but apparently we’d lost contact over the last decade.

I searched Facebook for his name, knowing that he’d be easy to find.  There are only two Scott LaBoyteaux on all of Facebook (I’m sure there are multiple thousands of Scott Joneses).  Low and behold it said he lived in Bellevue, Nebraska.

We soon were messaging each other and were surprised to learn that he moved here in 2009 and we did in 2010—all these years we could have so easily reconnected.  We made plans to get together the next week, but unfortunately the plans had to be delayed as his father died.

When we finally met up for dinner at The Crescent Moon in May I walked up to him and said, “Oh my God, you look exactly like your father.”  And he responded, “So do you.”

That night Sebastian wanted Scott to hold him.  When I met Scott’s teenage sons they were intrigued by all the stories I had to share about their grandparents, their Dad’s childhood, and their parents’ wedding.

And, so, almost forty years later, my oldest friendship is being renewed.