July 10, 2021
July 10, 2021
Funny, smart and kind is the rarest combination on earth. Most people, thankfully, possess one of these qualities. And we understand those who possess two almost immediately. But having all three throws almost everyone; it's hard for most to understand what someone that gifted is doing and why they're doing it. They can appeal to many if they choose to, but they're largely alone even when they do, because so few are like them. And because they're so gifted, they tend to sense early that they're routinely misunderstood.
Brad had all three gifts. I knew him in college, when he was so babyfaced that his high tenor and demeanor seemed like they had somehow bypassed adolescence. Brad also waited for you to say something, and then was so expressive, his face conveyed the delight in play that took your mind off the speed and brilliance of the line he'd just delivered.
Had he only been smart and funny, most would have spotted that he was the quickest mind in the room. But they didn't, because he only cared about the sense of play, not dominance.
Had he only been funny and kind, the lines wouldn't have been as good, and we wouldn't have met him at Harvard.
Had he only been kind and smart, he wouldn't have stood out the way he did.
But Brad stood out among our friends. Lord, he was quick. So smart. So raucously joyous. He elated us routinely and effortlessly, and his friends were smart and funny enough to know how rare that was.
He did this for us even when he was feeling low. We understood that too.
I think at least he knew that we knew what he was. And though we were too young to tell him, I hope he understood how fortunate we were to be around him.
He disappeared after our school days. Some looked for him. We all wanted to know.
We missed you, Brad. Goodbye.
Brad had all three gifts. I knew him in college, when he was so babyfaced that his high tenor and demeanor seemed like they had somehow bypassed adolescence. Brad also waited for you to say something, and then was so expressive, his face conveyed the delight in play that took your mind off the speed and brilliance of the line he'd just delivered.
Had he only been smart and funny, most would have spotted that he was the quickest mind in the room. But they didn't, because he only cared about the sense of play, not dominance.
Had he only been funny and kind, the lines wouldn't have been as good, and we wouldn't have met him at Harvard.
Had he only been kind and smart, he wouldn't have stood out the way he did.
But Brad stood out among our friends. Lord, he was quick. So smart. So raucously joyous. He elated us routinely and effortlessly, and his friends were smart and funny enough to know how rare that was.
He did this for us even when he was feeling low. We understood that too.
I think at least he knew that we knew what he was. And though we were too young to tell him, I hope he understood how fortunate we were to be around him.
He disappeared after our school days. Some looked for him. We all wanted to know.
We missed you, Brad. Goodbye.