Remembering Brandon Landrum

The friends you have when you are young hold an enormous influence over who you will inevitably become. This could not be more true for the influence my friend Brandon Landrum had in my life. I met Brandon at the age of 13 at our school's academic quiz team practice - a strange but appropriate place for us to meet. Brandon and I were both smart, but never fit any typical mold. We were too mischievous and fun-loving for that. Brandon and I became instant friends and partners in crime. In the midst of the confusion and hormones of junior high school, Brandon was always someone to trust, someone to conspire with, someone to face the perplexities of teenage girls with. Even at our age, he was always loyal, always up for mischief, always brave, always honorable, always an incredibly hard-worker, always larger than life, always ornery - attributes I know never left him even as we grew into men. These are traits of a good man, a good friend, a good husband, a good soldier, a good father - all of which led Brandon down the paths that he took. Yesterday I learned that Brandon was killed in action in Afghanistan.

It's easy to trace who I am as a man today to my friendship with Brandon Landrum. I'm not sure if my spontaneity, my wildness, my loyalty, any ounce of bravery I possess were in me prior to knowing Brandon, but I do know for sure that these attributes became pronounced and grew because of our friendship. My first clear memory of Brandon involved our convincing a kid from an academic team of another school to let us boost him up onto the roof of the school, only to abandon him for an hour while his team competed. Though this is not an event I am particularly proud of (even if I still chuckle), it is implicit of my relationship with Brandon and a fitting first memory. It was events like these that led our junior high principal, Mrs. Montz, to question to our faces while sitting in her office one afternoon whether we would ever amount to much. While I don't blame her based on the evidence before her, she could not have been more wrong.

Yesterday as I sat and wept for this great loss, my mind was flooded with memories. Here are a few of them:

I remember nights where we snuck out of our parents' houses to play black ops. A game that involved dressing in all-black armed with sling shots, paint balls, an assortment of tools, and harnesses (for hanging suspended from tree limbs), to complete "missions" around our neighborhood. These missions often involved rearranging street signs or removing Christmas lights off one house only to put them on their neighbor's house.

I remember the time Brandon broke my nose when we were wrestling in my front yard trying to impress two girls (a memory that will always bear its mark half an inch above the tip of my nose). I'm not sure how impressed the girls were.

I remember regularly showing up to junior high both dressed in the following: combat gear, kilts (we were the Highlanders after all), suits and ties, car mechanic coveralls.

I remember sitting on his back porch shooting birds with bb guns and then trying to figure out how to de-feather and cook them.

I remember when I had my first kiss on the trampoline in Brandon's backyard, only to find out that it wasn't my smooth talking that won her over, but the $5 Brandon had paid her beforehand.

I remember when other junior high boys would participate in degrading talk or course joking, Brandon never would. His sense of honor and respect was unmatchable even then.

I remember how hard we worked one summer mowing lawns, only to spend nearly every penny on fireworks. I understand now why my grandfather told the two of us that fireworks were "the closest thing there was to literally burning your money." Our work ethic often found its match in our love of fire and explosions.

I remember pouring gasoline on our bosses' lawn that same summer in the form of the letters "YOU SUCK" because we felt we had been cheated out of money that was owed to us. That's junior high justice at work.

I remember how our level of adventure and mischief multiplied the day Brandon got his motorcycle license and purchased his first 200cc bike.

I remember both of us receiving in-school suspension for performing "the worm" in the middle of class on a dare. Also, later for a scheme we dreamt up that involved the selling of bus passes. We were likely  the source for many-a-nightmare for our teachers.

I remember when we were angry at a high school boy that lived up the street from Brandon, so we hid in the boat next to the house with water balloons and a water balloon launcher waiting for him to drive past in his souped up 80-something Thunderbird. When he did we nailed his windshield with all the force the bungee cords could muster. We hadn't taken into consideration that he might slam on his brakes, chase us down, and give us the worst tongue lashing we could have imagined. Frequently boys don't take all angles into consideration.

I remember watching Brandon serve at church, pray, and read his Bible. I never knew anyone our age as committed to their faith.

I remember countless nights sleeping at his house or he at mine. I remember how much his parents treated me like their son and how much mine were like his.

I remember how hard it was for both of us when I learned that I was moving to Texas at the beginning of our 9th grade year. I remember sleeping on the floor of his parents house frequently as we spent one last summer together.

Looking back, I know that much of our extra energy could have been put to more redeeming causes, but I wouldn't take a single adventure back and I cannot imagine a better friend to have had. I know now that our adventures were more than mischievous, they were molding. As a man, every time I choose courage over cowardice, every time I show respect to a woman as opposed to degrading her, every time I choose adventure and spontaneity over an average day, every time I choose discipline over sloth, every time I choose to work hard to take pride in my work instead of choosing laziness or good-enough - I easily trace these choices back to my friendship with Brandon. Even at that age he was a lion.

I grieve today for the loss of my friend Brandon. I grieve today for his mom and dad, who for many years were a mom and dad to me too. I grieve for his wife, Miranda who should never know a loss like this. I grieve for his beautiful children, Gabriel and Blakely, who should be told daily what an incredible man their daddy was.

I know that Brandon is with Christ now and I take comfort in this, but it doesn't completely relieve the sting of pain. Brandon's life and legacy live on through me, through his son, through any that allowed themselves to know and be affected by Brandon. There has never been anyone like Brandon and I thank God for putting him in my life at just the right time.