About 25 years ago, I saw a painting that touched a place in me that I thought I had sufficiently protected. It was at the Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City. I don't remember the name of the artist, but I will always remember his work. The painting was a depiction of a cowboy, rough cut, sunburned, grizzled, a man with the bark still on him, clad in a yellow rain poncho and an old dirty cowboy hat. The rain poured down as he sat to eat a hard-earned meal. As he bent his head down to take the first bite, the rain water which had pooled on the brim of his hat funneled down into his tin plate of beans. The work was titled "The Good Life".

I knew what the artist meant as soon as I saw the title. I identified with the old cowboy, and knew him immediately. I didn't have to know his name, or where he was from, or his politics, or anything else about him to know that he understands about The Good Life.
I have met the spirit of this cowboy many times, many places. The circumstances were different, the clothes were different, the names were different, but the eyes... The eyes were the same. The guys who understand The Good Life come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages. But their eyes... Their eyes tell the story.

Their eyes reflect the cold miserable rain and the fetid, sticky mud. They tell about the oppressive heat and the dust that sticks to their sweat. Their eyes speak about the flies and mosquitoes and leeches and hookworms and malaria. They describe the taste of dirty well water and iodine tablets and green Kool-Aid.

Their eyes tell about cold C-rations and hot Carling's Black Label beer. They tell about the nights - the nights when it was so dark. The nights when their imaginations tried to sneak up on them. The nights when reality exploded all around them. The nights when they were the Hunter and the Hunted.

But their eyes also reflect the other side of The Good Life. Their eyes prove that they have been tested and that they passed the test. They have a confidence, a self-assuredness, and a knowledge that they can handle anything that comes up. They have been through the fire and came out with a sharp edge.

And these men also have the ability to recognize other men who know The Good Life. They have the same sense of humor that other people just don't get. They share the memory of a maniac in a Smokey Bear who taught them the basics of The Good Life. They share the memory of Brothers lost, and of Brothers found. They share the nightmares and the laughter. They share the tears of crippling sorrow, and the tears of utter joy, and the tears of spine-tingling pride.

There is no greater honor than to sit in the rain and share a plate of beans with a group of men who understand The Good Life.