In my early twenties, I was hung up on timelines — accomplishments, milestones, titles. I measured progress in awards, medals, plaques. Things you could point to. Things that looked permanent.
But after my mother died — also in my early twenties — I began to understand how little of that actually lasts. None of those markers show up at the end. None of them hold weight when you’re sorting through what mattered and what didn’t.
What endures isn’t what you achieved. It’s who you showed up for. Who trusted you. Who you were willing to stand beside when no one was keeping score.
Phone A Friend
For thirteen years at Costco Travel, one of my roles was Cruise Supervisor. The title sounds polished. The reality was different. I handled escalated, inbound calls only — no in-person visits, no face-to-face. Just voices. And most of those voices arrived frustrated, angry, or already convinced they’d been wronged.
On any given day, I was the verbal punching bag. The pressure-release valve. The calm voice expected to absorb the hit and still find a solution.
It was through that work that I met Christine — my Royal Caribbean Cruise Line representative at the S.T.A.R. Desk. What began as a purely transactional business relationship slowly became something else. Not overnight. Not intentionally. But through years of phone calls layered with problem-solving, humor, exhaustion, empathy, and the kind of honesty that only shows up when neither person is performing.
Eventually, we exchanged personal mobile numbers so we could talk freely. Anything but work became the rule. And no “government names,” either.
She once told me a story about accidentally crashing Sir Elton John’s party at the Atlantis Resort. From then on, she was simply “Atlantis” in my phone’s contact list.
She’s an introvert. My stories — and more importantly, my way of telling them — became an invitation. A chance to experience a wildly different world through my perspective and my words. Not to escape her life — just to widen it.
We started talking near the beginning of my career, around 2004 or 2005. Always by phone. She was in Oklahoma at first, then Arkansas, and eventually Kansas with her husband, John.
So she was there through my divorce from Charlene. Through the messy years that followed — the partying, the dating, the recalibration. And I was there for her in return: the night she hit a deer with their pickup, the family tensions, the job changes, the moments where life refused to stay neat.
Through all of it, the pattern never changed. We never exchanged photos. A few text messages here and there. No visits — neither me traveling to them nor them coming to me.
Just voices.
And time.
Truly a “Phone a Friend,” in the Who Wants to Be a Millionaire sense. Not for the money — for the truth. And in that way, we were already rich: in friendship, trust, and platonic love.
That’s the part people miss about moments like this.
The why isn’t sudden.
It’s cumulative.
Fast forward almost twenty years.
On an otherwise innocuous check-in, Atlantis shared the news: she was pregnant.
Of course, I was immediately happy for her — and for John. The reflexive questions followed: Are you revealing the gender? Got a name picked out? When’s the due date?
She answered each one patiently. Then, unexpectedly, John joined the call — something that had happened only a handful of times across hundreds of conversations.
“Hey, bud,” he said. “We’ve got an important question for you.”
“Hang on,” I replied. “Let me sit down.”
I did.
“Alright. Hit me with your best shot.”
“Will you be Gabe’s godfather?” he asked.
I blinked.
“I’m sorry, John,” I said slowly. “The connection must be staticky. I heard you ask if you want me to be a godfather.”
Atlantis laughed. “Yes, you goof. We want you to be his godfather — in case anything ever happens to us.”
“I’m flattered,” I said. “But isn’t that usually a close family member? A brother?”
John scoffed, gently but firmly. “You are the trusted family member. I know we haven’t met in person, but I know — in my heart of hearts — that you’d step into that role with love, guidance, and care.”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” I said, then hesitated. “It’s just… I’ve never been a dad before. Though I’m confident I’d rock it.”
“This is a contingency plan,” Atlantis reassured me. “We just want to rest easy knowing that if something catastrophic ever happened, our baby boy would have a guardian angel.”
I nearly saluted — instinctively, with no one around to see it.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Godfather Los, reporting for duty. If and when needed.”
“Perfect,” they said. “Have more adventures to report on.”
Click.
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone with a half-mused smile.
“Well,” I said aloud, “guess I should update my life’s résumé with the title of godfather.”
I paused.
“Godfather.”
Godfather… GODFATHER?
What do kids even like these days? How would I raise a kid? In this world? With COVID raging across the globe?
I didn’t have the answers.
But then again — I never really had before either. I’d always figured it out when the moment arrived.
If or when I needed to, I would again.
First Impressions Often Last
In late 2022, coming out of the COVID years, Atlantis asked me, “Hey… wanna meet your godson?”
“Um, yeah,” I said immediately. Then corrected myself. “Hell yeah.”
“Want to come to his birthday party in February? You know — joint celebration?”
“Say less,” I replied. “I’ll book my flight today.”
This would also be the first time I met my friends, John and Christine, in person.
Jami and I were on the backside of our relationship, which was going downhill faster than a greased pig at a county fair. Thankfully, I traveled solo.
So I did what I do — I planned. I mapped out a few geocaches to earn my digital state souvenirs in Oklahoma, Kansas, Arkansas, and Missouri. I figured I could either coach the family through them or briefly break away with a borrowed vehicle.
The day of arrival was Monday, February 13, 2023.
Finding their vehicle at Kansas City International Airport was easy. (Fun fact: Kansas City spans both Missouri and Kansas, straddling the Missouri River.)
John and Christine greeted me like old friends — because that’s exactly what we were. Hugs first. Luggage next.
I climbed into the back seat and settled in beside Gabe, buckled into his car seat.
And just like that, we were off.
Nothing felt awkward. It was comfortable — familiar in a way that surprised me. It was early, quiet, and sleepy. The road did most of the talking.
After about ninety minutes, we were all clawing at the inside of the car, ready to get out and stretch. John and I talked most of the way — a role reversal, since Atlantis and I usually carried the conversations. It felt natural.
The weekend was fantastic. We celebrated Gabe’s birthday. His family honored mine.
Grand, in the best way.
Atlantis was a little surprised by how at ease Gabe was with this stranger-for-now-but-his-godfather. And if I’m honest, so was I.
We were on the carpeted floor, surrounded by toys. At some point, he fell asleep mid-play. Not long after, I did too — stretched out beside him.
She captured the moment with a few photos and a short video.
Not to share.
Just to keep.
It was a quick visit. At airport drop-off, Gabe looked at me and said, simply, “Bye.”
He was only two. Words were still arriving in pieces.
But that one landed.
As I boarded the plane back to Washington, I felt proud to list Godfather as my latest — and greatest — title to date. My heart was happy. Full.
Much like that flight home.
It was the last moment of stillness before my world shifted — before I decided, just a month later, to move to Arizona and begin another chapter entirely.
Some titles arrive quietly.
And once they do, they never leave.
New Traditions
Year after year, it became almost expected that I’d be there for my godson’s birthday. Ours fall just days apart — numerically close, decades separated.
By my third visit, Gabe had friends. Playmates. An actual birthday party.
The tradition was no longer symbolic.
It was lived.
This Year
Now that Jen and I are a couple, we’ll be visiting as godparents — together.
Not only that, we’re officially kicking off our Hearts to Highway Tour with Gabe’s birthday celebration on February 14th.
Yes — Valentine’s Day.
Somehow, it feels exactly right.
los, Fil-Am Renaissance Man 