Really, honestly, I am not Matthew Weaver

Everyone who knows Matthew Weaver has a story.

Here's mine.

When I was at Washington State University I worked as a reporter for the Daily Evergreen, the student newspaper. It was an interesting experience, mostly because every semester we had a new editor.

I had an editor I didn't like one semester, but I didn't want to leave, mostly because I had to pay for my various addictions. So, I was sticking it out. Well a friend, Weaver and I went out to Denny's one night after I had a particularly bad run in.

Now our mutual friend had a crush on a woman, and was pining after her. For the sake of the story, I'm going to call her Christine. I can't remember if that was her name, but it sounds good to me. 

So our friend started it off by pointing out something and saying it reminded him of, "the beautiful Christine." He probably said it five or six times before Weaver and I started making it ridiculous.

"You know what the Denny's sign reminds me of?" I started.

"The beautiful Christine," he answered.

"You know what that bush reminds me of?" he asked.

"The beautiful Christine." I answered.

"You know what the headlights remind me of?"

"The beautiful Christine."

We did it enough to drive him to distraction. It made Weaver laugh. It made me laugh. It frustrated our mutual friend, and the night ended.

Now, I owe Weaver quite a bit. He's the one who told me about the job I currently have. He took me down a couple notches when I needed it. He was, in general, a good friend.

But he sure casts a long shadow, and none of it's helped by the fact that I vaguely resemble him. In the past two-and-a-half years, I've heard a lot of Weaver stories. He used to play table tennis at the Soap Lake Businessman's Club. He used to chat with people at the book store. I heard about at least one trip to Zip's, and have read some really funny columns of his.

The problem is: I'm not Matthew Weaver.

I'm not as friendly or outgoing. I don't have the natural charm or wit, and I know when he reads this he's going to write a joke about it much funnier than I can put in the column. I have my own strengths, but I have to admit he's more personable than I am. 

Now, I could be angry about not being Weaver, but I'm not. We're different people. I grew up in the stoic, conservative part of New England, and no matter how much I've tried to get away from it, I still don't emote like Weaver can.

I still remember the purple prose he would lay out to every beautiful woman at the Evergreen. I'm not sure how he could say it, but he did. He could do it without seeming creepy.

For a while, I was jealous. I mean everyone loved Weaver. I do mean everyone. I have never met anyone who met the guy, who doesn't like him.

But I've come to accept it. I mean, I'm not Weaver.

Sometimes though, I wish I was. 

Cameron Probert is the Columbia Basin Herald's county reporter. When asked if Cameron Probert was a cousin of Matthew Weaver's, Mr. Weaver replied, "He's not weird enough to be a Weaver."