Despite living maybe five miles apart � no more than a 10-minute drive, that's for sure � growing up, I never hung out with my cousin Scott. Our fathers � who, along with their father, are the only men on either side of my family from my grandparents on down who have brothers � have always been pretty close and the families would get together often for holidays, birthdays, swimming at the pool at Scott's house. But until college, really, three years is a big difference in age and that's how much older Scott is.

I can only remember one instance when I called Scott up and saw him outside of any family gathering, and that was to ask him to pick my friends and me up from a baseball card convention at the racetrack near his house and take us to someone else's house near Scott's house. When he became a father last fall, Casey and I went into the city early one Saturday before our afternoon plans to see the family and their apartment.

Two months ago, though, Scott, Kat and baby Alex moved to New Jersey into a house that, on a good day (not with today's rain) I could walk to from work in 5-10 minutes. Last night, Casey and I went over there for dinner.

"You should come see the baby," Scott wrote me on Monday, "he's much more fun than he used to be."

That would be Christmas, when Alex slept through most of the visit at my parents' house, waking up occassionally when he'd be passed around from relative to relative. Now, he's as big at 8 months as most babies are at 12, Kat told us, but I can see his age catching up with his weight. He's a solid kid, too, with strong arms and legs already. I could feel it when I held him and he kicked, or when he reached up to grab at the "fur" � the chest hair � peeking out from my shirt collar. "He does that with Scott, too," Kat said. "The other day, he really got a handful."

I came away with all my chest hair intact. Alex stayed awake and lively throughout our three-hour visit. He motored around the hardwood floors in his walker, banging into the walls and chairs. He grabbed at his colorful toys and just about anything shiny. He's at the "in the mouth" stage where everything must be tasted.

At one point Scott mentioned that he and I should get together to shoot hoops or play tennis (something neither of us actually do, however) to be active and get out and stop our slow slide into midriff-bearing Pooh territory, as evidenced by Alex's dancing Pooh Bear, whose red shirt easily slides up over his round belly with all his wiggling.

I sensed a little bit of loneliness in that suggestion. I get the feeling that, particularly with a baby, it's harder for him to get out and catch up with friends. I'm not sure just how many he has up in North Jersey anyway. I know he and Kat often drive down to where our parents live � still only about 15 minutes apart, even with my uncle's move ��and he still has most of his friends down there from when he used to live there and commute to the city. Like Scott, I have my best friends down the Shore. A couple of my closer high school and college friends (one each) reside in Manhattan, but getting over there can be a chore and a hassle. They've got their own friends and agendas, too, which means that although we may live mere miles apart (were we able to fly), planning to rendezvous has proved to be more of an obstacle than we've anticipated.

Whether or not Scott and I adhere to those loose agreements we made last night to get out to the court, it's an inviting new door that has opened. Many of the people I'm closer with at work live in Manhattan or beyond (Brooklyn) and our after-hours work gatherings do not happen too often. Fat chance any of them will cross the river on a weekend, too. But if Scott's up for hoops and Amanda � one of Casey's coworkers � wants to come over to barbecue (as she hinted, and not subtlely, yesterday), then maybe it's the beginning of at least a modest North Jersey-based circle of friends.