'GO MAKE SOME MEMORIES WITH A KID'

          A sunny summer day; a good-looking All-American boy, his light-colored hair a comfortable mess; wearing only a pair of board shorts and a big smile; he sits on the end of a well-used kayak, with a bag of FUNYUNS in his hands and a bottle of Orange GATORADE on the ground between his bare feet; a fishing rod lies in the boat behind him.

          I love this pic, partly 'cause it’s of my 11-year-old grandson and partly because it speaks to me of summers past, spent as a young boy, shirtless and barefoot, tanned brown as a li'l Indian; a hand-me-down ZEBCO fishin' rod, grasshoppers and earthworms, and them ol’ red and white plastic bobbers; fishin' the nearby creeks and local farm ponds with my friends. I also recall that we, too, enjoyed the same snacks; although for my generation, the GATORADE was the original Lemon-Lime flavor instead of Orange.

          The day I snapped this pic, we were floatin' a 3 1/2-mile stretch of the Conasauga River, up in Polk County, Tennessee. It was his first time on a 'yak by himself. In no time, he's sayin' "Hey, Paw", and I turn to find him standin' up on it, paddlin' along with nary a care in the world. That day, he learned to fish a new lure... a swirly-tailed jig, while I got to hear all about his recent trip aboard a cruise ship to St. Thomas, San Juan, and the Bahamas. Smart beyond belief, he can comprehend an amazin' amount of things on an adult's level and is constantly learnin'; yet, he's still an 11-year-old boy, and keeps me in stitches with some of the things he can come up with. And best of all is how I feel after spendin' the day with him. Normally, I'm exhausted when I get off the river, havin' paddled all day in the hot sun.... but not when I'm with this young'un. Yeah, the tired muscles are still there, but time shared with him actually recharges my spirit.

          My daughter says that he "has the best time with me", and that he's "blessed to have a Paw like me". Well.... I don't know about all that.... but I can tell you that that boy means the world to me. He is, without a doubt, my 'best-est bud'. Heck, at times, I think I learn as much from him as he does from me. If nothin' else, though, he helps keep me young.... or at least, rememberin' when I was. LOL

          Just a bit of friendly advice, people.... take a kid fishin', play dress-up or Barbies, or just go skip rocks across a creek or pond; it makes no matter. Just go make some memories with a kid, spend time listenin' to 'em as much as, if not more than, you do talkin' to 'em. I guarantee you'll not regret it, and they.... will never forget it.

'GOOD BYE, MY FRIEND'

          Growin’ up, there were three of us… Marty, Tony, and myself. If you saw one, chances were you’d see the other two, as well. To say that we were good friends is an understatement; we were closer than brothers even.

Marty Harrod
1969 - 2014

          Once grown, life took each of us in different directions, and as oftentimes happens; we got busy with our own families and adult lives. No longer did we spend spring afternoons together at Mason’s Lake reelin’ in hand-sized Bluegills or the first Saturday in September huntin’ doves together on opening-day. Yet, still… the bond between us was still there, the memories we shared from our teenage years were still strong. When we did get to see each other, it was obvious by the big bear hugs and ear-to-ear grins that the ties between us were still strong, and for the next half hour or more, time would stand still as we caught up on what was going on in each other’s lives. And over the past quarter of a century, during the toughest times of our lives, we’ve always been there for one another.

1969 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme convertible

          I have never, in my entire life, been so stunned as I was, on Saturday, when I got the call from my youngest daughter, telling me that Marty had died that morning. He’d had a heart attack, she said. My own heart instantly broke. I had to get off of the phone. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t think. I told her that I had to go, and she understood.

          A hundred things flooded my mind all at once… immediate concern for his family… his wife of 20+-years, their daughter, who is just a year or two behind my own… oh, and, Lord… how that li’l boy of his absolutely worships the ground his Daddy walked on. How will he take it? How will any of them? My heart literally ached for them.

Marty dancing with Ms. Cleveland (1987)

          And then came the memories… how we’d first met, at church it was, back in the 8^th grade; about the time we rolled the school guidance counselor’s yard at the behest of our drafting teacher; and how Marty had actually slow-danced with the principal at our Senior Prom. I thought of our gettin’ to hunt doves over at the Ridleys’ that one year; it turned out to be THE BEST dove hunt any of us ever had. And I remembered the night of our high school graduation, when afterwards we celebrated together at the Hungry House and stuck Mr. Presley, our drafting teacher, with the bill. Marty’s ’69 Cutlass convertible with its white interior and white soft top; it’s still one of my favorite cars of all time. That beautiful old Fox double-barreled 12-gauge that was handed down to him; he could make some of the darnedest shots you ever did see with that ol’ scatter gun. And how could I ever forget how, on my 19^th birthday, that big lug snuck up on me from behind, bear-hugged me, told me ‘Happy Birthday’, and gave me a peck on the cheek, then ran like the dickens to get away. The only time I’ve ever been kissed by a feller. LOL  Yes, I remembered. I remembered so many things from ‘back-in-the-day’, and even through the tears and hurt, my heart grew warm and I had to smile. They were good memories.

          Soon after, Marty’s sister-in-law called me and asked if I would let our friends know. I told her, of course, I would. It was late that afternoon when I finally reached Tony by phone. My voice broke as I informed him of our friend’s passing. He took the news much as I did; he was stunned, shocked into silence. On my end of the conversation, the tears flowed steadily as we eventually began reminiscing about old times and the three of us.

          A part of me is at peace, because I KNOW without a doubt where Marty is, now. He’s in Heaven. And, I’m sure his Daddy and his Granddaddy Dennis were waitin’ at them pearly gates to greet him with big ol’ back-slappin’ hugs. And, Lawd… just think of how Marty’s face must’ve lit up when he saw Grandmother Harrod, again.

          Yep… I miss my friend already. Regardless of where we were or what was goin’ on or who was around, it never would do him to simply shake my hand, he insisted always on bear huggin’ me, instead. I’m gonna miss that… that, and that big ol’ infectious grin of his! My friend Marty was the kind of person that could brighten up any room by simply walking into it. He never met a stranger, and to the best of my knowledge, he was a friend to all. He genuinely cared about folks and was always tryin’ to show it. I wish I was half the man Martin Ruffin Harrod was.

          This evenin’, I go to say ‘goodbye’ to an old friend; one that, although we didn’t get to see one another as often as we might’ve liked, is still very dear to my heart. It will not be an easy task. The loss of a friend never is. But two things do bring me comfort this day… the first, that the Good Lord has promised that I WILL see my friend again one day; the second, that I have enough heart-warming memories of those three boys to last me ‘til we’re all back together, again, smilin' and laughin'.