Bird Droppings April 19, 2024
My friend Trooper pondering, remembering and digesting the stories.

My youngest grandson turns four today, and my wife and I were talking about Facetiming later with Henry. I was outside today dodging raindrops, getting some photos, and grabbing a biscuit from the corner store. Now, sitting quietly makes you think, remember, and ponder. Fifty-one years ago, I was a student at Mercer University in Macon, Georgia; I had moved south only a few months before from Pennsylvania. Macon was new to me, and I admit I was a bit naive then. In the student center, for those of us who lived off-campus, it was a place to grab some food, study between classes, and socialize. I recall the day I met Trooper. Never one to be quiet and timid, he demanded attention. You knew when he was around. Back then, his typical outfit was a pair of ragged cutoff jeans and a t-shirt; that was just about year-round. On that day, several girls were gigging and screaming in the canteen as Trooper strolled by. He had inadvertently pulled down a tube top or two as he walked by. In today’s world, the campus police would have been called in the 1970’s the girls asked for an autograph. The fine line of perception has changed so much since the 1970s.

“We sit silently and watch the world around us. This has taken a lifetime to learn. It seems only the old are able to sit next to one another and not say anything and still feel content. The young, brash, and impatient must always break the silence. It is a waste, for silence is pure. Silence is holy. It draws people together because only those who are comfortable with each other can sit without speaking. This is the great paradox.” Nicholas Sparks,   The Notebook

At that time, I was working in a center for special needs children and adults, and Trooper showed up to volunteer out of the blue. I see another side of this larger-than-life fellow from Mercer Campus. At that time, he was not a student but would audit courses he liked. He worked as a bouncer for a band promoter, keeping the guys in the bands in line. We became good friends. Somehow, he volunteered at my center, and a few weeks later, I became a character witness at his drug trial. I will never know if it was synchronicity or deliberate. If not for knowing him for the next few years, I would have said deliberate, and my father thought that till the day he died. Trooper continued working at various programs after escaping jail and moving out of Macon. I never really sat down with my dad and reviewed everything. There are several stories there.

“All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.” Friedrich Nietzsche

As I think back, it’s the stories of all those years. Boys Club camping trips to North Carolina, a rustic cabin in Dahlonega, trips to Albany, Georgia, meeting the sales rep for an archery company, and a good one, my wedding and him pulling a big Buck knife out to carve some frozen grapes from a table display. I weigh the good and great stories over the one or two bad ones.

Good stories, great stories, and several sad stories all intermingle as I think back. It has been four long years since his daughter called and informed me he had been hospitalized. Then, great news: he may be getting out of CCU and going to a regular room. Then, he suffered a massive heart attack a short time later, and they could not revive him. So here I am pondering, remembering, and thinking of all the stories. I had a long night of dreams last night. I thought back to how upset I was. I had not visited him in many years, and he visited me. We always had a reason. We had frequently communicated through social media, arguing about politics and remembering our stories.

With my mother passing about four years back, now thinking back to Trooper’s passing, I am remembering time is often an enemy as we grow older. Our bodies are in a daily fight with you. You can do this, but not that today. Can I get another minute with a friend or have another conversation? A dear friend in Pennsylvania came up with this in an email. “Every time a classmate (and I would say friend) dies it means we’re closer to being the next one to go or closer to being the last one alive. The problem is, I won’t be able to tell you when I find out the answer to that question.” I need to spend my time with family and friends more wisely.

 I was reminded a few days back about stories my father would tell. I promised my brother and sisters I would write them down, and I needed to get them down. Now, another group of stories needs to be put on paper so they can be retold. It is our stories that give us life. I wish my mother and good friend Trooper well in their new journey namaste.

My family and friends, I do not say this lightly,

Mitakuye Oyasin

(We are all related)

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