Bird Droppings April 19, 2026
My friend Trooper pondering, remembering and digesting the stories.

My youngest grandson turned six today, and my wife and I were talking about Facetiming with Henry later. I was outside today chasing a sunrise that ended in a swirl of clouds and a weather report calling for rain. The wind was brisk, and while I was out, I saw only two deer, but I did see two peacocks as well. I grabbed some photos, came home, and made a brunch of sorts: leftover shrimp alfredo and a couple of scrambled eggs. It is wild. Now, sitting quietly makes you think, remember, and ponder.

Fifty-three 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 raggedy cutoff jeans and a T-shirt; that was pretty much year-round. On that day, several girls giggled and screamed in the canteen as Trooper strolled by. He had inadvertently pulled down a tube top or two while walking by. In today’s world, the campus police would have been called, but not in the 1970’s; the girls asked him 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 can sit next to one another, say nothing, 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 the time, I was working and getting a center for special-needs children and adults started, and Trooper showed up to volunteer out of the blue. I got to see another side of this larger-than-life fellow from the 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 band guys 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 knew 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 almost eight long years since his daughter called and informed me he had been hospitalized. Then, great news: he may be moving out of CCU and into 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. 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 frequently communicated through social media, arguing about politics and remembering our stories.

With my mother passing about seven years back, now thinking back to Trooper’s passing, I am remembering that time is often an enemy as we grow older. Our bodies are in a daily fight with us. You can do this today, but not that. Can I have another minute with a friend or have another conversation? A dear friend in Pennsylvania sent 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 do it. He reminded me yesterday about stories and old photos. 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 on their new journey. Namaste.

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

Mitakuye Oyasin

(We are all related)

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