O

Tomorrow is a big day, a very big sad day. It’s very hard to attend celebrations, especially when the celebration is about someone who has passed away and will no longer be there to bounce things off of or share a moment of your life’s silly experiences. Yet, it’s a celebration of one’s lifetime. A get-together without whom I would rather get-together with.

I once wrote a story about seeing the old Saguaros dying in numbers around where I live and how no one seemed to notice or at least told me how they had noticed the stately giants lying on the desert floor. The once-heightened soldiers of the Sonoran could no longer bear their weight. They could so easily be missed yet at the same time, taken for granted at the same time. I noticed each one I could see as I walked or drove in my car.

Saddened for only a moment. Saddened to see. Saddened with a pang of sadness that I without thinking would quickly pass as I moved along in the life I knew.

“Could I have two tacos and an order of onion rings, please?” Took me five seconds to lose the memory of sadness as I was on to something newer in the day. Even the trivial lunch could hide the pain of seeing the fallen at peace.

Everyone knew my other Dad. They called him, ‘Big O’. I called him just ‘O’. He was big and had hands that he loved using to crush your hand during a normal handshake. Losing a friend and mentor can be an incredibly difficult experience. It can be hard to accept that someone who was such an important part of your life is no longer there. I remember feeling a sense of disbelief when I first heard the news. It was as if the world had stopped turning for a moment.

My old saguaro was this man. O had a huge impact on my life. He was always there to offer guidance and support, no matter what. He had a way of making even the most difficult challenges seem manageable. I learned so much from him, both personally and professionally.

The days and weeks following his passing were a tough time for me. I felt lost and alone, unsure of how to move forward without my friend. It took time, but soon I came to realize that the best way to honor his memory was to continue living my life to the fullest. I knew that’s what he would have wanted.

Looking back now, I am grateful for the time I had with my friend and mentor. He touched so many lives and left a lasting impression on everyone he met. I will always cherish the memories we shared, and carry his wisdom and guidance with me always. He’d always end our conversations with, “How’s Kimmie?”

What’s a sticky memory without a moment of a story? Everyone has them. I have well over a hundred of the hardened thoughts about him. He truly was a Father to me although I brag of having several. He was and is one-of-a-kind. His wing settled on me for no specific reason. He called me, Billy. Only true friends can do that so you can tell he was a true friend to me.

I told him how I had taken up the art of flyfishing years ago. I was terrible at it but I tried and tried so I could take my son out to the Salt and look as if I knew what I was doing. That was a total waste of my son’s time. O came up to me after a while of my failed sportsmanship and asked.

“Billy, how’s the fishing adventures going?” I didn’t realize before that he was an expert and had been for some time. I told him a couple of quick descriptions of my experiences and he listened for a few minutes, but I caught the eye-roll and knew he was thinking I should try something else easier as a sport.

“Hey buddy, I want you to have something of mine to help you figure it out.”

He handed me an aluminum case with a screw top. The case was anodized with gold coloring and looked used, very used.

“What is this?” I asked while unscrewing the cap.

“You’ll see,” he assured.

I uncapped the tube and turned it upside down while I shook the insides out.

“That there is one-of-a-kind. A real bamboo.”

Inside was a cork handle attached to an odd-looking fishing pole. A four-piece long fishing pole. I looked at it like I knew what it was and nodded slightly.

“What is it?”

“Billy. That there is an HL. A real Leonard Hunt. You can just show that rod to the water and a fish will appear.”

“Wow!”

“You can have it and show off to your son but he ain’t gonna know any difference one way or another.  Some day that’ll put your kid in college. How’s Kimmie?”

I just shook my head and said thanks again for the prized pole and took it out to my truck to take home. I’m pretty sure I probably thought as I closed the door of the truck. “Yeah, college.” That’s exactly what Ben Crenshaw said when he signed his Wilson 8802 putter and gave it to me after cart caddying for him at a golf tournament.

Well, I never took it out of the case and took it back to him later in the years following. He reassured me to keep it and told me to give it to my Grandson when or if it ever happens. I put it in my closet and it has been in there with the putter for decades.

— Time Travel Time —

“Wow, that’s a great picture,” I texted to my son. He had sent me an image of he and Hudson fishing on a river in Idaho. Hudson was firmly holding a nice-sized rainbow trout he had caught while spending a few days with friends and their sons and daughters. Sort of a tradition for them now. Maybe I’ll show up before I trip and fall too.

I called later on in the week to ask about the trip and see if I could talk to my Grandson.

“Hey is Hud there?” Dan passed the phone.

We small-talked about fishing and he told me about every lure lost to the river.

“I’ll send you some of mine and maybe a tackle box too.”

“Cool.” That’s the sign of a good conversation when they say, ‘Cool’.

We continued the small-talk and he told me they would soon be going fishing again somewhere in Colorado. Then I said goodbye.

As the phone was only seconds from disconnecting, I blurted, “Hey Hud.”

“Yeah?”

“I going to send you something someone gave to me for you to have.”

“What is it?” He patently asked.

“Its a surprise. You’ll see. I might bring it on up to you after the summer.”

“Okay. Who gave it to you.”

I paused as I took in a breath. I know he could hear the struggle.

“Grandpa, who gave it to you?”

“Oh someone you don’t know. Someone who knew you.”

“Who Grandpa?”

I spoke softly into the phone, “Just an old saguaro.”

The End

“The best part of life starts at the top of the stretch.”

The WiseGuy