We always joke about some of our closest friends, how crazy they are, what they’ve done and what they would do for you at the drop of a hat.
If you’re really lucky, you get more than one. If so, you are blessed.
You only have one true mother, but if circumstances allowed you two, wow, you are beyond blessed.
Losing mine last week was the most difficult thing to happen in my 58 years. But being around family, even if for all too short a period, made me realize just how special a family I have been blessed with in my life. Not that I ever dismissed the idea, but having siblings, children and other relatives live so far away has made them seem so distant at times that it has just been easier to call nearby friends in a crunch.
Family and friends from Santa Barbara to Tampa sent notes I’ll forever cherish, some from right here in Coffee County.
I realized that I have maybe been wrong regarding the human race. Sure, there are many that need help, but I have witnessed the past several days there are far more that are kind-hearted and genuinely good.
Walking with a cane through airports recently following my bilateral knee replacement surgery, I twice dropped my cane. Once, before I could bend over a young military guy from Fort Benning had grabbed my cane and handed it to me. Secondly, I was eating at the Atlanta airport when the cane dropped from leaning against my table. One of two young Hispanic girls who had been laughing and carrying on jumped up and grabbed the cane to hand it to me. Now, I know I can look helpless, but I wasn’t and would have been embarrassed had I not been so grateful.
While rummaging through my mother’s things, I discovered was 44 minutes away from being born on Feb. 23 and therefore I could not claim George Washington and Julius Erving as sharing my birthday, rather the likes of Peter Fonda and Dakota Fanning.
I also realized I was a bit small at birth, only 6 pounds, 5 ounces. What happened?
She still had my selective service system letter that I received in 1981 at 19, complete with my official number and all.
She had saved a note I had written — well, scribbled — likely at age 6 or 7, that read “Mama, Daddy and I have gone squirrel hunting. Kyle.”
Treasures. My mother, my family, my friends and all good people of whom I’ve crossed paths, you are all treasures.
Now, it’s time to get back to squirrel hunting in my columns. It’s more common to write about those who need help (see Nancy P.) If you’re not mentioned, just consider it as maybe you don’t need help.