Hope Comfort Inspiration (HCI): Day 51 CJSM plus part 3 of 6 Mountain Stirrings

Day 51

Z. Tyler’s baseball games

and a wooden bat tournament

I was a “young” forty when Z. Tyler graced us with his presence; right after I bought him a “Radio Flyer” red wagon, I got the infant a small red plastic bat with two white balls. At just nine months of age, that boy could hold the 12-inch bat in his right hand, hold a ball head-high, drop the ball and hit it before it reached the ground! A “born” ballplayer!

Wow! And, he got---better!...and, better! All the vast distance to---Great!

We moved to beautiful Oregon when Z. was only two years old; his Nanny played ball with him every day in the front yard; she encouraged his every swing and was patient. Z. Tyler could throw, hit, field, run with the very best of them. That blessing is called, plain and simple: Talent!

He played “little league”, high school and intramural ball; we watched many hours of fun.

The “powers” that be always have a way of perverting “good, clean” fun---Voila!...Aluminum bats! With “spiked” balls, these “contraptions” make “good” hitters, better (though only in distance, not in talent or ability); but, they failed as miserably in their intent to purposed “greatness” for “little” or “no” talent coaches’ kids as did the inventors of the “cheating” design by the “powers” who concocted the faux “idea”. They can “talk” any trash they can imagine, give “A’s” to every student so they are all “genius?”, but, Truth! never takes a back seat to the reality of talent, on the baseball field, in the classroom or in life, itself. Maybe the “collective” lie sees them through, but, everybody knows Truth! sees “Quality” and instinctively approves.

No matter the faux “conscientious”, no matter the number within the collective, no matter what rules or laws or immutable facts are “lied” about---Truth!...wins the day! Every day!

But, Nice try, fellas. The “effort” of your demise says more about you than you might wish!

These fake aluminum “bats” zing a baseball like a bullet; several youngsters are killed each year by line drives from these “weapons”; but, in the “my 15-seconds of fame land of “perception”, what is one or two or 1500/day infant lives destroyed under the shadow of a “lie”?

Just “abortion-delayed or abortion–deferred”, I suppose, no big deal, “Gullible”-I am supposed to believe. Hmm?!

Z. Tyler eventually found true aficionados who love the adventure which is baseball and graduated to “Wood bats” tournaments. Alleluia! No more weak “tink”; only manly “thunk”!

Our young man showed his talent, ability, athleticism, sportsmanship and “Quality” throughout his time; no one is fooled by the attempted deception---save…rightly, the deceivers!

If a satiated spirit be the intent, then the purpose must be “pure” in its exercise! Amen!

“Strike 1! Strike 2!---Thunk!...A “home run”! Every time!

Ah! Cookie Jar Sweet “adventure” Memories!

Plus: Part 3 of 6 "Mountain Stirrings"

Continuing to chastise himself within his mind, he admitted that the wind might have precipitated the crying tear betrayal, but, the beauty of this vista, one of his very favorite points of perspective for reflection, brought forward his secreted love and admiration for his Mary Helen who, somehow, managed to remain within his subconscious until some emotional interference would propel her lovely memory into his conscious thoughts.

Must be “Love!” He laughed at his absurd wonderings.

Again, Logan shook his head and wiped away another bothersome tear from a cold cheek. She was married with two kids living somewhere in southern California, probably enjoying the “great adventure” of life with some successful, bronzed hunk, wrapped comfortably in the “Golden glow” of eternal sunshine, satiated in the impossible dream. Hell! Logan doubted if the delightful beauty would even remember his name, or him. Just another hopeless-romantic. A dreamer!

And, about: “Doing anything about his pre-occupation? Well? In a word: No! At least, not today---and, honestly…probably not in this world or in this life. He shook his head a third time.

“She could: Wait!” He decided for the thousandth time. “And, so could he; he’d have to!”

The disconcerting reverie was broken by movement below his position as he caught sight of the disgruntled man coming up the trail behind him, the boy was nowhere in sight; probably obscured from his own purview by the angle of the rocks on which Logan stood.

Finally, Logan glimpsed the boy, struggling for breath and obviously freezing cold in his short sleeves and short pants making an effort to close the last twenty feet of his trek to reach the base of the summit boulders.

Finding a comfortable south-facing seat where he could rest his back against a boulder in a little three-sided pocket, of sorts, Logan settle in to enjoy the view while he drank fully half the contents of his secreted-water in a bottle, always cognizant to keep well-hydrated. After a few minutes, he opened the sketch pad and began a drawing which etched Long’s Peak in the background with lovely Miss Mary Helen’s face superimposed in the foreground.

Ah! Memories! Sweet memories!

A pleasant reverie and solemn solitude were harshly interrupted when whining complaints assaulted Logan’s ears as the father and son ascended his private precipice domain.

“Come on! Donnie!” The oldest of the pair nettled.

Then, further grousing at the boy, “If you’d lose some of that gut, you could keep up with me! Jeez! Come on! And, don’t start crying and complaining like your mother, again!” He paused.

Then added, “I’ll be so glad to get you back to the Springs. Hurry up! Will you?”

Logan watched as a bald head, shading bright red from the frigid wind, biting cold and intense sun, topped the boulder just off to his left; the man could not observe Logan from that position.

Not even bothering to view the spectacular mountain vista laid before him as today’s blessing, the man paced an agitated small space of a circle as he moaned and complained toward the approaching youth, still nowhere to be seen in Logan’s purview

“Jesus! Donnie!” The father finally begged. “Get your fat...behind, up here.”

The boy, out of breath and exhausted, came into o view to Logan; tears stained plump cheeks.

“Damn! Quit crying!” The man implored. Shaking his head in disgust. “We’re here. Finally. Isn’t this what you wanted? Now, enjoy this…” he paused, nearly beside himself with anger.

Then, continuing in an obvious effort to control his emotion, “…this---view! Jeez! I’m freezing! It’s colder than your mother’s heart; if that’s even a possibility.”

As the young man struggled to stand on the boulder, somewhat shaky from cold and near exhaustion, not to mention an unrelenting badgering by the elder, the father threw up his arms in abject defeat, almost yelling at his discomforted son.

“Sherry told me not to make this trip with you this year. Said you were totally out of shape, like your mother, and that I’d be miserable if I brought you. But, Oh! No! I’m way too smart to listen to her. Brother!” He exclaimed as Donnie tried to catch his breath, breathing hard, tears freely flowing while the boy continually wiped at them in a futile effort to stem the tide.

A noticeable slump came to the father’s shoulders as a wave of guilt washed over him.

Placing a hand on his son’s shivering shoulder, the man tried to sound sympathetic and consoling, but, he just couldn’t quite pull it off and instead, sounded even further condescending.

“You’re freezing,” he offered. Rubbing his own bare arms, he concluded, “So am I.”

After a pause, as Donnie seemed to get better control of himself, his father continued. “Look. I’m going to head on down. I’ve got a drink in the glove box and I’m freezing my tail off up here. You take your time; get a good look all around, enjoy yourself. When you’re done, satisfied with your little adventure, come on down to the car; I’ll be waiting; with the heater on”

Donnie gave his old man a vacant stare; the dad shook his head in disgust and retreated off the boulder and out of sight to Logan. The boy knew his dad would finish off the already partially drank bottle and be dead drunk and sleeping by the time Donnie got back to the car. Be lucky if he didn’t get killed running off the mountain on the way back to Estes Park or on the return trip home to Colorado Springs. Donnie was considering what life might be like without his dad when a voice caught him unawares, startling the boy so that he visibly jumped, then quickly surveyed his surroundings for the source of the eerie wraithlike utterance.

“Hey! Boy!” Came startling, unexpected words; shortly the boy caught sight of a man rising out of the boulder field. First he noticed a worn baseball cap growing from the rocks, just to the boy’s right side; then a man’s face and finally a black leather motorcycle-type jacket complete with streamers of leather fringe flowing in the breeze. The boy stared, unbelieving of his eyes.

“Come on down here with me, son. Out of the wind.” The man reached his hand toward the lad who hesitantly, then, reluctantly, took several tentative steps toward the offered assistance.

The kid grabbed hold, jumped off the boulder and joined the stranger; his goose bumps on plump, naked arms lessened somewhat as he avoided the harshness of the stiff, chill breeze.

“Quite a view! Isn’t it?” The leather jacket-man offered, smiling. He was removing the coat.

“By the way, I’m Logan,” the man introduced himself.

“Yeah!” The youth responded with an easy smile. “Beautiful! Just beautiful! I’m Donnie.”

Wrapping the warm jacket around the shivering boy, Logan zipped it tight and put his baseball cap on the boy’s head, then handing the youth his leather gloves; with the kind offerings in place, Donnie looked somewhat warmer, already.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Donnie.” Logan acknowledged.

Then, “Well worth the effort of the climb, wouldn’t you say?” He asked, viewing the vista.

The boy smiled. “Yes, sir! Logan.” He answered by way of recognition. “Sure is beautiful!”

Logan fished the water bottle from the pocket of his coat now snugly comforting the youth; he removed a granola bar, also. Offering the boy the water, he nodded in encouragement.

Donnie accepted the drink and drained half the remaining contents in one continuous gulp before taking a break, all the while eyeing the energy bar which Logan handed to him.

“Thanks!” The boy offered, ripping open the foil package, then devouring the treat in three quick bites followed by fully half of the remaining liquid in the plastic bottle; he wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, huddling deeper into the warmth of the leather jacket.

Logan resumed his seat, his back comfortable against the boulder; Donnie followed suit. Once situated, the boy slowly took in the surrounding view.

“Long’s Peak!” Logan opened, staring at the pinnacle piercing a cerulean abyss.

“After you warm up, some,” he continued, “climb back up on top of this boulder field and take in the full three hundred and sixty degree view. Like being on top of the world!”

“Yeah!” Replied Donnie. “I caught some of it on the way up here.” He looked away, obviously embarrassed and trying to disguise the discomfort caused by his father’s behavior.

Logan understood and looked past his guest, not wanting to intensify Donnie’s discomfort.

“Sometimes, adults can be a real pain,” he offered.

When the boy glanced at him, Logan added, “Especially parents.” The youth smiled at that.

“You happen to have any more treats,” Donnie blurted, now not embarrassed, at all.

Logan laughed at the boy’s youthful enthusiasm, pointing to the jacket.

“I think you’ll find a chocolate bar with almonds in it in the right front pocket.”

In short order, Donnie had retrieved the candy bar, unwrapped it, and chawed off a third of its length; his expression displayed total pleasure and satisfaction as he chewed.

Pacing himself before attacking the remainder of the sugary treat, the boy took a sip of water.

Swallowing, he gave Logan a questioning stare; the man waited.

“You, uh, heard what my dad said to me?” He asked, openly.

Logan nodded. “Yeah!” He confessed. “You all came up on my position, kind of unexpected. I couldn’t help but hear the conversation. Sorry!” He apologized. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“No! That’s okay,” the boy replied, pausing as though considering whether to continue.

Finally resolving the internal conflict, the boy said, “I only see him for two weeks in the summer; I live in Colorado Springs with my mom.” He smiled, “We get along great!”

Logan nodded, listening, realizing the boy had something on his mind.

“Dad left three years ago,” Donnie continued. “Got a job over in Salt Lake.”

Donnie eyes drifted off to Long’s Peak, but he did not seem to focus on the spectacular mountain as he continued the explanation, seemingly more to himself, rather than this stranger.

“After he got settled, mom and I were supposed to join him, there. But, the move kept getting delayed, he called less and less, wouldn’t answer our calls to him, never came home, not in a full year. Missed our birthdays, Christmas, their anniversary. Just seemed like we died, to him.

“One day I came home from school; mom was home. She usually worked until five, so that was very unusual. She was sitting at the kitchen table; her eyes were all red; she had been crying.

“I asked her what was wrong; she handed me the letter she was holding; it was from a lawyer over in Utah. It said Dad wanted a divorce; there were some legal papers in it and mom was supposed to go see a lawyer in Denver, at his office, sign everything, there, and it would all be handled without costing her anything, she’s get the house and custody of me.” He paused.

Collecting his thoughts, then throwing a stone over the edge, in anger, Donnie continued.

“He must have hit the big time,” he said, laughing. “Mom got three grand a month plus another thousand for my upkeep; more money than we had ever seen. Didn’t make us rich, by any stretch, but it made us comfortable. Mom kept her job and we stayed in our house.

“The first summer I went to visit Dad for my two week stay, I learned that he had this hot, young chick living with him.” He made a face, wrinkling his nose as though he smelled a bad odor. “Sherry!” He almost spat the name in abject disgust. “First class ‘Bi…’” he trailed off without finishing the word. “That woman is impossible. Runs him ragged; never satisfied; never happy. I left after five days; couldn’t stand the sight of her; he got on my nerves, too.”

Donnie took a deep breath, like the telling of his horror took a huge toll on him; he swallowed another taste of the tepid water; that seemed to revive his resolve, if not his spirits.

“They had a new baby last year at Christmas. I was supposed to go see it and visit with my dad; I refused.” He tossed another stone into oblivion, this time, absent the outrage.

“So, he asked me what he could do to make it up to me. Finally, I said we’d meet for my two week summer visit and take a trip through the Rockies here in Colorado. Lived here, in the Springs, all my life and had never been to this Park, before.” He shook his head.

“Anyway, I took a bus to Salt Lake so we could drive back here and spend some ‘quality’ time together, on the trip.” Donnie toyed with a third stone, rolling it in his pudgy hand, but not flinging it like the first two.

“But, as soon as I got there, ‘Sherry’ started in; cussing him for leaving her alone with a squalling brat and cussing me for coming to ruin her ‘perfect’ life! She hates me.”

His round face flushed red. “Jeez!” He exclaimed, exasperated as he angrily hurled the rock into oblivion. He shook his head as though trying to cast out a nightmarish demon.

Namely, Logan correctly surmised: Sherry! The evil “B”-stepmother!

“Dad got a phone call from ‘the witch’ yesterday; I don’t know what she said, but he’s in a big rush to get me home to the Springs; says he’s got to get back to Salt Lake, immediately. We’ve only been gone for five days. Guess this vacation is over!” He concluded, derisively.

“Take another swig of that water, kid,” Logan said; the boy did as instructed.

“Look,” the man began, “I don’t meddle where I don’t belong; usually doesn’t ever do any good, anyway. But, if you’d like, I can have a friendly little chat with your dad; maybe explain a bit of your side of it. You just never know, but, that decision is for you to make.”

Determination in the boy’s eyes told the tale, even before the words were spoken.

“Won’t do no good.” Donnie concluded. “He already knows my side of it and how I feel.”

Shrugging his shoulders in resignation, he stated, flatly, “He made his bed; let him lay in it.”

Obviously, the boy was despondent, just a short step on a slippery slope from depression.

They sat in silence, then. A man and a boy, together, yet, each alone with his own thoughts.

Logan had lived a near-perfect life, nearly forty years of pleasureful adventure, thus far; his