Remembering my soldier-"friend"---lost!

Memorial Day! Honor-salute!

 

“Back-in-the-day” as modern-youth politely refers to the “oldsters” among us (Sure enough Reckon that includes a septuagenarian like me---71!) we made our own entertainment with creative-juices and wild-imagination; the real-world provided enough “adult”-decisions for all.

Playing ball filled many an otherwise vacant hour; great fun, too; honed skills and coordination. Seems there was “no” money way back then; everybody was “poor” save a few pre-modern self-proclaimed “Royal-elite” types who “Put-on-the-dog”; nobody paid any more attention to such tripe as does the sacred Independent-Individuals of this “modern” era. Sure enough reckon it made the “losers” feel Good about their plight?

Reckon, sure enough, nothing changes! Now, they just have more committees and such!?

My friend “Bobby” and I played a lot of ball, growing up; two-full years my senior, chronologically, he liked my style and we became fast-friends. He even came to my evening ball games just to observe, warm me up between innings if the catcher was gearing-up and thoroughly review my game after-the-fact, pointing out the “should-of” and such of the event.

Bobbie taught me how to throw the old curve-ball when I was 12 admonishing me to use it sparingly. At least, until I was 16, so as to not injure my pitching arm in a permanent manner.

Oh! I threw that curve---but respecting my mentor’s advise…I used it most sparingly. Yeah!

The backstop at the high school and on our Khoury-League diamonds was often planted in red clover to prevent erosion and it did not require much maintenance. Best of all, that thick carpet caught myriad foul balls and “hid” them from recovery when spectators flew after them to return the errant foul to the umpire; like I said, money was at a premium and “everything” was saved.

Well! Sure enough, I reckon, we soon figured out that our diminished baseball supply (always short on equipment and balls) found “new-life” with next-day retrieval of clover-“lost’ foul balls.

We would use the spheres until we knocked the horsehide-cover off; then, one of the kid’s would raid his “Old-man’s” garage to “borrow” the roll of electric tape and we’d wind the slick, black-sticky ’round and ’round the “yarn”-core and use ’er some more; eventually, we’d get another one from the old “lost” foul-ball fairy! Hey! A poor kid has to “make-do”! We sure did!

Same thing with bats. By turning the label of the Louisville-slugger away from the pitcher, and by not swinging too hard---Why!...that thin handle would “crack”; tiny nails and more tape!

We all had fielder’s mits; Bobby even had a 1^st baseman’s mit. Wow! That was sure impressive. Our ‘sand-lot” teams never had catcher’s mits; way too expensive! Just---make-do!

Well! Time passed and Bobby went off to college; got a P.E. degree and a teaching job!

Then, the “adults” got involved! Hmph! Idiots! Some fat-ass politico-type took insult (real or perceived) from some world-“leader”!? Unable to “make-do” like real people, they started a war!

Yep! Took my dear-friend Bobby, put him in a uniform, taught him to close-order march, answer “everything” with a “Yes! Sir!” and a smart-salute, put a rifle in his hands---off he went!

Problem is, I reckon, sure enough---off Bobby went…never to return to play ball with me!

They sent a box home with a tale of “heroic-demise”---Hell!...He was “always” my Hero!

As an “adult” I have shed “few” tears---that day…they flowed, Unashamedly! Adios! Bobby!

Decades later, my wife and I were in an antique mall---about the 3^rd booth…Voila!

There sat a framed  8x10 sepia-tone Senior picture---of…Robert Franklin “Bobby” Holden!

With a few more of those coveted “adult”-tears, I bought that photo---now…I cherish it!

He & I still play ball, sometimes---in my fantasy-mind…Yeah! I am an incorrigible-dreamer

Not much I can do for Bobby---save, I write, a little…following is my tribute to my friend:

Heroes

(a memorial-salute to my friend: Bobby)

 

Too many names on a stone wall so black

Young brave soldiers won’t ever come back

 

Sacrificed lives vacate “ideals”-construction

Death chiseled in granite, horror’s-destruction

 

Those icicle fingers grope beyond wasted life-lost

Piercing mothers and lovers, their children with strife

 

A mistake we allowed, this venomous deed-dastardly

We pray haunts dead souls of politicos-bastardly

 

Forgive us, our heroes, the people we love

Help us with healing from His Power above

 

Innocent young people on a long wall-of-black

Souls of the children who can never come back

 

Alas! And, what of us now as we struggle anew?

These issues enormous strike terror right through

 

For logic-answers we search but simply can’t see

Profound-problem is us, our own worst-enemy

 

Grant us a life without further pernicious-sorrows

Peaceful-quiet rest like those fallen young-warriors

 

Leave them alone, steal no longer their youth

Don’t teach them to lie but rather sight-truth

 

Beyond the self-centered wanton with greed

Mankind does hunger to satiate good-need

 

Where are we now as onward we falter?

Far from Redemption, no spiritual altar

 

Too many names on a stone wall so black

Young brave soldiers can’t ever come back

Amen!

S-a-l-u-t-e! S/Sgt. Robert Franklin “Bobby” Holden! My friend!
(May 15, 1945 -May 7, 1968) Rest-in-Peace! Mon Amie!