A Smooth Red Stone

Last month we celebrated Mother’s Day and this one enveloped Father’s Day. In years past these holidays engendered talk of lunches, barbeques, hot dogs and hamburgers. But, in recent years these days have, to me, been taking on new meaning. If we are blessed, a few things in life seem to grow stronger with the passage of time. Love may be one of those things. A love that is true, that is. Like the one most parents hold deep in their hearts for each of their children, as well as that of their children for them.

At a recent event it was my good fortune to encounter a man I hadn’t seen or spoken with for over thirty years. He brought this point home in a way few have been able to achieve.

As such conversations go, we began to reminisce and play catch up to bridge the gap of the intervening decades. Long ago I had attended high school with his children and remembered all of them fairly well, but of course, some better than others. We went through where they were now and what each was now doing. But, as we went along I sensed we were coming to a place of unavoidable discomfort. It was the uneasy pause that comes from contemplating whether or not to avoid the painfully obvious. It was when I recalled his second son my friend seemed to detect my awkwardness and to relax the moment he generously extracted from his pants pocket what to me at first appeared to be a smooth red stone.

I remembered his son as not only a cross country athlete, but a quiet young man with somewhat unfashionable horn-rimmed glasses. More importantly, however, I remember him as a gentle spirit with a peace settled upon him uncommon to most others around him who were busy participating in the uproar of the late sixties-early seventies Viet Nam War era. Even compared to his siblings, he always seemed to be the one thinking about other things … perhaps things that should have mattered to the rest of us more. Maybe that’s why he so liked to run … it gave him time to do just that.

What I didn’t know until yesterday, however, was that one of the things he did in his life was create a plastic-like cube in a shop class he took. When he had finished it and brought it home way back then it was likely a non-event in their house. With four children, the inflow of art and craft projects into the house was probably an all too common event. Even so, I imagine he was proud of it. At the very least it’s red color was attractive to the eye. And so, he kept it.

Around two years later a friend from back home approached me in my university dorm to ask me if I had heard that this quiet gentle young man had died. Some form of cancer had taken him. I remember being stunned and crying that night. I had considered him a friend, and beyond the sense of loss, I was at a loss to understand why the God my friend so deeply believed in would allow such a thing to happen. It is only now, at the other end of my life, that I am receiving a glimmer of the answer to that question.

In part, it has to do with the important lessons of life we are to learn that, due to our hard headedness, are most permanently imprinted upon our minds best through adversity. I don’t know what lessons the members of his family learned from that trial, but I’ll bet they do.

The other part, however, is equally, if not perhaps the more, important. It has to do with our understanding of the purpose of our lives in light of their brevity, no matter how long we may live. Many of us spend our lives chasing the wind in search of what may be gained here while all the time putting out of mind the fact that life is really nothing more than a vapor, here today and gone tomorrow. And, when it is over, is it not more important that we be able to leave a reminder, some token, of our love to all those who we leave behind?

I doubt if my friend knew that is what he had done when he made that small red cube in shop class … but it was. It has been carried in the pocket of his father every day for nearly 35 years … its edges now smoothed by the caresses of a father who loved his son very much … a love that has remained as strong as the day they parted ways … a love that is symbolized by a cube that now has been given the appearance of a beautiful red stone. For the rest of us, perhaps we should consider more carefully what it is that we are about doing. The question that remains is whether we in our life are working to produce anything nearly as precious that those we love will want to carry it in their hearts and minds … and maybe even their pockets … for what remains of their lives? If not, we would do well to get about it, remembering that no matter how long we live, our time here is really nothing more than a vapor soon to be gone, and producing something like a smooth red stone may take all the time that remains.

One day my friend will playfully skip that red stone along a foamy shore while walking hand-in-hand with the son who made it – no more tears -- a fulfillment of the PROMISE established in the HOPE. Then they will both understand clearly and rejoice forever.

Cliff Nichols is an attorney practicing criminal defense/entertainment law in Santa Monica, California. He may be contacted regarding this editorial at either (310) 917-1083, www.cliffnicholslaw.com or www.thedailystand.com

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