I'll be Your Huckleberry...

I was a ball hog in almost every sport I've ever played. Ok, so this was before I was a bit over-weight and still had all my hair, regardless, you may ask, was this "ball-hoggery" an over-estimation of my ability? Maybe. Was it a Hero Complex? Perhaps. Was it an over-dose of testosterone? Definitely. Testosterone is a funny thing; it can be spurred on by actions, music, or in some cases just words. It's amazing how simple one-liners can fuel our testosterone output. For instance, I defy you to show me any person who doesn't get a little psyched up when Val Kilmer echoes that famous line, "I'll be your huckleberry..." in Tombstone. If you barely remember much else about that movie, I guarantee you remember that line. "March Madness" is also full of testosterone enducing moments. What testosterone junkie doesn't want the ball in the last 10 seconds of a tied game?


What brought made me think of this subject? A lot of things really; emotions have been surrounding me a lot lately and the emotions that a jolt of testosterone causes is something I can easily relate to. I have had to really face my emotions recently, because last week I had to bury my grandfather. I was lucky enough to speak (in between tears) at his funeral and help carry his casket at the cemetery. Those moments will always be special to me, but one moment will stand out to me. My grandfather served in WWII and he requested a military burial. I don't know how many of you have witnessed a military funeral, but it goes kind of like this; the casket is draped in a flag and after the final words are spoken, a 21-gun-salute is fired and then a soldier plays Taps, which is possibly the most moving song that can be played at a funeral. Two soldiers then fold the flag, place 3 shell casings from the 21-gun-salute in the flag and hand the flag to a relative, in many cases the widow. When they hand the flag to the widow, they thank her for her husband’s service and then salute her. This is what happened last week and when the soldiers saluted my grandmother, I felt sadness of course, but also I felt pride and a twinge of testosterone.

It might not sound appropriate to feel testosterone at a funeral, but it's not caused by the normal reasons. It's caused by the thought of doing something for a purpose or a cause that is greater than you. It's caused by sacrifice. It's caused by being in the presence of a hero. My grandfather fought muderous Nazi's in probably one of the most justified wars to ever exist on our planet. Even though he had been out of the military for over 60 years, he was still part of something that existed for the greater good. All the people that served in WWII are nothing short of heroes. When they salute a fallen hero, it's something to behold and it should give us a glimpse at the pride that needs to exist in making that kind of mark on history. I think that more of us need to have pride in something like that.

Up to this point, if you are reading this and the next thought that pops into your head starts with "god" then you are missing the point. What I'm talking about here isn't about religion; religion starts wars that men die for. Religion is why people in this country protest military funerals and is the fuel for many political agendas. This is about the brotherhood of man, whether you praise Jesus or a flying spaghetti monster we are all made of the same stuff. Maybe, just for once, we need to have a little less thought and a little more testosterone...

Summer 2010

I can honestly say I've had better summers.

I'm sure I've had worse summers if you look at it cumulatively over all the years. The odd part is that on the whole, I’ve had a good year. I’ve got a new job, a great girlfriend that I love very much, and a wonderful new house. Hell, we’ve even done some pretty fun things so far this summer. The only thing that is making this summer hard is that I have to say goodbye to someone that I really don’t want to say goodbye to. My Grandfather (Pap) has taken a turn for the worse and it’s really looking like these are the last few months he’ll be with us.

Wow, it was even hard just writing that last sentence out. I’m one of the lucky people, really. I’ve had my Pap in my life, my entire life up to this point. He helped teach me how to fish, hunt, ride a bike, him and my Grandma took us to Disney World, Sea World, Hershey Park, camping at Lake Raystown… the list is really endless. He has been a constant for me my whole life. Pap has always been there. I guess as far as all the memories he has created for me, he will always be there. The only regret I have is that my children won’t get a chance to meet him. Sure I have pictures and stories, but it’s not even a shadow of who he really was. If I could tell them one thing about him, I would just say he was like a tree (Yes, a tree…bare with me here). My Pap was strong, supportive, gentle, caring, and above all, calm. I would normally just call him a rock, but rocks are cold and that was the opposite of what my Pap was. That’s why I idolized him as much as I did. As a teenager, I was a quiet powder keg. I was always fighting to keep from being too emotional and bouncing from one end of the spectrum to the other. I guess I probably still am in a lot of ways, but he was always solid in what he was and I admired that.

In the end, I know he is ready to go. The active, vibrant man he was is all but gone. His mind is still intact, but his body has failed him. He would rather be fishing the shores of a quiet lake than lying in that hospital bed fighting to breathe. That’s what I wish for him in the afterlife-- a tranquil lake to fish on with his family. Actually, I visited him this weekend and when it was time for me to go home he told me I’ll see you soon or in the life after this. I then asked him if we would go fishing and he said, “I guarantee it.” I’m not sure if I deserve at this point to end up in the same “after life” as my Pap, but I know one thing for sure, my favorite fishing partner will be there waiting for me. I love you Pap, now and forever.