Like a Rock

The summer following my freshman year in college, the first summer working in a fruit and produce warehouse, eighteen years old, working with men, Teamsters by trade, hard work, lifting more weight than I thought was possible, coming home each day muscle weary and in more pain than I had experienced, honest work, work to be proud of, building my character, building my understanding, building my humility.

Bright eyes gleam with endless dreams,
Hearts race fast like flowing streams.
Laughter rings in golden air,
Boundless steps, no weight to bear.

Time unfolds with fearless grace,
Hope ignites each fleeting space.
Every dawn a chance to grow,
Youth’s bright fire will always glow.

Leaps tall buildings with a single bound . . .

It was as though gravity did not exist when I was a young man, a feeling, I’m sure, many eighteen year olds experience. Run all day, sleep hard at night, play all day, sleep hard at night, endless energy, chasing our tails at times, chasing dreams, chasing a silent urging to go further, jump higher, run faster, the goal was in the doing.

Bend steel in our bare hands . . .

The memory vivid, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, a shower just ended, looking at a once skinny runt of a kid, all grown up, somewhat chiseled, definition in those muscles, strength in those features, invincibility in his mind and heart, a young cock ready to strut the henyard.

Fights a never-ending battle for truth and justice . . .

I’m afraid, at eighteen, our commitments, our sense of fairness, our determination to lead a life of compassion, those goals are not yet battle tested, built upon a foundation of sand, fine sentiments for sure, but life has a way of eating away at that sand, weakening the structure, putting it to some serious tests along the way, finding out where the Kryptonite is hidden.

Memories fade

Almost sixty years have passed since that young man stared at his image in the mirror. Where has time gone, a common sentiment, time being like that, causing memories to fade, causing wistfulness and, at times, melancholy, for the carefree attitude has been replaced by an attitude fueled by awareness of one’s frailties.  Muscles scream in protest now, bones are more fragile, the mere acts of getting out of bed, lacing shoes, walking upstairs, now test our limits where once we had none.

Superman has changed back into Clark Kent, this time a permanent transformation.

It’s hard to believe, truly, it has been that long. Some memories remain steadfast, easily called upon, while others are only retrieved with infinite patience. Like a rock I once stood.  No longer, at least not physically, but rocklike I remain in my character and my ability to love and treat others with love.

And that is a memory I hope I never lose.

Bill

My books can be found on Amazon under William Holland, all seventeen of them, most in paperback and kindle.  If you like mysteries/thrillers, try The Shadow Series, a supernatural thriller which will have to questioning whether Evil truly exists.

Be on the lookout for a new series coming soon . . . Letters to the Dead . . . it has the makings of a new book, and you’ll get the preview.

Thank you!