memorial

I had drill this weekend — the usual band bit. We ventured northeast to Claremore, Okla., playing for a ceremony at Rogers State University.

Afterward, I made a special visit to the town's cemetery, where my grandpa Harley is buried. Walking around a bit, I found plot 35, and the intended marble headstone. I was 13 years old the last time I put eyes on it.

Memories scrolled in my mind. I see Harley sitting, relaxed in a chair while reading Zane Grey westerns. I smell and taste fresh peanut brittle — fruits of his confectioner hands. I feel him give me a hug and hear him say "don't do anything I wouldn't do" as we say goodbye after a visit.

The visit took only 20 minutes, but proved peaceful and poignant. A simple truth reached me. My grandpa was a strong Christian man, faithful and honest.

We will speak again.