The Lost Ones

My father, speaking of his brother (two extraordinary men, now both gone) used to say that when he was a kid, little Bobby was "the artful dodger," he couldn't be pinned down, he was always a step ahead, or behind, the yoke. This mode probably officially ended when little Bobby (at 17 years old) artfully dodged himself right into the Marines. My father later joined the Army and served in the Korean War. Both these guys married, raised a passel of children, and worked hard for the bulk of their lives. Neither of them dodged their responsibilities as fathers, they assumed the yoke, they carried on with grit and grace. True American originals.

I was thinking of these two yesterday, as I skated on the periphery of the day. I have naturally assumed the mantle and played the role of Artful Dodger myself. This has been my primary mode since early childhood. I seem to have never "grown" out of it. No Marines for Sunny Jimmy. I guess I've basically lived a "long adolescence." I've been able to carry on relatively unscathed, no broken bones, a few scars (all self-inflicted). I've prided myself on being able to "skate," to talk myself out of any jam, to live brightly and lightly.

Of course, there are some things you can't dodge (talking doesn't help): taxes, aging, death. The last one is the hardest. We all have our "lost ones," people who come into our lives, influence us, inspire us, change us, and then... they disappear into the Last Great Dodge. We are reminded that we too will find the exit door sometime, probably, when we least expect it. So, we all have our "lost ones," and we are all "lost ones" in the making. When we honor those who are dead and gone, we also honor ourselves and those coming down the line. What a long, strange trip indeed.