This is my 100th post. I know standing in the shadow of many of the great bloggers out there, including some on my sidebar, I am at the primordial ooze stage of my blog and they are eons ahead of me in the evolutionary scale. That's fine. This isn't a race.
I wanted to do something special for this post. I thought for a long time and I struggled to come up with something that seemed "right". Two nights ago I woke up at 3:00 AM and said, "Bob".
Let the reader be forwarned that this is not my normal post. I usually find something upbeat, fun, or touching about the people who are gracious enough to let me photograph them.
But this post is much different.
Meet Bob.
I met Bob sometime around 1981. He was a counselor in rural area working for a counseling center that helped lower income people struggling with issues we all face. I occasionally crossed paths with him. And we became friends.
He was married. He had two wonderful little kids. He was recognized as a kind, caring, compassionate man.
One day over beers, I asked him how he got into the counseling business. He smiled and stared at me for the longest time. Finally he said, "let me tell you my story."
Until now, I have never breathed a word of what he told me to anyone. I think it is time. At least, I hope it is.
Bob's father abandoned his family when Bob was less than one year old. His mother grew to hate men. Bob was an only child. His mother didn't want a little boy. She wanted a girl. So she began to dress him in dresses. This continued into his mid-teens. When he came home from school, the "other" attire was ready and waiting for him.
He grew deeply ashamed. He rebelled. Out of high school, he joined the Marine Corp. That's where the manly men go. He washed out. And, he began to spiral out of control. He found himself wandering the streets of a rural town in the midwest wearing womens clothes. In that era, and in that geographic area, that may have been enough to get your serious injured, or worse.
He went to college and studied psychology with an emphasis on counseling. He learned about his past. He began to understand what was happening and was coming to terms with it. He met a wonderful woman and started his family. He was successfully helping hundreds of people.
I was not aware, but he continued to struggle with his past. Late one Friday night, he went into his garage, sat in his car, turned it on, and went to sleep.
I had moved nearly 300 miles away the year before. His family had a funeral for him there. But, the graveside service was to be in Fort Snelling. His family would not make that trip. It was too much for his wife and children. So, his wife asked whether I would speak at the internment.
That was almost exactly 25 years ago today. It was sunny, but cool. A few co-workers were present. Bob's mother was present. I said what I could but it seemed empty and devoid of any meaning. Everyone left except me. I stood there thinking about a life wasted and the grief 300 miles away. And I cried. His mother had left, never saying a word to anyone. Never shedding a tear.
I have no idea why Bob suddenly popped into my brain in the middle of the night. I haven't thought of him for probably 20+ years. After an event in St. Paul, I drove to Fort Snelling to find Bob. I stood at his grave and realized that I could be the first person who stopped there in 20 years!
And, I cried again.
Bob, I hope you forgive me for telling your story. It needed to be told. You need to be free of it.
And to my readers, I hope you were not offended. Perhaps it is freeing for all of us in some way.
Be gentle with one another. Be kind, patient, and tender. Spend time listening. That's what Bob did.
Thanks Bob, for being a friend. Now don't wake me up at 3:00 AM again. I am getting old and need my sleep. I will stop by again very soon and won't make you wait another 25 years. I promise.
