I guess it’s part of aging. We are lucky enough to live long enough, we are unlucky enough to mark the passing of those who have contributed to our lives. And of recent, these thoughts are happening far too much to suit me.
Tonight I prepare to bid farewell to the Father of a dear, dear friend of mine.
I think I met Bernie’s Dad, Ben Stone some 30 years ago, or so. I can not pin point the year of the first introduction… but let’s put a “key” time as “summer”. We were down for our first, maybe second visit to the beach house in Avalon, NJ.
Of course we were visiting with Bernie & Kathleen, and at some point Bernie’s parents (accompanied by their friend, Mr. Wassum) dropped in for a “hello”. These were happy folks, and their talk was of dancing and partying (although their dancing was of a different stripe than ours), and Ben Stone was dressed in shorts, neat polo shirt, white hair combed straight back and sporting a grand smile that matched the sun and air that can only be reached at the beach.
Over the years, my visits with Ben were rare. But when we met, I was greeted with a firm handshake, a huge smile, a pat on the back, a big “how are ya?”… It was like we had gone to High School together.
And yes, that smile and a pat on my back added to my life… made me feel 10 feet tall. And for a short guy, that says something.
Did I know him well? No, not really. But I do know his son.
And tomorrow I will honor both.
I count myself lucky to have met Ben… to have seen the pride in his eyes… to feel his expansive grasp at life.
You know, we all grow old… our time here is but a “blink of an eye” to the Supreme. And we can spend a lot of time fretting and worrying about it. Or we can stay out on the dance floor until the last set is thru.
So, I look down the road a piece. I think I know where Bernie Stone will be. It’s on the dance floor… and I can feel Ben Stone’s smile.