Anchors Aweigh

"Anchors Aweigh my boys

Anchors Aweigh

Farewell to foreign shores

We sail at break of day 'ay 'ay 'ay

O'er our last night ashore

Drink to the foam

Until we meet once more

Here's wishing you a happy voyage home!"  - Zimmerman/Miles

I stood on the porch, and knocked on the door of the mobile home.  Surveying the small neighborhood, I took in the cool but pleasant weather as it bathed the circle of mobile homes in sunshine.  Really, it was someone's back yard, converted into a semi-circle of 5 or 6 trailers.  I didn't count them.  There was no answer.  I noticed an older woman, sufficiently dressed for the weather, strolling towards me across the grass.  No surprise there.  It wasn't often a very-out-of-state white work van pulled into this small town, much less this family of dwellings.  I met her on the grass, and we exhanged pleasant greetings. 

I informed her I was looking for an old friend.  She apologized, and told me my friend has passed away a few months ago.  This saddened me, but didn't surprise me.  One hundred and one years is a long time to live.  Add to that the previous three stops I had made, and there really was no surprise at all. 

I had spent the better part of my elementary years living in this rural town.  My dad preached, and drove a truck to make ends meet.  My brother and I, and my best friend knew every square inch of town, and the surrounding areas.  The land occupied by the informal trailer park had been owned by a family friend.  This friend had given me and my brother our first ten-speed bikes.  I had visited him a few years back, before he passed.  In fact, my many visits to this town usually included seeing old friends.  This particular visit really changed my views, my heart.

The company I work for had built a store here a few years back, and as a travelling technician, I have been afforded a number of trips to this town.  Seeing these dear people gave me a connection to a place that meant more than just familiar landscapes, buildings, and landmarks.  They were the people of my past.  Those adults I looked up to as a child, good people who showed me what love really means.  They anchored me to that town, one of the two I consider my "hometowns".  With this elder friend's passing, and another who couldn't remember me, I have but two resident families left who can bear witness to my childhood there.

As I drove down the familiar road heading out of town, I felt as if a part of my childhood called "Anchors Aweigh", and is preparing to set sail out of my life.  I'm not ready for that.  I don't know if one can ever be ready for that.   With the numerous hours of driving still to come that night, I had plenty of time to consider what this all meant for my life.  Of course, the truth of it all is plain to see, but difficult to grasp. 

My children, grandchildren, and young friends apparently see me as the old one.  The one to look up to.  To look to for an example of life, love, and all the good things that are possible.  I see the truth of my life, the many failures as well as successes, and wonder how I am able to be an example to anyone.  I see the need in their lives, the need to be loved, to be happy, to enjoy some part of life.  Then I see them run to me with big smiles and hugs, wanting to be thrown up in the air, or play ball, or call me with tears in their voices wanting me to unravel the madness in their lives. 

An anchor, I have become.