by greg stone

I was sad so many from my class did not show up for our reunion, wondering if this would be the last time our class got together. The little boy and teenager in me from yesteryear longed to embrace friends from a time long ago, but a time long ago that helped shape me into the person I am today. Spending time at the reunion with fellow students whom I hadn’t seen in some cases in forty years, I found myself wishing I would have not worried so much about what others thought of me back in those days. Instead, I wish I would have enjoyed getting to know many more of my classmates.

remember that semester and my many walks to the student union to work. While students visited, laughed, and studied. I mopped floors, cleaned bathrooms, and vacuumed. I remember at times seeing students walk by I had met in class and felt embarrassed. However, I reminded myself that Jesus, Himself was a carpenter, so I could be a custodian. It was good and honest work.

I remember the horseshoe tournaments they had by the store. Cecil Tinker was usually a favorite, but Cap Clevenger could also nail a ringer or two!  I was about five one day when Dad and my two older brothers were headed to the truck to watch the tournament. I walked behind them. Dad turned around and said, “You’re too young. Go back in the house.” I remember wailing all the way back into the house, heartbroken.

My brothers and I would play wiffle ball, basketball on our grass/gravel court by the propane tank, ride bikes (if we had one) on HH highway by our house. When Dad got home from work we might go down to Bear Creek to swim, catch crawdads and cook out hotdogs with chips and cheap soda. The joy of summer and the anticipation for summer league baseball mixed with the dread of Dad’s pronouncement that we would be helping pick strawberries and pull weeds the next morning. 

I can’t remember where we were fishing one time, but I do remember I was only about five years old. Dave would have been only two, so it was just myself, my two older brothers, Perry and Mike, and Dad fishing. We were about to leave from the lake when I snagged something very large on my worm. I remember trying to reel the fish in, but the beast slowly began pulling me toward the edge of the bank.

The game went down to the wire. We were perched behind the Branson basket in the final minutes. With only a few seconds left. Branson, down by a point, inbounded the ball and tossed it downcourt to Tim Russell, senior forward. Tim shot the ball and at the buzzard, swish! All you could hear in the recording was Jeff and myself screaming with the fans! Glorious!

My fears were realized on the first day of practice after the cuts. At that time, freshman went to school with 7^th and 8^th grade students at the Junior High up the hill from downtown Branson. We walked all the way to Mang Field that first day right after school. As we walked into the locker room with the concrete floor, Coach McDaniels and the other players were sitting and chatting. I was the last one to walk in. Coach McDaniels looked at me, smiled and announced in front of everyone, “Well look it here. It’s ol’ Glad to Be Here!” Everyone laughed.