one tin soldier

THE BADGE AND THE BLIZZARD

When I was eight years old, I had a fever. My family was poor white trash, living in a one horse town and the nearest hospital was sixteen miles from my home. The town Sheriff who I only knew as “Hoppy” came to our home put me in his squad car and drove me and my mother, in one of the worst snow storms ever to the hospital.

My fever was 106, and I didn’t have a clue, at the time where I was or what I was doing. But there was a reassuring voice in the haze that made me feel better somehow.

He helped my weak little arm reach out to turn on the siren, and lights, and he laughed when I said it sounded like grandma’s cat when I stepped on its tail.

I didn’t know it till now that, that he stayed in the hospital, until my fever broke, and even came to my room when I was delirious, from the passing of the pneumonia.

Hoppy and I became good friends, and through the years he came to me in official and friendly ways. Boys have a tendency to attract the police from time to time.

My family moved to a larger town in 1976, the year that Hoppy retired, and I never saw him again. But his influence on me kept him in my heart to this very day.

Hoppy was the only male influence I had that taught me positive things. How to stand tall, accept responsibility for your own actions, and never back down from your morals.

I called my father today, the first time in four years, and he brought me news of Hoppy. My friend, my savior, (literally) had died last night at the age of 98. He passed in his sleep, quietly.

I am sorry to say that I have no joy in my heart today. I will miss my first real friend, so the boy logic that I have for you today is this. Somewhere someone has left a mark on you. A light that brings a smile to your face, when you think of that person. If it has been a year or, like me, 26, don’t let them go without saying thank you.

Hoppy was my second father, but the pain is just as real as if my own had died today. I will miss him.