He is the oldest member of our ward (congregation), he proudly reminded us today, and, he said, he hopes to have many more years to reminisce over.
I found myself wishing I could tell the newer members of the ward a little of the back-in-the-days. You know that when that happens, I end up inflicting it on you-all.
Kurt’s wife’s brother raised his family in my hometown, and the young woman growing up that Kurt’s older son would later marry was also from my home ward in Maryland; meeting Kurt and his wife when we moved here was like putting a little piece of our hometown puzzle together. Understand that there are many little stories of surprise and small-world overlappings embedded in that sentence.
His daughter-in-law’s grandparents were the founders of a large international business that, if I told you the name, you would instantly recognize it.
So here’s the story, going back to when my kids were little. Kurt had a tradition of having his sons and his grandsons fly into town here every summer to go on a big annual Scout camp-out our ward held, Kurt coming along too. Just like old times for him and his now-grown kids; there were new memories to be made with his sons as adults now and with grandkids–sometimes granddaughters too–to get to know better, up high in the Sierras with a pack and a tent or two in the clear bright air. (My John adds that Kurt and his older son would race to see who could be first to swim two miles’ distance in forty-degree water, and that Kurt did 200 push-ups a morning.)
There was a young dad in our ward, father of a little girl about a year old when he got called to be ward scoutmaster. So Steve was in charge of those events. Now, I have no idea how much camping experience he had, but he was game. Steve, tall, blond, and gorgeous, had met his Hawaiian wife while surfing in the Islands.
She missed home and he missed Hawaii too, and eventually they moved back there. He got a job working for a large corporation for the necessary nine-to-five end of life. He was bright and good at what he did, but his boss tended to write him off as something of a beach bum.
Fast forward a few years. People move, people you don’t often see anyway you lose touch with, it happens.
Kurt’s son, who was by now a corporate bigwig in his in-laws’ company, and his wife, were out strolling along the beach on I think it was the Big Island, talking to the head honcho of the local facility. I’m sure the man was nervous; or rather, at least, I know I would be, if I didn’t know the two he was talking to but only their Names.
And all the sudden Kurt’s son was running! Running, and throwing his arms around one of the manager’s employees, that beach bum dude, going, “STEVE! *STEVE*!! How ya DOIN’!!!” Thumping each other on the back, thrilled like little kids, the wife joining in, wanting to catch up on old times, talking about back in the day, how are the kids, forgetting business entirely.
While the manager stood there stunned, wondering, What just happened here?! How do they…? How on earth!?
I’ve been told Steve got a nice promotion after that.
Kurt may not remember all his family’s stories in his old age. But we younger folks can help him write down memories of some of the good he created in others’ lives and remind him and cheer him in his old age.