Time is a funny thing, and as humans, we always seem to think we have some to generate, some to waste, and none at all. It isn't until our lives dwindled down to the last moments that we realized that time was always there, moving at the same pace, and provided in the same finite amounts. It ever was since birth, making time, wasting time, and not having time were never more than a mirage smoking mist in a
magician's mirror. Never has that been more apparent to me than today. It's Father's Day and my dad and I are spending it with my grandfather for what may be the last time. Grandfather's health is failing. In the end, it's been time that we've given him. Time to relive his life through our memories, and time to go over things and reassure him that he did it all right, and time to let him tell us once more the stories that
fascinated us through the years. My grandfather is my hero. More than that, he's my best friend. We're a military family, and as such, we've lived all over the country. From age five until I graduated, my grandfather would pick me up the day after school let out and take me on Grand adventures all over the world until it was time to bring me back to start school again in the fall. Together, We've been on safari in Africa.
We've seen temples and ridden elephants and looked at tigers in the wilds of India. We've gone scuba diving off the Great Barrier Reef and dug in the ruins of Egypt. Grandfather taught me to hunt and fish, and track and trap, and climb mountains and drive, and even to fly a plane and skydive. Because of him, I've done more in the last fifteen years than most people have done in a lifetime. This is a tradition in our family, and when my grandfather was a boy, his grandfather did the same for
him. That man was a hero among heroes. His name was Lawrence. My grandfather loves to tell me how his grandfather, Lawrence, lied about his age and volunteered for the cavalry at the age of sixteen so he could fight in the Spanish American War. He was one of Teddy Roosevelt's rough riders and eventually became a trusted friend of the future president. A bond forms between soldiers when they fought side by side and it's a brotherhood that lasts the lifetime.
Grandpa Lawrence formed that bond with four of his fellow cavalrymen. They were all there with Teddy Roosevelt when he charged up San Juan Hill. Jack was a Navajo who took a bullet that would have otherwise struck Roosevelt's horse, and he survived because the other four men rushed forward, providing cover for their friend. And Frank was from New York, and he spoke with that clipped accent that made him sound cold and uncaring, but he had the heart of a lion
and the loyalty of a wolf. He was the first to move when Jack was hit. Billy was a Texan. They all called him Cowboy. His slow Southern drawl was a thin disguise for his lightning reflexes and excellent marksmanship. And while the others fired rounds to distract their enemies and hopefully hit a few, cowboys sharp eye and rapid fire and deadly aim brought down anyone who stuck their head out even for a second. But it was Tommy who fought the
hardest. He was a member of the tenth Cavalry, the Buffalo Soldiers, the Spanish American War was an integrated fight, and volunteers fought alongside regulars, and blacks fought beside whites. Some eight thousand American soldiers pushed hard for over two weeks to capture the San Juan Heights outside Santiago to Cuba. Men bled and died together in that charge. Rank and color ran as one in the
scorching heat and driving reins. There were no whites. Only signs hung outside any hastily dug latrines, and the only question that mattered was who side are you on. Tommy was on the side of his friends Lawrence, Jack, Frank, and Cowboy, and they were on his A few days ago when grandfather told us that story one last time, he sighed and took a deep, ragged breath that caught on a lump in his throat before saying, my grandfather was as proud to call tommy friend as he ever was of any man.
The bond between these men was well and truly set. After the war, Roosevelt won his bid for the highest office in the land, and in his book The Rough Riders, he was not kind about the role played by the Buffalo soldiers during that battle. He even went so far as to state that they were quote shirkers in their duties, only going so far as they
were led. Historical evidence proves otherwise. Despite his personal feelings toward men of color from the Oval Office, Roosevelt placed Lawrence and his four friends, including Tommy, into positions inside the White House and close to him. The men would most likely have never lost touch, but working together insured it. Even after they retired, they remained close. They began to travel together and explore the world outside of the United States, and just like my grandfather took me,
my grandfather and Jack's grandson went along to share their adventures. The two boys had the advantage of experience and knowledge of all five men as they ventured out into the same amazing places and embarked on the same fantastic journeys my grandfather would eventually take. There was only one place that they went that I never got to see. It was the Amazon. There they traveled up stream and
fish for some of the largest freshwater fish in the world. My grandfather often spoke of Lawrence's many trips to the Brazilian rainforest and all the exciting things that happened when he went, but he never spoke much of his own trip to the Amazon, except to say that he'd caught some really big fish there. For me, the Amazon was mecca. Fishing is one of my greatest joys. My grandfather had taken me fishing for marlin off Cabo San Lucas in Baja
California. In the Big Island of Hawaii, we'd fish for goliath grouper near shipwrecks in the Bahamas. But grandfather never took me to the Amazon. I can't say I was hurt that he never took me there. I guess I was just disappointed. Over time, Lawrence and his friends grew older, until one by one they all passed away. Lawrence was the last to go. He died on my grandfather's twenty ninth birthday, and even sadder, grandfather was
in Vietnam fighting his own Generations War at the time. It couldn't be helped, but it was something he never forgave himself for. He felt he should have been there for his grandfather's final days, and it left a massive hole in his soul. It was this grief that prompted my grandfather to volunteer for another tour in the Boondock. Guilt drove him to volunteer for the most dangerous missions. He didn't care if he made it back home. He'd let his
hero down. As the last helicopters were flying out of Saigon, my grandfather was on the ground helping load them. It didn't matter to him if there would be room for him on the next chopper. He had nothing to go home too. His mind was leisured on the task at hand, but his thoughts were at the grave of the greatest man he ever knew. Of course, he did make it on to one of those helicopters, despite his overwhelming sorrow. When it came time and the seat was open, he jumped in.
Somewhere inside he knew it was his grandfather's hand that pushed him, and that small glimmer of realization was what he needed to keep going. Back in the States, he used some of Lawrence's contacts to land a government job. I never quite knew what branch of the government grandfather worked for. He wouldn't say, and in those years, what mattered most to him was bringing Lawrence
back to life in his own mind. Over the years, I often wondered if his interest in me stemmed from his knee to relive those days of his youth when his grandfather took him on all those amazing journeys. It is for this reason that I'm sitting down by his bed now. I won't chase my grandfather's memory like he did Lawrence. Grandfather can't do much anymore. He needs constant care. It probably won't be much longer before he goes, but who
can say whether it's tomorrow or next year. I will be at his side. I'll be here for him. Then when he's gone, I'll enlist in the Air Force, and his memory will be a comfort, not a specter. My grandfather's age and health have limited his activities, but his mind is strong. We can't jump a plane and head off to the Serengetti or Nepal,
but we can relive those times when he did. Over the years, grandfather kept journals of the adventures he had as a boy with his grandfather and later with me, and it was a habit he picked up from Lawrence, who kept his own journals. We've been taking turns reading them from these past
few weeks. It always begins the same, pull a journal off the shelf, Grandfather will say, I'll walk over and reach for one of the leather bound note books that fill the entire shelf of the built in bookcase, and I'll hold it up for him to see, and he'll squint across the room at it, issue a low hmmm, and then say, yes, that one. If I remember correctly, that's when we were in And he finishes with whatever time that particular journal represents, and then I'll go over and sit
by his bed and open the book and begin to read. I don't know why I bother to hold them up for grandfather's approval. No matter which books I pull, he always agrees. Only once did I hold up a book that he responded with a no, not that one. Put that one back. I won't deny that. I was a little bewildered by his reaction to that. It wasn't his words, it was the look on his face.
There was something in that book he didn't want me to read. I slipped it back into its place on a shelf and made a mental note not to touch it again. And then yesterday grandfather said, pull a journal off the shelf, just like he always does. I walked over, but before I could put my hands on one, he added, get the black one. And I looked back at him in confusion. There was only one black leather book in the lot, and that was the one he told me to put
back. Grandfather studied my face for a minute, and then he said, yes, that one. He spoke with resignation, as though he knew this time would come and he couldn't put it off any longer. Bring it here, he said. So I placed it in his hand, and with a sigh, he let the pages fall open, and he began to thumb through them, squinting and frowning through his reading glasses as he glanced at first page one and then another. Here, he said, handing the journal back to
me. Start here. The pages were worn and had begun to fade. Unfortunately, Grandfather writes with a bold, clear script, so I had little difficulty in reading the words. The entry began the summer my father joined the Navy, and Grandfather decided to go back to Brazil that year, back to the river where he and Jack's grandson had caught so many fish back in his
youth. He was still chasing Lawrence, and in the journal he wrote about his hopes of reconnecting with those memories and how they might fill that hole that still felt empty. He found a local guide to take him up the river to one of the remote villages where he could find a native that might be better suited to take him deep into the rainforest, where he wanted so desperately
to recapture that time he'd spent with his grandfather. A week later, he was in a wooden, dugout canoe with a motor attached that had been pieced together from so many different parts that it looked like it could double as a blender, a lawnmower, or a ceiling fan. As the need arose, he and his new native guide went upstream for days. They fished for hours on d and they ate what they caught and passed stories back and forth across
the fire. The guide talked about five American men and the two young boys who came to the river so many years earlier. They'd brought food to the area that many of the people there, with their limited access to the outside world, knew little about. Grandfather smiled to himself and the knowledge that he was one of those two young boys. On the thirty fifth day, the guide offered to take him to a hidden lake where he knew there would be
a monster arapima only a few men knew of the lake's existence. They traveled for nine hours up a small stream when they began to see the skulls and hides of howler monkeys hanging in the trees overhead. The banks were covered in strange markings made from the blood of the monkeys, and the guide immediately turned the boat around. This area has been cleaned by the snake people, he told my grandfather. We can't go here. What grandfather asking confusion, why
not? Who are the snake people? Unable to understand the god's sudden fear, he continued to bombard him with questions about the snake people and why they couldn't keep going. The guide wouldn't resp spond beyond telling grandfather to hush or to lower his voice, and finally he said, we need to get as fast and as far away from here as possible, but he refused any other
explanations. Time and its infinite mystery moved at a snail's pace as they made their slow, laborous way back down the stream, and with lightning speed, as the sun sank into the west, night fell over them with the weight of a steamroller. The snakes and caman they knew surrounded them made continuing on
too dangerous. They had no choice but to stop for the night. They pulled the boat to the bank and put out their bed rolls, but the guide refused to light a fire, and they quickly fell into an exhausted sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, a loud scream split the air and brought both men wide awake. Grandfather's mind raced through a catalog of animal calls as he tried to identify the creature that could make such a powerful sound.
The Guide jumped from his bedroll and sprinted off into the jungle, leaving Grandfather there to face the unknown assailant alone well. His immediate reaction was to try and follow the guide through the black mire of vegetation. Tree branches and briar limbs clawed at Grandfather's face and arms, and spiderwebs burst like fireworks and fell down over his body. As he ran through them, the holes grew
louder and more intense. Not one creature, not too but many, too many were closing in on him as he became increasingly disoriented in the dense foliage. Suddenly, something struck him in the head from behind, and his mind went as black as the world around him. When Grandfather next opened his eyes, the jungle was inverted. The haze a brain filled with too much blood and made logical thought difficult. It was the raw discomfort in his ankles that
made him realize that he was hanging upside down. Focus his mind was telling him think, Keeping his eyes closed to no more than a slit. He glanced around him, and he was in a clearing. He saw his guide sobbing thirty feet away. Focus his mind repeated, the guide was alive, and that had to be a good sign. And then Grandfather realized that the guide's legs had been severed off to stumps and cauterized to stop the bleeding.
With all his might, Grandfather fought back any reaction that might reveal that he was alert. He had to assess their situation and to formulate a plan. Think, his brain whispered. As he hung there. Three little creatures approached the guide and licked the burnt stumps of his legs. They walked on two feet, like humans, but they were no more than three feet tall. Their skin was a dull greenish brown, and it appeared to be made up
of scales and where their ears should have been. There was some sort of bronze plated scales, and their legs were shaped like a kangaroo's, ending in large, three toed feet. They had long, thick tails that they dragged behind them. Their heads were reptilian instead of noses. They had two slits no lips formed around the mouths through which their long forked tongues darted in and out. And Grandfather took it all in for a minute as the words snake
people formulated in his mind. This is what his guide meant when he said that the area had been claimed by the snake people. In the distance, the morning light was beginning to break through the canopy of the jungle, revealing others moving about. They were like the little creatures tasting as guide, only
they were more than twice as big and heavily built. Some sort of vocal command rang out, and the little creatures ran off to join the others, before all of them vanished into the jungle, and Grandfather slipped back into unconsciousness. The sweltering sun was directly overhead when he was shaken awake by a young
man in a tan uniform with black boots and a cowboy hat. Keep quiet, he whispered, and we'll get you out of here, and his hands were cut free first, and then he fell to the ground with a thud. The stranger immediately pulled at Grandfather's shirt, indicating that he should follow, but instead Grandfather turned to his guide. No, the stranger commanded, there is no hope for him. There's only death here if you don't follow me. This instant, it was the tick of a single second on a clock.
His grandfather looked at his God, then he looked back at the stranger. Self preservation won the day as Grandfather followed the man into the bush. They moved with stealth, and Grandfather struggled to keep up with his God, until finally the realization of what he had done overcame him, and he fell to his knees silent agonied. Sobs racked his shoulders as he mentally pleaded with God for forgiveness for having left the God behind, and the stranger stood guard
over him until he regained his composure. Once he was back to his feet, they resumed their trek through the rainforest. After about an hour, his savior said, we're far enough away now that we can move quickly without fear of being heard. We must put as much distance between us and them as we can, so we'll have to run now. The younger man set a
grueling pace, but not so fast that Grandfather couldn't keep up. He glided through the jungle without faltering, moving with the sure footedness of a man who knew his turf. He never looked back. He didn't have to. Somehow he knew that Grandfather was there behind him. The temperature rose to over one hundred degrees fahrenheit, and the humidity grew so dense it gurgled in their lungs, and the young men never broke a sweat. They ran for hours.
On occasion, the Savior would stop for a minute to allow Grandfather of the chance to drink some water, need a piece of fruit, or a handful of berries that always seemed to miraculously present themselves on a stump, and then they were running again. They ran until the sky grew dim. We're going to have to find a place to hide for the night, the Savior said, and he looked around and found a vine hanging from a canopy. He
grabbed it and the two men climbed one hundred feet straight up. The younger man ascended with ease, using only his arms to pull his body upward. For grandfather, it wasn't so easy. He considered himself to be in remarkable shape, but it still took him quite a bit longer to reach their hiding place in the trees. But once he caught his breath, he began to ask questions. Who are you? Was the first. You can call me soldier, was the answer, and then he added, they will be hunting
us now they have your sin. He waited for a second to let his words seek in before continuing, they are far better at moving through the jungle than humans, with a great deal more speed. We'll have to use trickery and luck if we want to get out of here with our skins. Grandfather thought for a minute before he asked, what are they ah, The soldier sighed, they've been around for a long time. He explained to my grandfather
that they once existed throughout Mexico. In Central America. The Incas and Mayas and Aztecs worshiped them as gods, and then the Spanish came and brought smallpox and measles, and their population was nearly destroyed. They migrated to Brazil and made their home in the deepest parts of the rainforest, away from all white men and their illnesses. Shortly after dark, Soldier tied grandfather to the tree so he could sleep without falling. He was awakened to the call of a
bob white quail in the distance. Immediately, Soldier placed his hand over grandfather's mouth and put his finger to his own lips to indicate that he needed to remain silent. There was a commotion on the jungle floor, and more quail whistles moving away from them. It was half an hour before the soldier spoke. That was a close one, he said, I didn't expect the Cucko klan to move so fast. What made them move on? Father asked, as he made a mental note of the name soldier had given the creatures.
That was my friends. They lured him away, answered the soldier. The rest of the night was restless, and as soon as the sun broke through the canopy, the two were back on the ground and running farther away from the river and deeper into the jungle. The Cuckoo clan will be watching the river, Soldier told my grandfather. They could outswim anything with those big tails. Over the next several days, they ran hard, stopping only when they
came to the food that was laid out for them by Soldier's friends. Sometimes it was fish and other times it was meat, but mostly it was fruit. Soldier told grandfather that his friends were luring the snake people away from them, and when they heard North American owls or eagles or the winning of a horse, that meant the cuckoo clon were close, then they'd be off chasing
ghosts, and my grandfather and soldier would escape. A week passed before Soldier reported that the Kuka Klon had given up their hunt and returned to their people. It would be okay now to take him to safety, but that it would take another two weeks to get there. As the two men made their way back to civilization, my grandfather regalls soldier with tales of his adventures with
his grandfather. In turn, the soldier told grandfather many tales of his own adventures and spoke with great knowledge of different books from the Bible and of the Holy Wars. In the Middle East. The rainforest isn't famous for its great halls of learning, yet this man had knowledge that few men possessed, and when grandfather pressed him for information on how he came to know these things, he would change the subject. Grandfather also noticed that soldier never really got dirty,
nor did his clothes show much wear. Grandfather's clothes were beginning to look tattered and full of holes. A friendship form between the two men, and for the first time since Lawrence's death, Grandfather began to feel that that hole was closing inside of him. One day, they came to a large clear cut area where soldiers stopped. He turned and looked directly at my grandfather and said, I can't go any further, but there's a group of men ahead
who will see you to safety. He paused for a moment and then added, you can never return to the Amazon. The Kucko Klon will forever know your set, and they will haunt you down. Then he told grandfather that he had enjoyed their time together and added one last thought, I will forever be with you. Grandfather, who had been looking towards the horizon, turned at this and found himself looking at five young soldiers. Three were white men, one was an Indian, and the last was a large black man man.
It was then the grandfather knew that he had just spent all those days with his grandfather, while the others had provided cover, just like they had done for Jack on San Juan Hill. As the men faded in front of him, he heard Lawrence's voice in his head, Tell your father that I love him and I'll be waiting on you on the other side. As grandfather crossed the clearing to safety, his heart sang with the knowledge that he had
been given all that time with Lawrence. He only wished he'd realized it sooner. Even so, all that weight that he'd been caring for so long was lifted from his shoulders, and he knew he had to build that same bond someday with his own grandson. I will be eternally grateful for the time my grandfather has given me. I hope that all men have a true hero and their lives like I have. S