Turning back time

 

Hayter for September 24, 2023

A couple of lasting memories

One of the few good things about aging is the fact that your friends are doing it too.  And, for each of us, there is only one remedy, and it has nothing to do with Cher’s song lyrics “If I could turn back time!”

Like many of the less young around me, I would like to have better health. For one thing, I could clobber Brad Meyer in racquetball. Every game.  

Regardless of one’s age, many of us have memory issues. Some worse than others. I have an issue with names; names of movies, actors, autos, food items -- you can stop me any time you want – names of whatever items it is I’m looking for—Okay, I’ll stop myself.

I mentioned my memory issues to a friend at church. Pattie did everything she could to make me think I wasn’t losing it. She failed miserably. And then she said the one thing that sounded almost believable. She said, “Mark, over the years, you have gathered so much information in your brain that there is less room to store things. So, your mind has to delete some stuff.” -- Isn’t that the sweetest falsehood you’ve ever heard? I swallowed it, too.

Fortunately, my brain refuses to dispose of some of my older memories. For example, Wednesday was Dennis’ birthday. He’s the second of the four Hayter brothers. Larry was first, me third, and Al fourth. The family always called Dennis by his first and middle name. I don’t know why. Until he went to college, he was “Dennis Ray.” The way I said it made it sound like a single two-syllable word. Kind of like “Dishtray”

All of the really important stuff I learned growing up came from Dennis. How to make a rubber gun, how to play every nighttime yard game worth playing, how to throw, hit, and catch a baseball, and play football. All of it I learned from my big brother. I got good at baseball and football but I was never as good as Dennis. In fact, had it not been for him, I wouldn’t have even known about signing up for football at school.

On the first day of roll call in most of my classes, my teachers would generally say something like, “You must be Dennis’ brother. Are you as good a student as him?” – I don’t remember how I answered that question. I hated to say “No. I’m the idiot brother.”

The high school football coaches would say, “Wow! We got another Hayter!” That’s bound to be what they said. I wasn’t bad, but I was no Dennis Hayter. To top it all off, during his senior year at Pasadena High, Dennis and his best friend Everett Williams performed a Shakespear skit. They were all over the place. Each of them played multiple Shakespearian characters. The crowd went wild. I was so proud to be his kid brother. Afterward, several of my friends yelled out, “Mark, was that your brother?”

Birthing Dennis Ray was the best thing Mom ever did for me. I would be surprised if She and Dad intended for either of us to be born. They ended up with seven kids. Mom and Dad seemed to love every last one of us, but I’m fairly sure they loved Dennis the most. I know I did. – Last night I called to see if he had a good birthday. He said, “Yes, it was nice.” When I asked what he was doing, he said, “Nothing. I’m home alone, and it feels good.”

The second and last old memory I wish to share, came to mind after I got word that Kenneth Nichols had passed away. His Memorial service was held yesterday

Kay and I met Kenneth Nichols when we began going to Shiloh church shortly after we moved to Conroe, in late ’71. Kenneth was the nicest, most helpful, joyful, and hardworking person I’d ever met. And, he wore a smile every time I saw him. When I’m greeting someone, I can manage a smile most of the time, but I doubt they ever look as genuine as Kenneth’s.

When I learned of his passing, my mind immediately went back to a day in March of 1980, when my Dad died of a heart attack at the age of ’62.

His service was held at a church in Crosby where Mom and Dad attended. I had visited there enough to know some of the people. So I took the role of greeter. The funeral was held three days after Dad died, and I had yet to cry. There were too many things to get settled before the funeral and the family had much to take care of. So I did my best to appear comforting to friends and family who showed up at the house and at church. 

I was fairly sure I could make it through the entire service without breaking down, and I had my mind set to do so.  And, then Kenneth Nichols walked in. I was so glad to see him and held out my hand. He immediately moved my hand away and put his arms around me. That’s when I broke down. And, I couldn’t stop.

That hulking figure held me for the longest. All the while neither one of us said a word. Me? I was too busy crying. When we broke the hug, Kenneth looked down at me and said, “I could tell that you needed that.”

That was 43 years ago. My brain has been tossing out a lot of memories, but it’s holding onto my memories of Dennis and me in our younger years, and of my friend Kenneth Nichols. Speaking of whom, perhaps, the memory of the two of us at my Dad’s funeral service will live well past me. God knows, my friend deserves it. In fact, my faith tells me that Kenneth is with Him at this very moment.  

 

end

hayter.mark@gmail.com