Rocking on Memories

I can still see him, clad in kahki, in my mind’s eye; tall, slender, with a full head of white hair, surprisingly upright for his age, and walking purposefully with a slight arthritic limp. In his right hand, a fly rod paralleled the ground while his left hand held a tackle box. Beside him, as a school boy I trod along, listening his to tales of fishing, duck hunting, and other adventures along the Platte River.

His name was Roscoe, but to us he was simply “Doc.” He was a World War I veteran, a retired dentist, and had lived in Nebraska nearly all of his life. He listened patiently to my dreams of someday becoming a doctor and offered encouragement and sage advice when appropriate. As time went on and I grew up, Doc’s pace slowed and he walked a bit stooped over, but the friendship between him and me remained, and he continued to periodically stop by for fishing in my dad’s trout ponds. He seemed quite pleased the day he learned that I had been accepted into medical school.

About a year later I was told that Doc had been planning to set up a trust fund so that I wouldn’t have to worry about the tuition. Whether true or not it never came to pass; Doc was found one morning by concerned friends; he had passed away peacefully at home after a long, full life.

The rocking chair in the photo came from Doc; it was a gift to the family that continues to be cherished for the memories it holds. Though the trust never came to be, it mattered little. I found my own way to finance the education, and I would far rather remember him as a treasured friend than as a benefactor.

#doc #rockingchair #friend