Uncovering Written Memories

I was going through a pile of papers and the hand-written essay caught my eye.  It was an essay written during my freshmen year at a local community college.   I sat down to read it and was instantly transported back in time.  I received an “A” on this essay, probably not so much for how it was written (because I see many mistakes and ways it could be written differently) but more for the story it shared:

Even now, seven years later, I can still remember the first time I met Mike.  I was eleven years old when we drove up to our newly bought cottage.  As we settled down, a slightly balding man walked over and introduced himself as Mike.  That was the beginning of a special friendship that was rather slow in forming [at first].

I cannot remember much of the first four years.  I was a very shy girl then, but Mike’s friendliness won me me over.  I was like a turtle, coming out of my shell when Mike was around.

The shell really broke when I began to show a serious interest in [water]skiing.  Mike’s son used to waterski competitevely and Mike used his knowledge to encourage me.  He gave me the encouragement that I wanted so much from my own parents.

He taught me a card game called “Casino” and we spent many a time together winning and losing to each other.  He was dubbed “The Champ,” and whenever I would win a game, I would  [strut around and] call myself, “The Champ.”  But never for long, because he would win back the title in the next game.

Mike had a great sense of humor.  I always remember summers full of laughter around him.  He would put on airs of a big-time gambler, strutting around wearing his favorite hat from Las Vegas.  The expressions he used, his movements, never failed to bring out a laugh.

There was a serious side to him.   Family bickerings always clouded his face.  He never let anyone know what he was thinking or how he really felt during those days.

This summer, Mike got sick.  I hardly saw him during the summer.  No one knew it was serious until his son-in-law told us that Mike had cancer.  I was stunned.

A few weeks after I found out, I went to see Mike in his office.  I was shocked, for he had grown thin and pale.  It was the first time that I realized he was not going to get better.  It was the last time I saw him.

Mike died last week and I lost a very special friend.  As I sat in the church at his funeral, I thought of the good times and the bad times.   I replayed his smile, his laugh, and all the scenes of summer that came to my mind.  One particular scene stands out:

I remember him standing under the maple tree and telling me that I was going to be the first girl to barefoot (waterski on my bare feet) on Christie Lake.  I laughed at him then.  Early this summer, I did it–but Mike was not around to share the glory [that first time].  When he finally came to the lake for a short visit, he sat in the boat and saw me barefoot.  I’ll never forget the proud look on his face.  That was the best memory Mike could have given me.