A STONE'S THROW: MR. FRANK C. KLOCK

Throwing stones was Kevin’s passion. From the time he woke in the morning and was released by his mother to play, his thoughts focused on stones. It wasn’t always like that, Kevin was like any other kid; running around, playing with his friends, building forts, knocking them down, playing 'Cowboys and Indians', tag, and anything else they could think of doing.

During the last seven months since his dad went into the Army, things were different. He felt a need to do something protective – gathering caches of rocks and stones seemed like the thing to do, though at the time he couldn’t throw worth a darn no matter how hard he tried. But, at least he had his bags of rocks.


The first part of his day was spent searching for the right rocks. He’d stop, bend over, pick up a stone, examine it, toss it up in the air about a foot, weighing its potential; and either toss it aside or place it in the used paper sack he carried like “Mr. Moneybags” from Monopoly. After about twenty minutes or about thirty stones, the bottom of the paper sack would give way and all his rocks would fall to the ground. With the patience of Job, Kevin would gather the stones into a pile, crumple up the bag, and run into the house to Gram, pleading for another from her nearly endless supply of used ‘lunch sacks’ she had insisted Harry bring home every day from work.

Gramps was captivated by Kevin’s intense hunt in their backyard while he drank his morning coffee on the back porch – though nothing was said.

There was always a, “Hi Gramps,” as Kevin passed his grandfather on the back porch.

“Hi Kid,” Harry would reply, looking up from his newspaper.

It was after Kevin’s ‘twentieth’ run back to the house that morning that the obvious solution came.

Sadie had presented Harry with a fine leather briefcase when he became a Junior Executive with Harrington & Smith Advertising, his first real promotion at his first job after getting out of the Marines and joining the Reserves. That was over fifty years ago. It was shinny brown leather, brass fittings and buckles on the two straps that securely held the front flap down against any and all weather. The brass fittings continued to the handle and shoulder strap making the 'Executive Look' complete. It served him well those fifty years through three other jobs and countless promotions. The years took their toll on the case. By the time he retired from Brumwell Sales as Executive Purchasing Manager, the case had lost its shine, becoming a light-brown suede, but still as water tight as ever.

On the evening of his retirement, Harry tossed it into the bottom of his closet, never intending to use it again.

 “Hi Gramps.”

“Hey kid -- I’ve got an idea,” Gramps whispered.

That stopped Kevin dead, with his hand on the screen door latch.

“What’s it, Gramps?” Kevin whispered in the same conspiratorial tone his grandfather had used.

“I might have something for your rocks and stones that won’t keep breaking.”

“Oh?”

“Yah, come with me,” Gramps tossed the newspaper on the table covering his mug of coffee with an energy he hadn’t felt in months. “Let’s not disturb your Gram with this – it’ll be just between us men.”

Kevin beamed at being called a man.

Gramps silently led Kevin through the house up to his “office” – before entering Gramps and Kevin looked up and down the hall for any signs of Gram. With no one in sight, the elder man quickly opened the door just enough to let the two conspirators sneak in. Once the door was locked, Gramps moved his great leather desk chair that Kevin loved to spin-around in, out to the side of the desk, so they both could sit together.

"Now, tell me what all the rocks are for, young man?”

“Protection.”

“Oh, I see…” He waited a bit, getting no further explanation he continued, “Go into the closet there and find my brown leather briefcase, the one with the strap.”

“Okay.”

Kevin quietly opened the closet door and started to rummage through the objects in the closet. Within a few seconds he exited triumphantly dragging the brown briefcase behind him. “This one, right?” he whispered.

"On the money… Let me empty all this junk out first, as he removed handfuls of papers and tossed them into the wastepaper can without even looking at them. On top of the pile was a folded paper bag.

“What or who are you protecting?” Gramps asked as he slung the strap over Kevin’s head, resting it on his right shoulder – the briefcase remained flat on the ground. “We’re going to have to fix that, don’t you think?”

“I guess so…”

“I think a little adjustment here with this shoulder strap ought to do it,” as he doubled the strap on itself. “There, a perfect fit,” the bag hung just at Kevin’s waist, about an inch from the floor. “You’ll grow into it. -- You never said who you were protecting.”

“Mom, Gram, and … and you, just like dad told me to.”

“Oh, okay … I don’t think these little straps are going to be very useful to a ‘David’ like you. Let’s just slip them out and let the flap hang free, alright?”

“Gramps, my name is Kevin…”

“Oh, I know, it's just a little joke ...”

“Oh…?”

"How’s your throwing arm?”

“Not that great, I can’t hit anything,” Kevin’s head hung dejectedly.

“Well let’s just see … In the side pocket of my golf bag are some golf balls, plastic ones with holes in them, go get a couple.”

Kevin was off to the closet again … a few seconds later came the distinct sound of golf balls hitting the floor, bouncing and rolling out of the closet. Then Kevin followed the bouncing balls with three bright orange plastic practice balls.

“Sorry…”

“What are the two of you doing up there?”

“Nothing,” both men said at the same time, immediately suppressing their laughter.

“Whatever you two are up to, you better take it outside before I whoop you both.”

This brought another bout of snickers from the two discovered conspirators, as they gathered all of the golf balls from the floor and stuffed them in their pockets. Then with faces as innocent as angels they unlocked the door, walked right past Gram, afraid to say a word, less they break-out in laughter, and headed straight for the back yard.

      -           -           -           -           -

“First of all,” Gramps said, once they reached the back yard, “let's see how far you can throw.”

 “Oh, okay...”

“Let's pile all the golf balls over here, I'll move back a bit and you just toss a few of those orange balls to me. Alright?”

“I'll try; just don't go too far...”

“I'll adjust to you.”

Kevin picked up the first of the wiffle balls with his left hand and tossed it underhanded toward Gramps; it went about five feet. Gramps jumped forward a few feet to catch it.

“Well, not too bad for an underhanded throw. Now, let's see what-ya' got over-handed.

Kevin hung his head.

“That's all I got. Dad never got a chance to teach me more, before he went to the Army.”

“Well then, you'll just have to learn the rest from an old Marine.”

“Hah?”

“Never mind ... let's get started. Here's your ball back – what hand do you wri...color with?”

“This one,” Kevin held up his right hand.

“That could be one of your issues. You have to work with your strengths – your dad is left-handed, probably didn't realize you might be right-handed. Well, we'll fix that... Now grab the ball with the tips of your right hand fingers … just like that,” Harry's giant hands covered Kevin's, gently directing his movements. “... with your arm back like that …

The lesson went on, and in no time Kevin was throwing the wiffle balls further and further without Gramps' assistance or instructions.

"You're a natural kid – think you can handle something heavier?”

“Sure,” Kevin's confidence had grown with each throw.

“Alright now, golf balls are heavier than your rocks, but once you get used to the heavier golf balls, it will make your rock throwing that much more powerful. You watch how I throw, and then try to do the same...” In the beginning, Kevin's throws barely went a few feet. He kept trying to imitate his grandfather's style, but somehow it made his throws more awkward instead of better. But they kept at it; soon Gramps called a “time-out” and sat down on the grass with Kevin to have a 'man to man' talk about what they had been doing.

“... Kevin we're not playing baseball, right?”

“Right?”

"You can't throw like me or your dad or Babe Ruth, you've got to throw like Kevin, you've got to develop your own style.”

"How do I do that?”

“Let's see – we're just throwing rocks … so you're going to need a target. You go into the house and get a couple of empty pop cans and I'll get something to put them on.”

“Okay,” Kevin said with a new found enthusiasm.

When Kevin returned with the pop cans, Gramps had set up a crate from the garage near the pear tree with the pile of golf balls about ten feet away.

“Just pick a ball, and throw it at one of the cans.”

“Are you sure, they're far away?”

“Don't worry – just do it any way you’re comfortable.”

Kevin's first throw was a bit wild and Harry had to duck or get hit. The third went right between the two cans and the sixth put a dent in the can on the right side. They both let out a cheer. Eventually, the pile of golf balls got moved further and further away from the crate, until they had to stop when the sun went down, and Mom came home from work.

Over the next two weeks, during dinner, they regaled the two women with stories of Kevin's new accomplishments as he graduated from golf balls to stones and rocks, and then to different targets.

It was Gram who asked, “Did you tell him about the mockingbirds?”

“Sure did, even used Atticus's own words, just made them apply to all animals.”

Kevin's mom had a little tear in her eye at that, and changed the subject.

It became a typical neighborhood site to see the two walking around the area, Kevin with his now ever present leather bag of rocks. Walking led to talking. Then some days they would just have man to man talks.

“Gramps, what's it like to be in the Army?”

“Well, I was in the Marines, but it's probably the same – lots of marching, training to operate different machines, taking classes on how to be a good soldier and leader, going on patrols, stuff like that.”

“Is it hard?”

“For a soldier like your dad, nah – easy as cake.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“I’ve got to be honest with you; it can be very dangerous if you or one of your buddies makes a mistake. But your dad doesn't make too many mistakes. He'll be okay.

“I can't wait for him to come home.”

“Me too, little man. Me too.”

-     -           -           -           -

The day Kevin learned to skip stones was cause for an evening of celebration. They had worked on it all day. First finding the right kind of flat rocks; searching all over the neighborhood and down by the river.

“... It has to almost spin off your pointing finger...” Gramps explained showing Kevin what it was like in slow motion.

The lessons continued. “Come-on kid, it's going to be dark soon...”

“Not until I get two skips like you.”

“Okay, one more. Check how you're holding the rock.”

“Like this, right?”

“Yep. – Is the rounded side on the bottom?”

“… It is now.”

“Good, make sure you give it lots of spin...”

The stone almost rocketed off of Kevin's index finger and didn't hit the water until the middle of the river. The first skip hit the water and bounced almost an inch high and two feet down the river. The second, skipped on to a third. Kevin's mouth was wide open in a silent scream of triumph. The fourth and fifth were mere inches apart, but they counted all the same, as the stone sunk among the reeds.

“Did you see that...?” Gramps yelled.

“Oh wow! I did five skips, do you believe it. Five.”

“That was just fantastic, little man. Best I've ever seen.”

“I wish I could get that rock back...”

“Kid, that's one of the funny things in life – we don't always get to keep some of the things that mean the most to us. But there is a magical place in our brain where we can keep these kinds of memories. Take a look around … see the ripples of the skips fade away, look at the reeds on the other side of the river where the stone sank, notice where the sun and clouds are, listen to the water and the birds, smell the river and the mud, remember how you're feeling right now, how your heart is beating, and how fast you're breathing … keep them all in a special place in your memory, that way even though you don't have that particular rock, you will always have the memory. And the best thing is you can repeat it as many times as you want, all in your mind.”

“Really, I can keep it forever, and I don't need the rock?”

“Yep, that's the magic of imagination. Let's go home and tell your Mom and Gram all about this afternoon – that will help lock this memory in your imagination.”

As the summer faded into fall, Kevin would go off more and more by himself honing his skills on the rumps of squirrels, pop cans on the stump of the peach tree after it had been cut down, and at the river. Gramps still watched Kevin's morning ritual of picking rocks and putting them in his bag, a bag that seemed to be moving further and further from the ground as the months passed.

It was a cool afternoon in early October; when they found out Kevin’s dad had been killed. Gramps took Kevin out back while his mom talked to the Army Officers. Once outside Gramps reached into Kevin's bag, asking, “You got a big rock in here?” Finding one, Kevin watched as Harry turned and pitched the stone right at the house – the arc was on a perfect trajectory toward the kitchen window – it hit with all the shattering strength of his grief. “We'll have to go in to clean that up in a minute, Kevin, but first I need to talk to you man to man.

“What's up Gramps?”

“Kevin those soldiers were sent to tell us that your dad is not going to come home.”

“Is he … is he dead?”

“Yes, my little man, your dad is dead – remember the squirrel we found last week?

“The one that just lay there and didn't move?”

“That's the one, remember I said its life was over – it had done everything it had to do.”

“Yah.”

“Well, it’ll be the same with your dad. His work is over; we'll just have our memories of all the times he was with us. You start making a special place in your mind with all the things you remember, the things he told you, the things you did together, and everything he taught you. Okay?”

“Yah … Can I throw a rock at the house?”

“Sure.”

Kevin picked out a rock from his bag and threw it underhanded at the siding – it didn't even make a scratch.


“Okay, let's clean up the kitchen.”

The funeral was filled with military pomp – The flag draped casket, the Army pall bearers, the lone bugler, the soldiers with rifles, the smell of the gunpowder after the three rounds of fire, Gramps wearing his full Marine Uniform and his single sword salute during the playing of Taps, the folding of the flag and it's presentation to Kevin's Mom, her tears, the presentation of his dad's medals to Kevin. – All of these sights sounds and smells Kevin tucked away in his memory, just as Gramps had told him to do. He replayed them most every night as he fell asleep along with the other memories of his dad he kept in his imagination.

      

Gramps and Kevin became closer, but it wasn't the same. Gramps didn't have the energy he had before, Kevin would still throw stones, but mostly Gramps would tell stories.

Kevin soon grew away from throwing stones, but never tired of talking with Gramps. Now it was about school and the things he was learning. When Gramps got sick and was taken to the hospital, Kevin was the one telling stories about far away strange places and people that would always make Gramps laugh. That was about the only time Gramps laughed.

One evening just before visiting hours were over, Gramps called Kevin over to his bed, “Now you listen Little Man, you take good care of your Gram and Mom, You're the man of the house now. Remember all of our stories and pass them on to your kids someday. And don't forget to tell them about your Dad...”


“...And my Gramps.”

“If you must ... Now go home and take care of things like I taught you.”

“Okay Gramps, see you in the morning.”


When he woke the next morning, his Mom and Gram were sitting at the Dining Room table holding hands, when they looked-up when Kevin bounded into the room, he could see their red eyes and knew that he would not see Gramps that day. He just walked out the back door and looked for a large rock. When he found one, he turned back toward the house, and threw a perfect pitch right through the kitchen window, with all the fury his young body could gather. Then, he calmly walked back into the house saying, “I'm cleaning it up. Don't worry.”

As a retired Reserve Marine Captain, Gramps received full Military Honors, flag draped coffin, a bugler for Taps, Marines for a Final Salute, and five Marine pall bearers, Kevin insisted on being the sixth even though he could barely grasp the handle at the middle of the coffin. Kevin's Mom got him a new blue suit just for the funeral, and Kevin insisted on wearing his bag of rocks during the whole funeral.

After the presentation of the flag to Gram, everyone was asked to place a flower on Gramps' casket.

When all were finished, Kevin stepped up to the casket and placed a single rock in among the flowers.
____
MR. FRANK C. KLOCK is a free-lance journalist and Contributing Editor to IN SEARCH OF FATHERHOOD(R), a quarterly international Fatherhood and Men's Issues Journal.