I am beginning to trust,
and I hope you will understand,
that this special chest, once opened,
must be placed carefully
back up on the stand.

Your love so precious,
so warm and so freely given…
How I wish that it could be
more than just a trinket
that I must keep hidden.

Deep in my closet,
standing high up on the shelf,
is my treasure chest
with special trinkets
I keep all to myself.

Spring 1986

Remembrance

Over time, I discovered how lucky I was to grow up with a family of five siblings and parents that genuinely loved each other. I had a mom who enjoyed being home every day being a mom and a dad who had a steady job and came home every night excited to see us all. I don’t remember longing for anything until I was around seven. At that time, the most important thing to me was to have a BB gun. I didn’t care about the make or model; I just wanted a BB gun. I finally received one on my eighth birthday, along with The Ten Commandments of Gun Safety. Before I could shoot for the first time, I had to memorize those commandments and repeat them aloud to my dad. Hmm, I wonder if that was my first attempt at memorizing something like a poem…?

I never longed for companionship because I always had my younger brother Barre’ at my side. As little brother, Barre’ was always happy to tail along for the ride and I was always happy to have him by my side. In addition to my little brother sidekick, I had an awesome three-legged Irish Setter named Coco who was my shadow. Diving off the pier with me, jumping into the skiff to go fishing—he was there for it all. I also knew all the kids on my block. There were enough of us, boys and girls, to make up a five-person team for knock-down, drag-out, bloody nose football and baseball games. There was no Little League in our town, just kids on the block. Although we battled on the sports field, we wiped our bloodied noses and roamed the beaches as best friends.

I did not long for freedom. I had miles and miles of pristine white beaches to swim and run along as I pleased. I ran barefoot everywhere, including church which was on the beach. When forced, I wore sandals but would toss them as soon as I thought I could get away with it. I never wore closed-toed shoes until the first grade.

I had a best friend who had a skiff, so we could throw a net, catch bait, and go fishing anytime we desired. Barre’ and I had bicycles and could ride into our small artisan town-center anytime we wanted, without parental supervision. Everyone in town knew me, Barre,’ and Coco by name. This all came to a resounding crash in November of 1959 when I was nine years old and in the fourth grade.

By that November, there were five of us snotty-nosed kids: three boys and two girls. Dad could not find adequate work in Fairhope to sustain our growing family, so we had to pack up everything, leave our family dog (whom I considered especially mine), and move to the suburbs of Houston. It was then I began to discover longings…

I no longer had a pristine beach to run; I had a stinky, creosote smelling railroad track that I could escape to when I could no longer be contained in the back yard.

I no longer had the freedom to jump on my bicycle and ride joyfully and fearlessly into a town where everyone knew my name. I could only ride around the one city block in our neighborhood. I did not have my true companion, shadow, and bosom buddy, Coco, sleeping on the end of my bed. I did not know a single kid in school. It was just me and my brother, lost amid the concrete streets of Houston. This was a very tough time for me. But now, looking back on that move as an adult and as a father, I can feel the weight of my parents’ incredible choice and sacrifice. They had to leave their entire family— sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles, life-long best friends, as well as their way of life growing up beside the bay— all to give their children and themselves a better life. What courage.

That difficult period lasted for a little over three years. In June of 1963, when I was thirteen, we moved forty miles north to Conroe, Texas. It was right after the school year ended, as my parents thought it best to move and get familiar with the new community before school started. We rented a house in the country on forty acres with three ponds, forest, and open fields for miles! We lived about two miles outside of town. By this time, Mom trusted me and Barre’ —now 13 and 12—to take the back country road into town.

Conroe was a little town with a courthouse square, just about the same size as Fairhope. Soon me and Barre’ became fixtures in the local dime store, ice cream soda fountain, JC Penney’s, and—teenagers that we were— the record store. By the end of the summer, everyone knew our names. I had it made. I finally had some freedom. The woods, the open fields, the ponds filled with fish… I could bicycle wherever and whenever. Not to mention, I had my companions: my trusty BB gun and a new puppy. Those funny lonesome feelings I had inside were quickly vanishing.

After Labor Day, I started seventh grade at the parochial school at Sacred Heart Catholic Church. When I walked into the classroom, I recognized a few of the boys and girls from the Sunday masses we had attended. Our parents had made sure we had been introduced throughout the summer. For a few weeks into the school year, I was really feeling my old self returning and finding my happiness. Then one day it all changed. I saw this girl at recess jumping rope with the other girls. She was in the sixth grade, in the room right next to mine. I remember looking at her and she caught my stare. And then she lingered, just long enough to acknowledge that I existed.

LONGING ALARM!

I guess now it has been fifty-eight years since that longing for love was ignited. I did not know anything about longings, hierarchy of needs, or the types, styles, and levels of love. But life was about to teach me. I have learned over the years that my life’s longings are one big juggling act performed on a tight rope, precariously high above, trying to remain balanced. Love, children, family, friends, job, house, car, dreams, hopes, death…so many longings to balance and always seeming to leave a hole somewhere in my soul.

I have had the good fortune to have had two beautiful, loving, and committed marriages. My first was to Nancy Albright, with whom I share three wonderful children. We met as young college kids, fell in love, had successful teaching careers and three adorable children. After twenty-five years, we had grown up and grown apart. We came to a fork in the road and we each chose different paths. We still care for each other, but now it is in the Greek sense of philia or friendship. In the last few years of my struggling relationship with Nancy, I once again recognized longing feelings in my core. I experienced loneliness and a deep desire to share love and the feelings that come from family, home, and hope.

After Nancy and I divorced, I found myself feeling like I was back in high school as my emotions fired in every direction. I dated many wonderful ladies. Some liked to dance, some liked to hike and camp, some liked old songs and snuggling. With some, I couldn’t help but wonder, “Is this the one?”

But this time, dating was different. I recognized that I had longings. Longings for a reconnected family, friends, a stable home. Longings for rebuilding my life. I was much more guarded in order to protect my children and my heart. Opening a new door to a relationship was like slowly peeling away the skin of an onion. As I became braver, I would bring out some of my treasured life trinkets to share. The poems in this “Longing” section were written during that time of my life and reflect the search to fulfill my longings for love.

After several years of searching, I rediscovered another one of my classmates from my early years at the church. There was another girl there by the name of Jerri Lyn Schrock. Now a girl with a first name so similar to mine was bound to come onto my radar. I checked and found that she was three years younger and in the fourth grade. As it turned out, she was the cousin of a fellow classmate named Dennis Williams. Dennis and I later ended up together in a high school rock-and-roll band, and Jerri and her family were often at our practices and gigs. So, we saw each other throughout those years. We rediscovered each other in January of 2000 and were married on February 24, 2001. Jerri has quieted the longings in me and filled that empty space in my soul. It was Jerri’s idea to build the winery. She suggested it first, but maybe I should mention that she was working on her second glass of wine, whereas I was just starting...But the building of the winery is another story still to be told!