I'm posting for 60 days straight, leading up to my early December birthday, and I'm making the time to write on behalf of slain UCC Professor and aspiring novelist, Larry Levine.
He watched his diet. Walked the neighborhood daily. And when he played his weekly round of golf, he refused to use a cart. Carried his own bag all 18 holes. Of my grandparents, he was the fittest. I didn't know him well, only spent a week or two with he and my grandmother during the summer, but he made the effort for grandson time. We went to a local park to hit golf balls. I have vague memories of struggling with a 5 iron. Struggles which have continued to this day. He also took me fishing a few times. River fishing, for trout.
Of course I didn't appreciate it at the time. I was 8, 9, then 10. Interested in Star Wars and sports. And since neither of my parents fished, my burgeoning angling skills were not reinforced. They lay dormant 11.5 months only to get dusted off for another trip to the river.
One spring morning, my grandfather mowed the grass, came in to watch golf, settled into his brown leather recliner, and had a massive, fatal heart attack. We'd cast our last line together, baited our last hook. And I didn't miss it our brief time on the river until years later.
When I read that Larry Levine was an avid fly fisherman, I immediately thought of Grandpa. How I took my time with him for granted. Which has reminded me that I need to do a better job spending time with my remaining family.