When I least expect them, they're there.
And, little did I think that she or he would make all the difference in the world.
Only thing is, I took her or him for granted.
You got to be kidding, I'd say, who does he think he is?
Unique, different for sure, unassuming, even considered to small for life's challenges.
So . . .
I remember playing football in high school on Detroit's east side.
Because I wanted to be included and part of the popular group of guys, I decided to attend regular practices. Even though I missed much of the summer's double sessions because I needed to work at the ice cream parlor, and scrub grace markers for Fred Shultz who was across from Forest Lawn Cemetary on Van Dyke near McNichols, and, rigth next store to the soda jerk job, it was all convenient.
The scrubbing of marker's job was a hand-me-down from my oldest brother who died in Vietnam later in 1968. Butch outgrew that job and now worked at the Jefferson Chrysler Plant near downtown Detroit.
We were up for a championship game one year, I recall.
Or, were we?
We beat every team in the league.
But, we'd have to beat the same team we played twice and won, for the crown.
The coach reminded us to practice hard and often.
Don't take that team for granted, he warned.
Well, we did.
And, were the coaches and his aides, upset with us.
And, with the refererees.
Both coaches were thrown out of the game after angrily challenging the ref.
And, the youngest assistant took charge. He had to.
Who does he think he is, one player asked.
Press them, he shouted.
My team refused his direction.
At first, we complied.
Later, we let up.
And, lost by a few points.
Decades later I'm still haunted: Don't take any prophet for granted.