it was early november, 1978.
i was 26 years old, when i was sitting in the stands watching a high school junior varsity football game.
my young brother-in-law (former) was playing defensive end.
it was a sharp, crisp fall day.
a rainbow of reds, browns, oranges, yellows and muddy greens colored the hills beyond.
i was one with the moment, when a couple of varsity jacketed boys sitting in front of me turned to face me.
one uttered the word that forever changed the whereabouts on my path of life forever.
he asked, sir, do you have the time?
i looked around to see if he was talking to someone else.
he had to be.
he pointed to his wrist as he repeated, sir, the time?
he was talking to me.
i said, oh yeah, um, it’s 25 past four.
he said, thank you, and returned to watch the game—the lives of boys uninterrupted.
there would be no returning that day or any other day following.
i stared off into the fading landscape, as the word “sir” rattled around in my head like a bb in a box car.
there was no denying it, i had become sir.
and just like the lowering sun over the distant slopes, afire in full autumn rage, i suddenly found myself in the burning twilight of life.
alas, whoa was me—about as whoa as i could go.