the time progressed well. We talked and reconnected.
Out of many memories came the one of his first amusement park adventure. It was not the type of outing which interested me, so the thought never entered my mind. At the age of ten, Cody hounded us to take him. He hounded us.
Though reluctant to try because of a height phobia, he wound up loving roller coaster rides. I’m glad I relented and took him.
A hilarious event took place the following night at their new house. They invited me for a home-cooked meal. Cody considered himself a “Chef.” Lamb chops were the main entrée.
As he was cooking with a new oven, and not being familiar, a temperature/time issue arose. Heather and I like our meat medium-rare.
“Cody, I don’t think they’re done,” Heather said.
“You and my Dad like medium-rare,” he replied. “That’s what they are.”
Cody cut into his, then snatched ours from the plates to return to the oven. Kelli leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
“You call yourself a Master Chef?” she said.
He married Heather, and in 2010, she gave birth to Rose — a beautiful, precious girl. I made many trips to see him. We kept in touch by phone — both calls and texts. Life progressed well for him, and for me, flying high with contentment, happiness, and fullness inside.
Over the course of the next several years, I would travel to Bluewater Springs two or three times each year. Possessing a valid Georgia Weapons Carry license and not having purchased a firearm in years, I decided to buy one on a visit.
As I lived at the prison, and since my physical address was exempt from public disclosure, all of my official documents had my post office box listed. Driver’s License, vehicle registration, insurance card, you name it. I selected my firearm and filled out the required forms.
I explained I was a state correctional officer and lived at the prison. The sales clerk informed me the Federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms requires a current legal physical address on their form or else they permit no sale. Well, it raised a quandary.
I had zero documentation to verify such a thing. The sales clerk told me something which blew my mind. He instructed me to go to Walmart and their sporting goods section. Once there, I was to ask the clerk for a Migratory Bird Stamp.
He said there was no charge and all I needed was to provide them my name and address. Inquisitive, I said, they’re sure to ask for proof of address.
“Nope,” he said.
Let me tell you, flabbergasted is not the correct word to explain my reaction. With a migratory stamp in hand, I returned to the gun shop to fill out a new ATF Form 4473.
I gave it to the associate to photocopy, and within a matter of minutes, I walked out the door the owner of a brand new 9mm Glock Model 43.
Good days fluctuated. Overall, I enjoyed my job. I owned a strong sense of worth and purpose. I belonged to the local Bison Lodge and held a position on the Board of Officers, worked in the kitchen, and served on committees. Many people came into my life. One in particular, Angel. What a saint for tolerating me.
A 100m percent disabled Navy veteran, she is a Godsend. We enjoy a particular musical group and have watched their DVDs several times. She’s joined me at concerts by the group and individual members when they perform solo.
We follow a talented young performer who’s a genuine prodigy. We’ve watched his DVD’s and attended performances by him.
Active in the Women’s Chapter of the Bison Lodge, Angel served on their version of the Board of Officers and countless committees. She ascended through the ranks and in status.
Eventual infighting and internal politics curtailed her involvement after many dynamic years. Of the myriad memories spent with her at the lodge, I recall with hearty laughs the times we performed Karaoke, her lending her support and voice to a poor attempt by me at ‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn’, along with wrapping up many a night with ‘Day-O’ (The Banana Boat Song).
As in the past, I had an extensive repertoire of selections, but some songs should have been left off my list. One long-time member of the women’s chapter insisted whenever she was present for Karaoke, I had to perform ‘For the Good Times’. I always did it justice.
A male member would sing, ‘Unchained Melody’ as a tribute to his wife, and I would always have to accompany him. I may not be the best singer, but this gentleman’s shower turns off when he sings in it.
Hurricane Irma, then a tropical storm as it swept through Georgia, caused significant structural damage to her house after several humongous trees fell. She evacuated to her mother’s place and remains while going through the bureaucratic process of having a new house built.
We are best of friends, and this lady shouldered and supported me throughout trials and tribulations. A true inspiration, she’s endured more than her share of life’s Hell. A remarkable person, she embodies the cliché “to know her is to love her.” An outgoing, personable, and positive outlook individual, it’s tough to summon the notion of vices.
And I had Kitty Kat. The good Lord and everyone who knows me knew how much this cat meant. Born on the property of the work camp, and present when I transferred from a major institution, we remained together for 15 years.
On one trip to see Cody, we made plans to have dinner at a local restaurant known for their Prime Rib, a favorite of mine.
As they both had gotten off work, he and Heather prepped themselves while Rose watched cartoons. Pulling up a photo of Cody on my phone (taken of a photograph when he was six).
“Do you want to see a picture of your daddy when he was a little boy?” I asked.
“Daddy was never a little boy,” she said.
“Yes, he was,” I said. “Look.”
She stared for a minute, then turned to continue watching cartoons. Over an hour later, as we awaited the arrival of our meals, she pointed across the table at her father.
“You never told me you were a little boy,” she said.
His mouth dropped.
“Um, daddy was never a little boy,” he said.
“You were too a little boy,” she pushed back.
Against my initial judgment, I explained the reason for Rose’s sudden announcement.
In the fall of 2014, Cody underwent back surgery. As a result, he could not work for twelve weeks, and he headed on a downhill spiral. He became addicted to painkillers. A heavy drinker in the past, he started hitting the bottle.
The relationship became heated between him and Heather. Aware of the operation, I didn’t know of his addiction and other problems. Once again, he tossed me aside like trash. What did I do? I struck back with nasty text messages but managed to persevere and continued doing what I needed.
A month or two later, Cody contacted me. He said he didn’t understand how to tell me his marriage deteriorated. He lost his job of 13 years and got charged with domestic violence.
