The Important Things We Value

               When it comes to life, what is important to you? What is most valuable? There are more than a million answers to that question and not one would be wrong. What is important to you is what is important to YOU. No one can tell you what you value. That answer you have now may change by as early as tomorrow. It is life experiences that can change the way we think, live and also treat others around us. A recent trip to my Uncle Gene and Aunt Kathy’s home encouraged me to share some stories I remember of my dad, Ronald Lee Reck.

                I can tell you all the great things about Ron- like how he was a church-going man who loved his family and would do anything he could to give them the necessities in life, but I won’t do that. I find it funny sometimes when people share stories about loved ones who passed on and they explain, almost in a salesman-type way, that the person was such a good-hearted soul. My dad was a good-hearted soul but he was also human. That is part reason why people loved him, because he had his flaws.

                Ron was a military man- a Chief Warrant Officer 4 in the United States Marine Corps. He operated a machine gun in Vietnam which is why he was nicknamed Gunny Reck. He suffered from PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and would NEVER talk about the war, no matter how often or which approach one would take when digging for information about his experiences. (There is some info online, though.) He was well respected. I can remember people wanting to shake my hand and claim it as an “honor” when meeting me after learning I was ‘Gunny Reck’s son- it happened a few times. It made me proud but even more curious on why was he so highly thought of. But I unfortunately have little information on his heroism.

                When I was sharing stories with my uncle Gene, which we do often when visiting each other, I was given the other information to a particular story. When I was around sixteen my dad was the scoutmaster of our scout troop and on our way to a meeting he stopped randomly here and there to pick up political signs on the side of the road and toss them carelessly into the back of his truck. We finally pulled up to a house where I helped him throw each sign out onto someone’s front lawn- no knock on the door was apparently needed. I was unaware of why we were doing this but I think a part of me didn’t want to know. Gene filled in the rest of that for me, which is what I had expected. He didn’t like this person who was running for a certain city position and ended up having to pay money for that antic. I’m sure Gene could offer up more on that one.

                One of my earliest memories is waiting in the car while my mother went into the police station to bail him out of jail for eluding a police officer while joyriding on his motorcycle.  Like a lot of the other stories and memories I have I can only recall a little and that much is blurry. There was a time I do remember pretty well while on our way home from church of all places. My dad had an El Camino at one point and it was fast. While rounding a corner towards home, he hit maybe 70 mph just as a police car passed the other direction so he did what only he would do… pulled into a holly farm and drove to the very back and waited behind a row of trees. As the farmer noticed us trespassing onto his property, he stepped out into the pathway leading out to the road to stop us and gave my dad a piece of his mind. All my dad could say was “I thought I would take a drive, sir… nice place you have here.”

                There are too many stories I could share, like the time I helped him steal an expensive generator from a landlord because he wouldn’t return the much earned and needed cleaning deposit- the man watched from his window. Or the time when he badgered police officers for threatening children with fines for not wearing helmets while riding their bikes. He had a reputation- to some it was good, to others it was… not so good. But like I said before, he had his flaws.

                It is these types of stories that make us laugh as we share them. It is these types of stories that make us cherish the moments we shared with those who have passed on. It is what helps us live through the loss of loved ones. That is what is important to me- time with those I care about. You never know when you will be left with just the memories, at least until you meet again. Make the memories. Make the memories count because when that person passes on, you will have enough of them to laugh more than you will cry. Believe me, nothing can be more valuable or important than that. So as I share the stories I have and learn new ones, I get more comfortable with letting him go. And as an added bonus, it helps grow closer to others as we share the memories and that makes it all a little sweeter.