An Old Tin Cup
An old tin camping cup, dented and dull, was never far from my father’s hand. Filled with cocoa, you’d find him sitting by a camp fire telling stories and dispensing wisdom with a twinkle in his eye and a bray of a belly laugh.
He lived the Scout’s Motto:
On my honor, I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;
To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.
He traveled the world, bringing back memories to share with us. Swords from Ethiopia, silk paintings from Hong Kong, ceramics from Vietnam adorned our home.
We ran the land like a little tribe of heathens. My father made sure we had the space with a creek in the back of the property to cool down in the summer and catch minnows and crawdads. Friends joined us in our adventures of imagination. He and my mother gave us a childhood filled with love, adventure, and a work ethic.
As his health failed him, the memory of that old tin camping cup seemed to sum up the man. It worked hard through it’s life surviving bangs, bumps, and dents. The mug’s luster might have faded, but it still got the job done. When it was dark and cold, it was filled with loving comfort and freely shared with those who sat circled around the fire.
I wish he was still around to share a campfire with that cup filled with cocoa.
I miss you Dad. (CEG 1939-2001).