The beat marches on

Eighty-six years ago a man stood on the steps of the Forrest County Courthouse holding (what looks like) a baritone under his left arm and posed for a picture.  He was surrounded by fellow members of the Leaf River Camp Chapter 28 of the Woodmen of the World band, men of all ages wearing striped hats and holding musical instruments at their sides.  Eighty-six years ago this same man had six children at home, the youngest a baby girl born the same year as he stood on the steps of the courthouse with his fellow band members.   I am sure there were many thoughts running through his head at that moment just like any one of us at any given moment in time.  I am also relatively sure, but not absolutely certain, that the thought of what would happen eighty-six years in the future, in a new millennium, was not one of them.

This is what happened eighty-six years in the future of that man of small stature, wearing a striped hat, holding (what looks like) a baritone standing on the courthouse steps.  Eighty-six years in the future the youngest child and the youngest grandchild of that baby girl he had waiting at home were standing in line at their local Walgreen’s drugstore, thumbing through a book of postcards of historical Hattiesburg, the hometown of the man with dark eyes who stood on the courthouse steps holding (what looks like) his baritone under his left arm. 

Having flipped through that book rather quickly the youngest child of the baby girl from eighty-six years ago reached for the other book on historical Hattiesburg sitting in the stand next to the book of postcards.  On the cover of this book was a picture of the Leaf River Camp Chapter 28 of the Woodmen of the World band taken in 1927, eighty-six years ago.  She remembered her aunt telling her that her father played a baritone in a band so she skimmed the picture very quickly and her eyes landed on the dark eyes of a man of small stature, and those dark eyes matched the dark eyes of her mother and her aunts and uncles.  The man was wearing a striped hat and holding (what looks like) a baritone under his left arm.   

At that moment in time the youngest child of that baby from eighty-six years ago knew she was looking into the eyes of her grandfather, a man she never met.  There are no names to match the faces in the picture, but the youngest child of that baby girl knew it was her grandfather because her mother, that baby girl from eighty-six year ago, loved him dearly and shared many stories of his giving spirit with her youngest child.  Me.

Sometimes pennies are not the only things sent from heaven and placed in our path as reminders.