We weren't bosom buddies in High School, but we socialized in the same circles. The 'country kids' sort of stuck together, mostly because the city kids didn't understand that when hay needed baling or barns needed mucking out or row crops needed combining, that's where you would find the country kids - not at the beach on a Saturday afternoon. My Dad didn't farm, but there was still a big, old farmhouse to clean and weeds to be pulled in the garden and lessons on bread baking to learn Farmers or not, the country kids worked.
Glenn and I knew each other well enough to to talk when we met. It isn't easy to know people well in a graduating class of nearly 400. We lost touch after graduation. I went on to marry and produce children at a rather alarming rate. He, too, married, had sons and joined the Navy.
We connected again about 10 years ago through Facebook. Glenn had come out of Vietnam and joined the local police force where he protected and served until his retirement.
We talked on the phone a couple of times, but mostly we emailed. He would send me links and information about what was happening in our insane world. I always accused him of being connected to the 'Good Old Boy Cop Network,' and I think he might have been. He knew about what was happening close to me before I did, and he lived 100 miles away.
I heard of his death this morning. It came as a surprise. Last week he was canning salsa. Earlier this week he taught a conceal carry class.
Glenn was one of the good guys. He was an unapologetic patriot, volunteering for Nam when others of that time were trying to figure out the best route to Canada to avoid being drafted. He believed in law and order and spent a good share of his life in that profession. He cherished friends and family. And he knew for certain that when his time here was done, he would meet Jesus.
Godspeed, my friend. Well done.