Today I learned that a friend of mine passed away. Actually, he was the father of one of my best friends when I was growing up. I always called him Mr. Whitacre and he called me anything he wanted to; it depended upon what stupid situation Ronnie and I had gotten ourselves into. He was the kind of man who could shoot hoops with you in their backyard or kick you in the ass when you pushed one of his sons into the wall at the top of the steps putting a big hole in the wall.
He and Mrs. Whitacre took me in at a time when my father suffered a massive stroke. When I say that they took me in, I mean that I regularly hung out at their house while my father struggled to regain his health. I especially looked forward to Saturday afternoons when he would fix his famous hamburgers. I remember one time that he fixed a big plate of them and Ronnie, Mike (Ronnie's brother) and I ate them all before Mr. Whitacre could get any. God, they were good. It was many year's later that I went back to visit, as an adult, that he told me his secret ingredient he put in the hamburgers. We continue to enjoy his secret recipe to this day in the Kirby house.
As I grew up, he encouraged and supported me at my Little League and Hot Stove Baseball games even though Ronnie and I played on different teams. He was always around to talk and to give advice or to simply give me a hug as long as nobody was watching. He didn't want anyone to know he could be a softie. For all of his toughness, one of his favorite music albums was the Soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever. He used to listen to that record all the time. Being the smart asses that we were, Ronnie and I would substitute 'Kiss Alive' into the jacket and hide the Fever soundtrack. Then we would just wait for Mr. Whitacre to settle down for an evening of listening to his records only to find Ace, Peter, Paul and Gene belting out lyrics like, "Put your hand into my pocket, grab onto my rocket..." We would laugh and he would kick our asses.
I am writing this today because upon learning the news of his death, I paused and reflected on his life and how he helped shape me into who I am today. He was a great man who helped me at a time in my life when I needed a male role model. He was tough but he had a big heart. And he made a great hamburger.
Today, I thanked God for Mr. Whitacre's life and the impact he made on me. As I looked back on my life, I realized that he was not only my friends dad, but he was my friend too. A friend is someone who will always be there for you when you need them. He was there for me at a time in my life when I needed him, and for that, I feel honored to say that he was my friend.
Hey, Mr. Whitacre, once you get through those Pearly Gates, say "Hello" to my mom and dad for me when you see them.
Bill
