Another Time. Another Place.
Two guys were laying bricks in the hot sun. When asked what they were doing, the first guy said, "I'm laying bricks, and getting paid good money to do it." The second guy set down his trowel, looked up toward the sky and said, "I'm building a church."
Someone recently justified taking parts off the Oriskany by reasoning that it's nothing but a "big rusting hulk riddled with holes and grafiti." But I'll contend that the Oriskany has touched so many lives in so many different ways, that new stories are emerging daily. And at the risk of jeapordizing my own manliness, here's mine.
Most everyone has someone they often think of as their, “Another time, another place” person. We may be perfectly happy with the choices we’ve made, but for whatever reason, there’s someone we knew and connected with, but couldn’t or didn’t pull the trigger on realizing the potential relationship. Maybe they were involved with someone. And when they weren’t, you were. Regardless of the reasons, I’ll bet most of us could think of one person who, though may not have been perfect, they were certainly perfect for us.
Mine is a woman I’ve admired for over 10 years. And during those years we've kept in touch off and on, calling from time to time to check to make sure the other’s still alive and hasn’t fallen off the face of the earth.
When we talk, it's brief, never really lasting more than five minutes. And the conversation's so benign that anyone could be in the room, and I wouldn't care. It’s what is not said that causes us to stay in each other’s lives.
She called one day after six months of silence, and we spent a few minutes together on the phone. After all these years, each time I talk to her, I still learn something new about her. But even that day, she surprised me.
But let's back track:
Long before the Oriskany was scuttled, I was researching the ship and those that served aboard her. I spent countless hours devoted to knowing all I could about this ship. My goal was humble enough; try and understand what it must’ve been like to serve aboard a ship that shaped so many destinies. I figured that the more I knew about ship, the better I could enhance the experience of those who wanted to dive the Oriskany with me. I had former crew members contact me with information, pictures, stories and websites to research. With all that information I came across, it was hard not to form a connection to the ship.
So the other day, I was talking to her after six months. Her father passed away recently after a long illness. Her work was going well. She recently received a promotion, and her kids were excited about school starting. I told her I was traveling a lot, putting the hours on the plane, and was diving the Oriskany almost every day I was in town. And then, she told me something after all these years, I’d never known: Her father had been stationed aboard the Oriskany when he served in the Navy.
Now I'm not saying that it's some kind of sign, or catalyst to cause an uproar in our respective lives, but you have consider the remarkable odds of that ship, that officer, that daughter and this divemaster all coming together, and you have to at least leave room for my contention that this ship touches so many lives and is not some hunk of rusted steel sitting at the bottom of the Gulf.
I guess the way we see the wreck is the way we look at anything else in life. We're either laying bricks or building churches.
Someone recently justified taking parts off the Oriskany by reasoning that it's nothing but a "big rusting hulk riddled with holes and grafiti." But I'll contend that the Oriskany has touched so many lives in so many different ways, that new stories are emerging daily. And at the risk of jeapordizing my own manliness, here's mine.
Most everyone has someone they often think of as their, “Another time, another place” person. We may be perfectly happy with the choices we’ve made, but for whatever reason, there’s someone we knew and connected with, but couldn’t or didn’t pull the trigger on realizing the potential relationship. Maybe they were involved with someone. And when they weren’t, you were. Regardless of the reasons, I’ll bet most of us could think of one person who, though may not have been perfect, they were certainly perfect for us.
Mine is a woman I’ve admired for over 10 years. And during those years we've kept in touch off and on, calling from time to time to check to make sure the other’s still alive and hasn’t fallen off the face of the earth.
When we talk, it's brief, never really lasting more than five minutes. And the conversation's so benign that anyone could be in the room, and I wouldn't care. It’s what is not said that causes us to stay in each other’s lives.
She called one day after six months of silence, and we spent a few minutes together on the phone. After all these years, each time I talk to her, I still learn something new about her. But even that day, she surprised me.
But let's back track:
Long before the Oriskany was scuttled, I was researching the ship and those that served aboard her. I spent countless hours devoted to knowing all I could about this ship. My goal was humble enough; try and understand what it must’ve been like to serve aboard a ship that shaped so many destinies. I figured that the more I knew about ship, the better I could enhance the experience of those who wanted to dive the Oriskany with me. I had former crew members contact me with information, pictures, stories and websites to research. With all that information I came across, it was hard not to form a connection to the ship.
So the other day, I was talking to her after six months. Her father passed away recently after a long illness. Her work was going well. She recently received a promotion, and her kids were excited about school starting. I told her I was traveling a lot, putting the hours on the plane, and was diving the Oriskany almost every day I was in town. And then, she told me something after all these years, I’d never known: Her father had been stationed aboard the Oriskany when he served in the Navy.
Now I'm not saying that it's some kind of sign, or catalyst to cause an uproar in our respective lives, but you have consider the remarkable odds of that ship, that officer, that daughter and this divemaster all coming together, and you have to at least leave room for my contention that this ship touches so many lives and is not some hunk of rusted steel sitting at the bottom of the Gulf.
I guess the way we see the wreck is the way we look at anything else in life. We're either laying bricks or building churches.
posted by The Divemaster at 8:55 AM
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