Wahoo and Friendship

The game of Wahoo began, as many good things do, with something small and easy to miss.

A gardening glove.

It was a simple knock on the door. I opened it to find a kind man holding out that lost glove as if it were something far more valuable. That was Leonard. Steady. Thoughtful. Already paying attention.

He walked the neighborhood twice a day. Like clockwork. Rain or shine, warm or brisk. We called him “The Neighborhood Patrol,” and he accepted the title with quiet pride, as if it were both a duty and a joy.

It did not take long.

Friendship, like spring grass, has a way of appearing all at once when the conditions are right.

Soon it was the four of us. Leonard and Katherine. Terry and me. And somewhere in between laughter and shared stories, we found ourselves gathered around a handmade board, ready for our weekly game.

Wahoo.

Leonard built that board himself. Of course he did. Smooth wood, bright colors, pegs carved by hand. You could feel the care in it. Not just a game, but an offering.

We played as teams. Men against women. A friendly arrangement, in theory.

In practice, it was something closer to a championship series.

Voices rose. Strategies were debated. Alliances were questioned. Someone always insisted the dice had a personal agenda. And when it came time to claim the trophy for the week, well, let’s just say negotiations could get spirited.

That trophy sat proudly between us. Another piece of Leonard’s craftsmanship, marked with our initials. Simple. Solid. Earned.

Leonard had a way with his hands. Slide guitar that could make a quiet room listen. Calligraphy that turned a birthday card into something worth keeping for years. I still have a few tucked away, the ink steady and sure, like him.

Katherine and Terry shared a spark. Kind, attentive, and just competitive enough to keep things interesting. Leonard and I stood a bit to the side of that energy. Watching. Listening. Taking it all in.

It was a good balance.

It still is.

Today is Leonard’s birthday. I celebrate him.

I imagine him somewhere peaceful, perhaps with Terry nearby, the two of them watching over their beloveds and keeping an eye on things the way they always did. Maybe there is a board set up. Maybe the dice are already rolling.

Who’s winning?

That part hardly matters.

What matters is the circle we built. The laughter that lingers. The quiet understanding that some friendships do not fade. They simply settle into the heart and stay there, steady as footsteps on a familiar path.

And we carry them forward.

One move at a time.