Fifty years had passed, but the campground at Pine Lake State Park felt almost untouched—quiet pines rustling in the breeze, folding chairs in circles, and echoing laughter.
Carl Beaumont looked out over the familiar faces of his siblings, cousins, and now grandkids. Then he saw the man easing his way toward the fire pit: Stanley Grisham.
Stanley had once been a fixture at the Beaumont house—another teen sprawled on the basement floor with a chessboard or a guitar, drinking root beer and arguing about whether James Taylor or John Denver deserved the pop star crown of the decade.
Carl had invited him on a whim to this year’s reunion. Carl worried a bit, wondering whether Stanley would show up. They hadn’t talked much over the years. Would they be able to pick up the friendship where they had left off?
But now, seeing him here, Carl was glad. He was heavier than the thin teen he remembered back in the day, and his curly hair had given way to complete baldness.
Tall Trees and a Tale
After dinner the dusk began to press into the trees. Family members old and young held paper plates full of burgers and potato salad. Carl had introduced Stanley to the family circle, and it was clear that his siblings appreciated his coming.
Stanley stood up near the fire ring. He cleared his throat.
“I know I’m not family by blood, but you guys meant a lot to me growing up,” he said. “I spent a lot of time at your house, and there are many good memories. As a matter of fact, there are four things that I gained in your company that I’ll never forget—and I wanted to say thanks.”
The crowd grew quiet. Some of the younger kids wandered over from the swing set.
Stanley lifted a hand and began to count on his fingers.
“First, ping pong,” he said with a grin. “The sound of that ball bouncing in the Beaumont basement still plays in my head.” Chuckles rippled through the circle.
“Second, guitar.” He nodded toward James, who was tuning a six-string nearby. “You showed me three chords and how to fake the rest.”
“Third, chess. Endless games. I got creamed by Carl and James until I learned how to win.”
Then Stanley paused.
The Fourth Item
“The fourth isn’t a thing—it’s a person…your dad.”
Carl looked over, his smile fading into something deeper.
“You all know that Bob was a man of prayer. I was struggling back then,” Stanley continued. “I grew up Catholic like most of you, but in college I joined a Baptist church that seemed… well, sure of everything. But eventually, that certainty felt more like arrogance. They spoke harshly about anyone who believed differently. I started wondering—where was Jesus in all that?”
He glanced down, then back at the fire.
“Your dad didn’t preach to me. He listened. He asked good questions. He never made me feel like I had to ‘pick sides’ with God. And when I was ready to leave that church, it was his quiet faith that helped me come back to Christ in a way that made sense to me.”
A hush fell.
And then, as if on cue, the Bluetooth speaker near the food table clicked—followed by the opening guitar riff of Boston’s “More Than a Feeling.” The crowd lit up with cheers and groans. Someone turned it up.
Carl smiled, then looked down at his grandkids.
Like a Warm Tide
The song washed over him like a warm tide, and his mind drifted into a flashback—
Kids packed in their basement, crowding around the ping pong table, cheering like it was the Olympics. James strumming the opening chords of “Free Fallin’” while someone banged a spoon on a popcorn bowl. Two of the younger siblings bent over a chessboard, bickering over whether knights move in “L” shapes or not. No phones. No scrolling. Just unfiltered time, and the glow of being together.
Back at the fire, Marie was rummaging through a tub of family memorabilia. She gasped and held up an old Bible, the leather cover cracked with age.
“Is this Dad’s?” she asked.
Carl nodded. “It has to be.” He looked at the well-worn cover and recalled that it had been six years since dad had passed.
She opened it, gently, and on the inside cover was a list in their father’s familiar scrawled handwriting:
“People to pray for, with thanks:
- Stanley G. – for strength
- Carl – for wisdom
- James – for music
- Marie – for peace…”
Stanley leaned in to read. His voice cracked. “He really prayed for me?”
Carl rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Looks like he never forgot you.”
Faith and Friendship
Just then, a text message pinged from someone’s phone. The modern trill echoed faintly against the backdrop of cicadas and the fading notes of the rock song.
Carl looked around—plastic chairs, LED lanterns, half-eaten desserts—and realized: time had moved on, but something essential had held steady.
Faith. Music. Friendship. The four things. And sometimes it takes many years to see what we really have.