What Does it Cost to Build a Memory

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What Does it Cost to Build a Memory?
Hal Haralson

Hal Haralson is a practicing lawyer and a practicing churchman living in Austin, Texas. He is a previous contributor to Christian Ethics Today.

I lay on my back and stared in the darkness at the ceiling of the Holiday Inn motel room in Colorado Springs.

In the other bed lay my ten year old son Brad.

The question that kept pounding in my head was, how much is "too much" money to spend on a three day fishing and camping trip with my son?

My mental adding machine came up with: Plane fare, car rental, meals, and lodging.

The total was a staggering amount for just three days and I felt guilty about the extravagance, partially because I didn`t have the money and partially because I had enjoyed the trip as much as Brad.

It all began last fall when I made a swing by Young Life`s Trail West Lodge on the way back to my home in Austin, Texas, after having attended a trial lawyers seminar at Harvard.

During the two days at Trail West I met and fell in love with Charlie and Myrna Little.

Charlie, an architect from Dallas, was chairman of that city`s Young Life Committee. Myrna became an instant soul mate because of our mutual love for writing.

Charlie and I "cut class" one morning and hiked up the canyon above Trail West. The scenery was magnificent. The water rushed over the rocks in the bottom of the canyon and the slopes were dotted with abandoned mines.

"What a place to bring our boys," I remarked. "Let`s do it," Charlie replied.

By the time they got off the plane in Dallas we had the date on our calendar. Brad, our ten-year-old son, was so excited he could hardly contain himself when I told him what the plan was. We could leave on Thursday after school and pick up Charlie and David, who was Brad`s age, and drive all the way through to Buena Vista and set up camp.

Our return trip would be on Monday afrer two full days of hiking and fishing.

Brad read brochures, looked up Colorado in the Atlas and encyclopedia and became more excited with each passing day.

The tension mounted as the day came nearer. Then came the ill-fated telephone call from Charlie.

The press of business – he couldn`t make it. We set the date back three weeks.

Brad was brave but the let-down was evident. I really hurt with him in his disappointment. I also began to realize my excitement was almost as great as his.

As the new date approached, we prepared the gear. Brad asked a thousand questions. Will we see any deer? How cold is it? Will it snow?

My love for my son was overwhelming as I experienced the spirit of adventure with him.

The week came and I touched base with Charlie by phone. All systems were go.

It was Wednesday – tomorrow was the big day. I was trying, without much success, to read a legal document. My buzzer sounded: "Charlie is on the line," said Judy, my wife and secretary.

"Little, if you are calling to tell me you can`t go you may as well take out a large insurance policy and buy a burial plot. You`re gonna need both."

"I`m sorry Ha]. It`s a big contract and I just can`t leave."

There were the usual apologies and pleasantries and it was over. I hung up the phone. I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. The thought of telling Brad was even worse. I just didn`t think I could do it. On impulse I reached behind my desk and picked up the phone. There was a Thursday afternoon flight from Austin to Colorado Springs. We could return on Monday.

The cost was nearly four hundred dollars. We would have to rent a car in Colorado Springs and drive to Buena Vista, probably another S 100.00.

We didn`t have that kind of money. Judy and I worked together in my law office that had been opened only two years before, after I finished law school at age 36.

In the kind of plunge that is characteristic of my decision making process, I made the airline reservations.

Where would we stay? We could take no camping gear on the plane. I decided we would just cross that bridge when we got there.

Judy concurred with my decision and took us to the airport.

How do you describe the wide-eyed excitement of a ten year-old-boy on a 747 with his Dad on a trip that is especially for him? Words aren`t adequate.

How fast are we going? How high are we? Will we get to eat? What if something happened to the engine? . . . Yea, I know it won`t but what if it did?

The questions kept coming. We landed and rented a car for the two hour drive to Buena Vista.

Brad`s excitement increased as we crossed the Arkansas River and pulled into the Young Life property in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Then he was disappointed. There was no snow.

The lady at the desk at Trail West told us that a Nazarene College was having a faculty retreat that weekend and there were extra rooms. We could stay there and eat our meals with them. I prayed a silent prayer of thanks. It was an affirmation I needed.

We took our fishing gear and started after trout as soon as we finished breakfast. Brad and I have fished for bass together since he was four years old but our ignorance about trout fishing was monumental. I had a feeling the man in the sporting goods store in Buena Vista sensed this. His list of what we "needed" sounded like he was outfitting a pack trip to climb Mt. Everest.

We hiked and "fished" all day. First the Arkansas River. No trout. Then beaver dams high on the Rockies … one trout length three inches (actually only two but I`m ashamed to admit

Getting tired of "fishing" Dad, Brad said. "Let`s see what`s at the end of the road." "Great idea, let`s go," I replied and we piled in the car.

After what that car went through the next six hours I imagine the Hertz people are still looking for us.

We went higher and higher. Brad`s breath sucked in with excitement as we rounded a corner and saw an abandoned mining town. Visions of run-away mine trains and crusty old miners danced through our heads as we explored the old buildings. I was having as much fun as Brad as we explored our first ghost town.

The road got more and more narrow as we went higher. Finally we were above the timberline. The road ended when it became an abandoned railroad track.

As we looked out across the Arkansas River Valley from 10,000 feet Brad said, "Dad, it must have been this way when God created it."

I began feeling OK about the trip. We barely made it back for supper. The day had been long and exciting. After supper and a phone call to Judy we hit the sack.

Saturday morning we woke up in another world! Four inches of snow had fallen while we slept. It was as though God had ordered up the only thing that was missing for my son.

We hiked up the canyon above Trail West while it was still snowing. Brad saw several deer and we explored the abandoned mines.

I stretched my poncho across a portion of a log cabin at noon and we ate our lunch and watched the snow fall. The beauty of God`s creation defied description.

That afternoon we made our way back to the lodge and headed for Colorado Springs. We checked in at the Holiday Inn and went to the restaurant. Brad registered surprise when I answered, `YES" in response to his question, "Dad, can I have a steak?"

"Boy, how about that. Me with my Dad, climbing mountains, flying in jet airplanes and eating steak. I`m the luckiest guy in the world".

We propped up in bed and watched television. Then, lights out.

I thought Brad had gone to sleep. That`s when my mental adding machine began.

Plane tickets $409.00. Car $110.00. Trail West $90.00. My stomach knotted. Then out of the darkness: "Dad, are you awake?"

"Yes."

"Dad, you are the greatest father on earth. I love you, good night."

Silence.

He was asleep.

I learned something from this trip about time alone with my children. About doing something very special with only one of them. About being extravagant in order to do something important to them.

It builds memories. It says: "You`re important to me." It says:

"I love you.

What does it cost to build a memory? I knew then that it didn`t cost too much. This one is a treasure I`ll share with Brad as we live.