“Pick one.” I said through labored breaths.  My best friend Dan and I had just run from baseball practice and as per usual, we had to stop at good old split legs.  It was the summer going into our freshman year and we were right in the middle of a heat wave like no other.  It was 1965, and my grandma told me the heat wave was God’s way of punishing all of the evil doers in the world, and back then we had a lot.  The Russians had thousands of nukes aimed at us, while Castro was rattling his saber just 90 miles south of Florida, and of course the war in Vietnam.  I was only 13 and I really didn’t pay attention to much of the stuff around me, especially I the summer.  The only thing that mattered to Dan-o and I was baseball, climbing trees, and riding our bikes.  On this particular day the temp was well into the 90’s and for Northern Wisconsin in June that was hot, baseball practice was called off early so we had a few hours to kill before we would have to go home for dinner.  Well me at least, Dan-o more or less took care of himself since his dad died and his mom took to drinking, he spent 90% of his time at our house anyway, but today my grandparents were over and Dan wasn’t too fond of my Gram’s preaching so he always made excuses to not be around.  Dan-o and I had been inseparable since the third grade, most people who didn’t know us assumed we were brothers and truthfully that is how we felt.  So we had just ran about 14 blocks in the sweltering heat and as custom dictated we had to race each other to the top of split legs.  As I was hunched over battling for breath and brushing sweat from my long bangs which were certain to draw scrutiny from my Grams, Dan-o was a bit taller than me but quite heavier, he wasn’t really fat, more fireplugish, he was the team catcher after all, while I was barely five feet and weighed less than 80 pounds soaking wet and since I was much faster than my best friend he would always get a courtesy start.  It meant I would deliberately let him get a head start, especially when it came to tree climbing as I was a natural.  As I waited for my buddy’s inevitable false start, I began to think of how different life was going to be when we got to high school.  What if he found new friends, or what if I did?  As I pondered our future he bolted up the left branch.  “You always take the easy one!” I yelled as I raced after him.  We had been racing up good old split legs since the beginning of our friendship, it was at the foot of the old tree that we had first met.  Everyday since then it was the first place we retreated too when our daily routines were done.  I would usually win, even with the head start and the more difficult branch, but I would make sure that Dan-o won every once in a while to give him confidence.  As I scrambled up the branch I decided to give Dan-o the win this time so I faked a slip and waited for him to get further ahead.  I made it close but he did get to the top first and it was there that the true majesty of good old split legs shone through.  His branches extended about thirty feet up and when we got to the point were they began bending outward we would straddle them as if riding a horse, the view was worth the climb.  The massive ancient tree stood on a hill and when we sat on our branches we could see the entire town below us.  The people just continued on with their day, oblivious to our stares.  We sat on these branches often, just watching the town and talking about what kids talk about.  This particular conversation was on our futures.

Dan-o pointed to the ball field and said, “Someday when I am in the Major’s I will come back here and hold a baseball camp for the towns kids, and you could write a story about it.”   

I shook my sweat soaked head in agreement, “Yeah and then you could pay me to write your biography.”

“Sure, as long as you leave out that part when I accidentally number twoed in my pants fifth grade.”

At the mention of the most embarrassing moment for him (and one of the funniest for everyone who witnessed it), I began laughing uncontrollably, at one point while in mid guffaw I nearly fell off of my branch, and as I scratched and clawed to stay on it was Dan-o’s turn to laugh.  I gave him a small jab in the shoulder with my tiny fist and just before he dealt me a retaliatory punch I noticed a long line of cars driving down main street.  I pointed and Dan-o followed my finger.  The cars were the funeral procession for a local guy killed over in Nam.  Of course we knew who he was and who his family was and even though he was six years older than us we felt like we had lost a friend.  We had decided the night before not to go as it was not fun to see so much sorrow.  We would say our good byes to him by placing a Brooks Robinson baseball card on his tombstone later that evening, Brooks was his favorite player. 

“Al,” Dan-o started, “promise me one thing.”

“Anything buddy.”

“If I die before you don’t be sad, have a party and live it up.  We only get one shot at all this and I want people to celebrate my life not mourn it.”  After he spoke he looked to the graveyard and then laid his head on the branch, “I don’t want you to feel as bad as I do for losing my dad.  Missing someone hurts too much, but remembering the fun stuff helps.”

He was never serious and honestly I don’t think I ever knew he had emotions until that day.  “I promise Dan, but that goes for you too.”

“Ha! Everyone knows little bookworms like you live to be a lot older than real men.”  This verbal jab was accompanied by a very painful full bore punch to my Charlie horse which made me scream in pain.  Before I could fully recover he was sliding down the branch and off toward our neighborhood. 

“Dan!!!”  I yelled in mock frustration!”  I rubbed my sore leg for a minute longer, waited until I though he had a good enough lead and then began the race.  I beat him home that day to pay him back for the Charlie horse.  We grew up that summer and when high school started we did stay friends, not as close and we never climbed old split legs together again.  Dan-o didn’t get a scholarship so he was drafted in the army.  I saw him a few days before he headed to Nam and I was headed to back to college.  We spent the night reminiscing and we left promising to stay in touch.  Dan-o was killed in action in Hue, South Vietnam six months later.  As the funeral procession carrying my best friend's body wove through town I sat on one of old split leg's branches staring out into the cruel world drinking a beer for a lost friend.  I sat there laughing as I remembered all the crazy stuff he and I did.  “I love you Dan-o, and I promise I will always laugh when I think of you”  I whispered as I poured the rest off my beer on the empty branch next to me, “I love you.”

………..PEACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!