Kamala died. I am so sad. My friend Susan sent me the link last night.
I didn’t know Kamala. We did not hang out or anything. He did not know that I even existed but he was a part of my life that I remember well.
As a kid, I loved wrestling. My family loved wrestling. Granted, I probably got a touch more carried away than most, but man, I loved wrestling.
When I watched wrestling, my anxiety went away. I wasn’t dreading the report I didn’t write or the note home from school that I didn’t tell my parents about or the trouble I would be in if I got caught for whatever I had recently done. When I watched wrestling, I was secure.
I remember watching wrestling in my den with my dad, my brother and my grandpa. My brother would watch with reserve while being entertained, my dad would laugh at the wrestlers’ antics, my grandpa would smile and shake his head and I would pile drive couch cushions and pretend to suplex whatever object I could get my hands on.
Kamala had an impact on my life.
We don’t get to choose whose lives we impact. We don’t have the luxury of selectively picking where and when our presence will be felt.
It is impossible to lead a meaningless existence. No matter how remote the relationship, if you exist, you have an impact.
That’s a pretty cool thing to think about.
Peace, love and all things Beef related,
Beefcake
