The Gift Michael T. Rupp, PhD Professor of Pharmacy Administration The old Roi-Tan box was right where I’d left it; top shelf, far left corner of the garage. We’d lost Mom in 2003, and now Dad. Each of us had taken something of sentimental value from the house. The rest was sold, given away or thrown away. Now there was just one last piece of unfinished business. I blew 46 years of dust off the top of the cigar box and opened the lid. It was May, 1967. Western Kansas had staggered through another brutal winter and was preparing to lurch into another oppressive summer. “Don’t like the weather in Kansas? Just wait a few minutes and it’ll change!” Yeah, right. If only that were true. Still, today was beautiful. I guess if you place an ice cube on a hot stove there is a fleeting moment when the temperature is perfect. Today was that day in Western Kansas. My 13th birthday was approaching and I was lost in my favorite fantasy: Mom and Dad had surprised me with a red mini bike just like the ones the Shriners ride in the July 4 parade. There I am, sitting on 50cc’s of rumbling thunder: Collar up, hair dangerously askew, I look just like James Dean. The vision is so real I can taste the cigarette between my sneering lips. A banging on the front door shook me from my dream. “Michael? Michael, are you in there?” Mrs. Hanson was frantically ringing the doorbell with one hand and pounding on the screen door with the other. I stumbled to the door and tried to catch what she was saying. “You lost your boots?” “No, Mr. Boots. I’ve lost Mr. Boots!” “Oh, your cat. Hey, I’m sorry, Mrs. Hanson, I haven’t seen him.” “Could you help me look for him? He bolted out the door when I got home from the grocery and I think he headed for the park.” The park, that was trouble. “Sure thing,” I said. “You take the neighborhood and I’ll check the park.” Little more than a grove of trees bounded by raw prairie, the Town Park was a microcosm of the food chain: Birds hunted worms, cats hunted the birds and coyotes hunted the cats. 8 THRIVE 2018 Occasionally, a passing pickup would slow and someone would complete the cycle by popping a coyote from the window. The park operated by one law; the Law of the Claw and the Fang.
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