Usually, I work in my office. But for about a year, I worked on a project that had me in a lab with two other software engineers almost every day. We had some good times, some stressful times, and everything in between. We chatted about movies, food, family, whatever. That's when I got hooked on Game of Thrones.
We had a young guy with us, in his 20's, and optimistic as only a kid can be. I was the middle-of-the-road guy, even though I was the oldest by a few years (I *gasp* just turned 49 in July). Then we had the other guy. Let's call him JW (well, because those are his initials, after all). JW is a good guy, a wicked smart guy, but kinda like Eeyore sometimes, convinced of his (and our) insignificance in the grand scheme of things. Sometimes I think he'd say stuff just to make the conversations more interesting. I couldn't imagine someone actually believing some of the stuff he tossed around!
One day, he said something to the effect of, "An ordinary person can't change the world." I couldn't help it; I took the bait, and a lengthy debate ensued. Nobody wins such a debate, of course, it's more for the sport of it than anything else. Still, I couldn't disagree more. Sure, we could argue from a chaos theory perspective, the whole Butterfly Effect thing. We could argue from a physical perspective, that even a person that hides under a rock still consumes resources and therefore changes the world. Even metaphysical arguments were fair game, though those make my head hurt like calculus never did.
For me, though, I know the truth of it. I know that an ordinary person can change the world. I've seen it. And now we come to the real reason for this post.
My dad died in November of 1978, when I was 12. My older sister was 15, and my younger brother 9. My brother was probably closer to my dad than any of us, and while we were all devastated, he took it hardest, I think.
Though we weren't well off by any stretch of the imagination, my mom did manage to scrape up enough money that we could still spend our summers at Salisbury Beach, MA. At the time, the 3-mile long beach had lifeguard posts along its entire length, manned by some of the best guards in the state. An amazing athlete even back then, my brother loved hanging around the lifeguards, working out with them, and becoming a sort of mascot. They kept an eye on him.
Things could have gone badly for my brother that summer after our dad died. Without the daily structure and discipline of school, he could have made any number of bad decisions, gone down any number of wrong paths, were he left to his own devices. I'm not trying to imply that he was a bad kid - he wasn't. But losing your dad, especially as a kid, leaves a void that just has to be filled.
Enter Salisbury Beach Lifeguard Craig Weir. I'm not sure if he was the head lifeguard at this point (if not, he soon would be). He took my little brother under his wing, not so much as father figure, I think, but more like a big brother / cool uncle sort of influence. Craig was only 22 or 23 at the time. While other guys might have been solely interested in chasing women or partying or whatever it is that twenty-somethings do (I can hardly remember), he instead guided my brother through a tough time. Year-round they'd hang out, do stuff (Craig was an avid outdoorsman and excellent athlete), talk on the phone, whatever.
The story of their friendship is one that my brother ought to tell; I couldn't possibly do it justice. All I know is what I saw from the outside. And anyway, that's not the point of this story. As a lifeguard, I don't know how many people Craig saved. I doubt he kept count. But I believe, deep in my heart, that he saved my brother. And he influenced my brother in the most positive of ways.
My brother became a lifeguard himself, one of the best. He became a personal trainer and motivational speaker, helping people find the best in themselves, whether they are ordinary or elite. He wants to be the next Jack LaLanne, and I believe he can do it.
An ordinary man changes the world by making his little corner of it better than he found it. That's the pebble he tosses in the pond, and the ripples spread out.
But then again, perhaps JW is correct. Perhaps an ordinary man can't change the world. But if that's true, then clearly, Craig Weir was no ordinary man.
Craig Weir died of pancreatic cancer on September 16, 2015 just a couple months shy of his 60th birthday. He left behind his mom, his wife of 31 years, Karin, daughters Kendall and Brittany, and many other loved ones, both family and friends. If heaven has a beach, then I expect that he's on it. And he's probably keeping an eye out for anyone in trouble, because that's the way he is.
