Give 'em hell.
That's what he said to me, but you know that. As he was finishing up a noontime run and I was lacing up to begin mine, those were his parting words. The wind was strong out of the south, probably 15-20mph, I was headed north but the return would be, as he said, 'in your face...so give 'em hell.' And so I did.
I can see you, Lord, shuffling along the shore, coming upon a boat about to cast into the wind, maybe a 15-20mph-er, and you calling out to the men on board with 'its in your face...so give 'em hell.' And I can sense those men tremble, as I did that day, as the low string was plucked and the masculine stirred. I can see them grin and wave back or raise a chin and then go give it to 'em.
Wild at Heart was 20 years ago, Lord. Maybe we took it too far, things got too wild, too ballsy, too hairy...but I do remember those as days of being both shaken and stirred, halcyon days of the low string. I miss those days, Lord. And I miss those men.