I don’t remember how old I was. Maybe ten or twelve. It was summer vacation; we were staying at the family house on the south end of Pawleys Island, South Carolina. The island was pretty primitive back then. There wasn’t much for a kid to do–wander around the dunes, play on the beach, noodle around the salt marsh, walk to a sort of gas station/market where you could buy an RC cola and a packet of Tom’s peanuts.

One day I saw an old guy sitting in the dunes, reading a thick paperback book. Because I was just a kid and probably bored, I asked him what he was reading. And instead of giving me the title, he read a couple of paragraphs aloud. It was language unlike anything I’d ever heard before. Something about a forest at dawn and knight on a horse in misty light, the horse stamping its foot, its nostrils flaring and the vapor of its breath hanging like smoke in the air, and something about flashing of silver.

At least that’s how I remember it. The scene was as distant from summertime Pawleys Island as you could possibly get; I was enchanted. I don’t remember anything about our conversation, but at some point he wrote the title of the book on a scrap of paper. Le Morte d’Arthur. Even the title seemed wildly exotic.

Summer ended, we returned home. I hoarded my allowance, learned where a bookstore was located (I hadn’t even been aware there were shops that sold nothing but books), and asked for the book. The clerk said they didn’t carry it, but offered me another book, which he said was the same story. The Once and Future King, by T.H. White. I don’t recall how much it cost…buck and a quarter, maybe. But I bought it. And read it.

In a way, it was the perfect book for a kid. It begins as a children’s story–the protagonist (Wart, who will eventually become King Arthur) is the companion of Kay. Kay is destined to become a knight; Wart will be his squire. But Wart meets and befriends a wizard–Merlin, of course–and under Merlin’s tutorage, Wart begins to have adventures. He’s magically transformed into an ant, a migrating goose, a fish. There are episodes in which Wart helps Robin Hood or meets King Pellinore who is searching for the Questing Beast. It’s all amusing and fun, but there are subtle lessons being taught about power and privilege, about violence and pacifism, about decency and friendship.

As the novel progresses, it morphs into a more adult tale. Wart yanks a sword out of an anvil and a stone, becomes King Arthur, and the lessons he learned as Wart are translated into adult struggles. He has to deal with love and lust and jealousy and greed and betrayal. He tries to find a balance between strength and mercy, between law and justice, between love and friendship. Issues of ego and concepts of self-worth complicate everything. Relationships get really fucking complex.

Unlike the beginning of the story, the ending of The Once and Future King is entirely unchildlike. Arthur fails. He tries very hard to be a good person, but the world he tries to create comes undone. Cruelty and violence and war unravel his attempts at kindness and decency. The ending is sad and beautifully tragic, but still weirdly hopeful.

Decades have passed since I bought that book. The summer house on Pawleys Island is gone. In fact, the entire southern end of the island is gone, swept away by Hurricane Hugo. I hung onto that paperback copy of The Once and Future King for a couple of decades, but like everything else in the world, it eventually fell apart. At some point I bought and read Le Morte d’Arthur, and I searched the novel for the scene I remembered as a child. Couldn’t find it. I’ve decided it was swept away along with the beach house. That old guy I met in the dunes? He was almost certainly younger than I am now.

As I write this, it occurs to me that my entire life sort of resembles the story arc of The Once and Future King. I never pulled a sword out of stone or became rightwise king born of all England, but I’ve had my share of adventures. And while I’ve tried hard to be a good person, I’ve often failed. I’ve seen much more of cruelty and violence and death than I’d like. I have, at times, been cruel and occasionally violent, which fills me with regret and for which I try to make amends.

I suppose that makes that old guy in the dunes of Pawleys Island my Merlin. That’s a nice thought. Like Merlin did for Wart, that old guy introduced me to the lessons that have shaped the way I’ve moved through the world. Curiosity is good and should be indulged, strangers are often worth talking to, justice can be tempered by mercy, might doesn’t make right but some things are worth fighting for, love is never wrong but is sometimes painful, and it doesn’t necessarily matter if you lose so long as you’re trying do what’s right.