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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Despite how much a man adores his folks before they pass...there sometimes is... among the other folks that man survives... The sort who - without needing to be asked, becomes involved, and simply out of kindness pays attention to their lives. That’s the way it was for me. I truly loved my folks, and only after losing them was I to see it clear. Dad was on the road a lot - even on the weekends - and up ‘til I was twelve years old, Mom worked most the year. Weekends, for the most part, were our times for “family” things...and only on the holidays would I see cousin, Paul. Paul was two years older - a strong, hard working boy - but just before he turned thirteen, while cleaning out a stall, An angry Clydesdale took him down for tryin’ to pet her foal. Paul was in a wheelchair for a couple months...then died. According to my mother, Uncle John and Aunt Pauline...while young enough to have more kids...apparently never tried. Two months later, icy roads in northern Minnesota slid my father’s semi off the road, and he was killed. Coping with a loss like that, for me and Mother both, required a strength with which we learned we hadn’t been instilled. Mom went into therapy, and I dropped out of school. I’d never felt more lonely, and I thought my race was run, When perfect substitutions for a devastated child and agonizing, heart-broke dad… who’d lost his only son... Suddenly found their way to where good fate would intercede, and bring the two together, to enable them to heal. John would do the best he could to fill his brother’s shoes...and I would take the place of Paul...thus would go the deal. Two weeks later John dropped by and asked if I was interested in going out for baseball, and I told him that I was. He said he’d asked my mom and that she'd said it was OK…"but it won’t be hard to tell he’s never played it - if he does!” My folks were right. I’d never played...but John was not discouraged. He showed up almost every day from six to eight o’clock, And had me running sprints and hefting weights for several weeks, until my triceps, glutes and calves had turned to solid rock. He paid for what we’d need to help me hone the skills required, and gifted me the glove that he had purchased for his son. And when I pause to think about what sort of man I’d be if not for all the loving things my Uncle John had done, Done to help me build my self esteem and not give up when things got really difficult and goals seemed far away, While knowing that, without a doubt, my folks had tried their best...and all the love I had for them still fills my heart today... All the positivity - the confidence and courage - that, through the years, I’d gleaned from all my time with Uncle John -- I’ll, of course, be proudly passing on to my son...Paul...who’ll do the same, when that time comes, by --- passing the baton.
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