If I told you all the things I saw my father do, you would not believe me. The times I saw him throw knives like a Wild West star and make shots with a pistol that stunned onlookers. I was there when he rode motorcycles over trails that scared others, and I have the most vivid picture of him staying with a bucking horse as it reared high on its rear haunches and Tom Alexander never losing his grip or the saddle. His antics of younger days were things of which legends were made in small town America. Fights and baseball, football and the Army. High dives and racing. Even others told their stories about my dad. As a little boy hunting in the woods, I found his presence reassuring with lions and tigers and bears whispering, “Tom is in the woods, be quiet” then even more so as we sat at the campsite playing chess. As a young man I found his resolve to see me make my way as a foundation as he paid for my college, offered advice, and looked at me with steely eyes to tell me who to avoid because he saw through them. And, as a grown man I fell in my mom’s arms and cried like a baby when he died. Yes, he had his faults, but it’s his strengths I’ve grown to love and to remember. How you woke him up and jumped back (something he inherited from the Army I heard), his generosity, “hey son, if we keep all these fish we’ll just have to clean em, why don’t we give them to that old fella over there on the bank, he might need them for his supper”, how he read entire novels in one sitting, and his very force of presence that drew my friends into stories and dialogues, pool games, and camping trips. It was on one such trip that one of my crew accidentally damaged my father’s van, several hundred dollars worth. My dad said nothing to his family, my dad kidded with him, and my dad paid for the repair. If any man walked taller to those boys, we never met him. And even taller when he co-signed for loans to help one of the boys later in life. My dad was my best man when Melanie and I were married. I was with him when he died and to this day I miss his sneaky eyes watching me find what Santa left on Christmas morning. And when he was buried I preached his funeral. But like I said, if told you all the things I saw my father do, you would not believe me.
Posted on: Sun, 16 Jun 2013 13:04:11 +0000
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