Tell us one thing you hope people say about you.
All of my life, I’ve been depended on to be there for other people. This was as early as kindergarten when our teacher asked me to step up during our graduation speech and fill in if any of my classmates got lost in their mini-recitation.
I don’t know how this came about, but I might have shown that I knew all of the speeches somewhere along the way. But it came in handy because I remember several classmates looking back at me on stage when they got stumped. Each time, stepping aside as I ran up and completed their lines to the “aww” and laughter of the crowd.
Over time, I found that it wasn’t just “stepping in” when I was needed, but to ultimately make the day a little better, and make life a little more manageable.
My father thought I was a young ladies’ man because the phone rang for me often, growing up in the 80s. Don’t I WISH. Contrary to his belief which brought admiration for my perceived social status, I was sought after for help with homework, advice, and most often, comfort.
I can recall many tears and much-labored breathing on the other end of the phone or along our walk as I talked girls (and some guys) through difficulty in their relationship, often promising to speak with their desired entity to “patch things up”. In many of those cases, I even served as matchmaker.
If someone came to me for advice, I gave it, to the best of my ability, often reminding them that their decision should be theirs. My job was to help them understand their choices and possible consequences.
I guess I was very much a younger, male version of the Oracle in the Matrix series.
If there was a party, I was told beforehand that they wanted me to be the party starter, to get things going. I did everything from bringing my 45s to provide up-to-date music, to starting the conversations, to being the first to dance at a house party. I didn’t mind. Even if I hadn’t been asked, I would have done it anyway.
I remember vividly visiting home from college in Florida in 1986 when my high school friends invited me to a college party at Purdue University. Although we had grown up in a very diverse community, they had innocently taken me to an all-white house party.
Trust me when I say the place went silent when I walked in.
Not to be intimidated, I introduced myself to anyone who shot a welcoming smile my way. It wasn’t long before everyone had either been approached by me or come to me, introducing themselves.
The music playing was mostly hard rock, so my childhood buddy Pete asked me to bring my Run DMC tape from his car. The host popped it in and everyone looked right at me as the rap song “Peter Piper” broke up the general MTV-ish feel of the evening. I could tell that some didn’t care for what was playing until the drum and guitar intro of “Walk This Way” pumped through the speakers.
The attendees began to loosen and yell, “Yeeeaaaah” as the familiar groove played. That is until DJ Run hit them with the opening rap lyrics. Everyone stood stunned, realizing that it was not a mix tape, but yet another rap song. Pete burst into laughter, along with a small few who had previously heard the then-unknown and soon-to-be smash crossover hit from the album “Raising Hell”.
On the way home, my buddies and I laughed about how we had just increased sales for Run DMC and the rap community in central Indiana.
After two years of working on the production line, I received a series of promotions, eventually becoming the Plant Safety Manager. This was my career function for the remainder of my career. Along the way, if there was a series of presentations to be made on the job, I was chosen to lead the way to break the ice and put the audience and/or corporate management at ease, especially if the department managers had less than desirable news to deliver. My job was to get the people engaged and “fired up” about what we had accomplished as an organization.
I still laugh when headquarters came to town and the Director of Finance told the CEO, “I don’t wanna follow Safety anymore. Do you realize how DEAD I look, following his act?”
Now that I’m older and a 56-year-old grandfather, I enjoy talking to my son’s friends and about the wild days, often to the chagrin of my wife, who remembers my college antics before she and I started dating.
My sons and their friends often call me “Uncle Phil”, comparing me to Phillip Banks from the TV sitcom The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. At first, I thought they were joking about my size and eating habits, but they soon clarified that it was because of the love and advice I gave them all. Just recently, I learned that my oldest son also referred to me as “Furious Styles”, Laurence Fishburne’s “woke” character in Boyz In The Hood. But that’s a story for another blog article.
I often get reminders of my role when my nieces and nephews call me as well, looking for advice. One of the biggest compliments coming from my youngest sister’s daughter, who once told me I was “the cool uncle”.
Bring a laugh, comfort, ease, strength and courage, advice, or just an encouraging word. That was my job. My only hope was that I delivered when and where it was needed most.
“When sunshine was needed on a dark day, he was always the one we could count on. Never asking for anything in return…”
I think that’s how I want to be remembered, and I hope it’s what they can confidently and comfortably say about me, long after I’m gone.
Like what you read? If you know me, how would you remember me? How would you like to be remembered? Leave a comment in the section below and share your thoughts. Also, be sure to sign up at the bottom to receive email notifications of future emails from Kenny’s Camera, Cooking & Crazy Confessions at ZootsBlogSpot!
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