The Greatest Generation

This week marked saying good-bye to a friend and family member.  Twenty years ago when I met my uncle-by-marriage, I didn’t foresee the fingerprints he would leave on my life.  But now that I’m indelibly marked, it’s worth sharing how Paul Estes Thomason did it.

I found Paul a man of delightful contradictions.  Despite never learning to swim in his life, Paul spent 2 years fighting in the South Pacific war theater to guarantee freedoms for the Americans who followed after him. And although Paul could go hours without speaking a word, few people were strangers and all held him in admiration.  Paul was a man of many sacrifices, deep thoughts, and few words.

One afternoon, Paul took me to his garage and opened a dusty shelf bin.  Inside lay a Japanese battle sword, a dagger, and a few loose photos.  When I asked him what made him choose these relics after the war, Paul simply answered, “I wanted to bring something back.”  In characteristic understatement, it never struck him that the best thing Paul returned with was himself.

We held shared passions for fishing and hunting.  With his prerequisite life vest, Paul fished from the boat’s bow while I handled the steerage with one hand and my reel with another.  Although our wives didn’t believe our “one that got away” and “the fish was this big” stories, just having those tales completed the day.  Paul even had a back-up plan if we came up empty, finding the best fried catfish in the state at the local hospital cafeteria.  To this day, I swear he was right. 

In the end, it’s the fingerprints we leave behind that matter in life.  I’m happy to have met Paul early on, when I had just finished college and was madly pursing his beautiful niece.  Since then, life’s conductor orchestrated a near perfect symphony of weddings, births, and reunions.  However, every opus has an ending and for today that’s Paul.  Rest well and thanks for the fingerprints.

K