The Gift

The gift I remember most during adolescence was a small wooden plaque my mother gave when I was fifteen years old. There was nothing special about the stained and varnished block of wood or the black metal plate attached to the front, but I'll never forget the words etched in gold on the metal surface. Mom wanted to make a point at that impressionable stage of my life, and, as usual, she hit her mark (Mom was an emotional sharpshooter). The gift came at what we call today "a teachable moment."  I remember vividly that I was finding it hard to appreciate my dad, and was beginning to vocalize my rebellious spirit. Somehow I lacked appreciation for the man who endured the strained working conditions of an oil refinery worker, welding rail cars and whatever other dirty jobs happened to be required of a boilermaker by trade. Temporary teenage insanity made me forget the sacrifices he had made during my childhood in order to coach the little league teams I played on, take our family on vacations when paying the mortgage was a challenge, to encourage church attendance even though he never quite understood my passion for church. The gift actually came the day after an uncomfortable confrontation between me and my father, and, although I was wrong, my defiant spirit had reconstructed the incident into fodder for self-pity and even greater defiance. The scene plays out now in my memory like a slow motion replay: Mom coming home from her part-time job at the Bible Book Shoppe in Port Arthur and placing before me a neatly wrapped package, instructing me to open it. I was confused because it was not my birthday, nor was it any other occasion that would have merited a gift, but I did as she said, with one eye on the package and the other on her intense expression. Peeling back the colored paper and removing its tissue shroud, I held the small piece of wood in my hands and stared at the plaque. Near the top of the metal plate were etched the letters 'FOWLKES' and below my surname I read these words: "Son, your father has given you the greatest gift you'll ever receive--his name.  He has kept it untarnished for many years, and it is now yours to do the same. Cherish his name as a treasure and wear it proudly. Make sure to never spoil it, so that one day you may pass it on to another who will cherish it just as much." 

I have not always lived up to the challenge, but I've never forgotten the mandate. Thank you Dad, for the gift of your name and the gift of yourself. I only hope that were you able to see me now, you would swell with pride and be satisfied that I wear your name well.