My Father
My father had given me so
much, in so many ways, and now I wanted to give something to him.
How about the 100-meter gold medal from 1984? It is the one
thing I could give him to represent all the good things we did together,
all the positive things that had happened to me because of him.
I had never before taken
any of my medals out of the bank vault where I kept them. But that day,
on the way to the airport, I stopped at the bank to get the medal, and
I put it in the pocket of my suit jacket.
I would take it to New Jersey - for Dad. The day
of the funeral, when our family was viewing the body, I pulled out the
medal to place in my father's hand.
My mother asked me if I was sure I wanted to bury the
medal, and I was. It would be my father's forever. "But I'm going to get
another one," I told my mother.
Turning to my father, I said, "Don't worry. I'm going
to get another one." That was a promise - to myself and to Dad. He was
lying there so peacefully, his hands resting on his chest. When I placed
the medal in his hand, it fit perfectly.
By Carl Lewis
from A Cup of Chicken Soup for the Soul
Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen & Barry Spilchuk