By Robert McCool
If this was a novel it would be titled “The Wizard.”
But this isn’t a work of fiction. It’s about a real man that I have known all my life, and I’d like you to know him too, as I wanted to be him or like him my whole life, but could not measure up to his natural abilities.
Born second into an eventual family of six children, the yoke of a child’s responsibility to family fell naturally on his shoulders and stayed with him. He was a great helper to his mother when she attempted running two different restaurants in the very small town of Ada, Ohio. Often he was the first one in the morning and started the coffee among other duties meant to prep the kitchen and ease the load on his mother who single-handedly took care of her customers.
He also took on many of the chores available to high school students at that time, even distributed the “Grit” newspaper. He was always busy, and even to this day he stays active with many projects such as raising butterflies, and building telescopes, remodeling part of his house, even collecting rainwater for his garden projects. All of these going on at the same time.
But that’s not the only reason why he’s a wizard.
His hands weld true magic in every thing he always does to perfection. He can fix anything with an ease that frankly astounds me. He can build anything from houses and sheds, computers to Triumph motorcars, antique Steerman airplanes, even anything domestically electrical or plumbing when it needs done.
But that’s not totally why I call him a wizard. He knows more than most people, even out-thinking specialists in more ways than I can imagine. But his special extraordinary magic is being humble to a fault, and willing to help out with any task if asked. I am a perfect example of that kindness.
As some of you readers know, I was taken by Parkinson’s Disease a while back and cannot regain my body’s previous condition. I am without strength in my extremes and lack the stamina to do too much too often. This is the reason we moved to a senior community with only a three bedroom space to downsize to. Things are easier to take care of, and there aren’t any steps or stairs to contend with. And no grass to cut.
But downsizing and packing up and moving isn’t for the faint of heart or body. I was worthless during the whole process, and with nobody to help it looked like we wouldn’t be able to move when we had to.
That was when the Wizard showed up and packed what needed to go, toted those boxes to the truck and cars, then met us in our new community to carry everything inside. Frankly, we would not have been able to do what was needed at that time. He saved us without asking for a word of thanks.
Then he returned to us three times in order to assemble the boxed up, mail-delivered new furniture we had ordered with the good faith that I could handle the task of construction myself. I couldn’t have. He put the dining room table, six dining room chairs, and a large cabinet to hold our television with the same perfection he did everything else. Again, he asked no word of thanks or reward for his time or effort to read the very poor directions that came with each piece. But this time I rewarded him with what gift we could afford, and knew that it would never be enough to thank him.
I should add that he turned 81 recently.
This ma– no, this extraordinary man–blessed with such magic in his hands and kindness in his heart happens to be my big brother. And what a brother to have as an example to strive for. Even during the long years we were apart there was always a piece of his magic in me. I was never alone as long as I remembered him and what he was. A wizard for certain, and a damn fine man.
