It was a hot and muggy summer afternoon.  I had just graduated from junior high school.  The chain on my bike was getting loose, so I took it to the tool shed in the barn to tighten it up.  As usual the tool I needed was nowhere to be found.  Frustrated and angry I left the barn to go look for the missing wrench.

The hot sun blinded me as I emerged from the relative cool shade of the building.  As my eyes started to adjust to the light I could see a man approaching.  He hobbled a bit, like the fabled town blacksmith.  He was old and tired, but he kept on pushing.  He was built like a fire plug and laugh lines cut deep into his face.

Suddenly, the oppressive silence of summer was shattered!  “That Tommy’s all right!”, he cried out, with all the enthusiasm of Harry Callus reporting a home run over left center field.  “How you doing?” my uncle Bill asked me, with total sincere interest in the answer.  I was so startled and felt so good, all I could come up with was “Fine.”

“That’s great!” Billy came back, “I just knew that Tommy was all right!”  He slapped his hand firmly on my shoulder a couple of times and then muttered to himself, “Yeah, that Tommy’s all right.” 

Uncle Bill told me he had come over to do some work around the house for my dad.  “Great to see you Tommy”, he said to me and off to work he went.  Again, I could hear him muttering to himself, “That Tommy’s all right…That Tommy’s all right.”

Billy was like that with everyone.  A joy filled, hardworking man, who made all those around him feel good about themselves.  And you didn’t have to do anything.  He just honored you.

For the next 5 years I didn’t see Billy.  I knew he was getting near the end, and it scared me to think about getting too close to someone who would soon be leaving us.  The next time I saw him was at his wake.  While there, I heard another story about him.

In the corner of his living room was a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary.  Each night when he would come home from work, before he even said a word to anyone, he would drop to his knees and pray.

Initially I was glad I had distanced myself from my uncle.  Although I cried at both the wake and funeral, it didn’t quite cut me to the quick.  I feel differently now.  If I had it to do over again I would have spent more time with him and grieved his loss more fully. 

Uncle Bill changed my life.  The spirit of his memory affirms me whenever I’m down and his witness reminds me of the power I have within me to affirm others.

Every now and then, when I take the time to be particularly quiet and pray, I can still hear the echo of God through Billy’s cheerful booming voice, “That Tommy’s all right!”

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