The Boxing Bell
When you walk in the store, immediately to your right, there’s a boxing bell hanging on the wall. It’s not often noticed by customers, but I see it every morning when I walk in. It reminds me of my grandfather. He boxed for years and was one of the strongest men I’ve ever known. Even into his 90s, he could crush someones hand with a handshake. I grew up watching grown men wince and blink back tears once their hand was in his grip. I used to think he didn’t know his own strength. Now, I wonder if that was true, and for some reason, that makes me laugh.
He lived through the Great Depression, and then, because of a clerical error, he served in World War 2. He was in optometry school, so he shouldn’t have been drafted. But he was, and he went. He was given his orders and had to learn to speak Japanese in a short period of time, and guarded Japanese officers who had been captured. I wish I had asked him so much more about this while he was alive. He came home, married my grandmother who had, as he put it, “wooed him with her words” as they wrote letters back and forth, and then he finally finished optometry school. He then began his practice and helped countless patients with their vision for probably 60 years. He gave his last eye exam when he was nearly 90. His final patient was my grandmother.
He was no stranger to hardship and learned to persevere in ways that subsequent generations can’t even wrap our minds around. I think that was one of the reasons he boxed. There was a discipline to it, and it required a get-back-up mentality, which he had in spades. I would have loved to have watched him in action.
He was also a runner. He ran before there were “running shoes.” He ran before people understood that it was for exercise and not because he was in a hurry. He ran more than probably anyone I know, and he taught his children - and eventually his grandchildren - that if you want to go to Heaven, you have to be a runner. I’m kidding, but I know he believed it mattered for more reasons than physical health.
He spoke often of life being like a 3 legged stool: The legs represented physical health, mental health, and Spiritual health. He said if you don’t tend to any one of the 3 legs, the stool can’t be stable. He modeled that in his own life with incredible disciplines in all three areas. He left so many with so much wisdom and with an example of faithfulness (and to be fair, stubbornness) that was - and still is - unmatched. So when I walk in and see that boxing bell, I’m reminded that I have a legacy that is not common. I had someone show me how to fight the good fight and finish the race, taking every hill in stride. I’d give almost anything to be able to tell him how important his impact was on me… how I think about him every time I run… how I start every day at the store with a reminder of his example. So while I’m sure he’s busy running the streets of gold, I hope he knows that every round and every race is marked with memories of him.
