Randy Borders (12-18-49 - 4-10-09)
A person’s life is a little like a gemstone, cut into facets. And when you look at that life, the light you see reflected back is going to be a little bit different, depending on who’s doing the looking. To me, Dad was who dropped me off at school, picked me up from dance class, taught me how to shake-n-bake pork chops, showed up at every track meet, dance recital, piano recital, cheerleading competition, football game, pep band event, and band concert that he possibly could. And yet he often worried that he wasn’t there enough for us. To me, regular days with Dad involved coca-cola, ham and mushroom pizzas with extra sauce, dinner in front of some sci-fi movie, marshmellows in front of the fire, barbecue on the charcoal grill, because it had to be charcoal even though it took forever to cook. He loved Star Wars, Star Trek, blues, reggae, and rock. He loved giving presents. He loved animals. He loved his kids.
My dad was an avid outdoorsman, before he got sick. And even aferwards, he was able to hunt a little, and definitely still fly fish. The very last time I saw him, he and Jay were tying flies in the basement for Jay’s birthday. He liked to tell stories about his saltwater flyfishing trips, and he never let us take any of the “special” flies that he’d tied because he wanted to use them again. He taught us to tie them, and got us fishing stuff for birthdays and Christmases. It’s funny, that no matter how shaky his hands were and how poor his eyesight became, he could still manage to tie those tiny little flies. The last time we all went fishing together was at the lake at Grandma and Grandpa’s, and Jason caught tons of fish, and showed us all up. I caught the tree… The pontoon boat… Dad caught some small ones, but Jay got all the good ones.
Jay could tell you hunting stories, but not me. But in the last year, Dad took an interest in a certain young man, the son of a friend, who he felt might benefit from his time. He called me to see what I thought and then started to teach him to shoot with one of his old bows and a set of arrows. Target practice in the yard. He thought that perhaps the time invested in this young man might provide kind of a father figure to him, and maybe help him learn some things, about life, and respect. He was excited because he thought maybe he could help provide some guidance in his life. He talked about it with me all the time. There’s this program that they have started in some schools, where people come in and teach basic archery skills to inner city kids, and he talked about someday volunteering for that program when he got better. He wanted to bring it to places that didn’t have it yet, and he wondered if I’d be interested in helping. He thought that this might be something he could contribute to the community. I bet no one ever knew that except for me.
See, some of you might think that Dad was just an old, sick, depressed, handicapped guy. But he would not want to be remembered that way. Even in the condition he was in, he wanted to help someone, in the only way he could think of. He always wanted to spend time with his kids. He liked to spend time with his dog Cody. And he had big dreams, some of them came true, some of them never got the chance. He got his boat, and we spent summer days cruising around Clark Lake listening to Bob Marley and cooking on the grill and getting sunburned. We had Fourth of July parties on the deck at the house and lit off some serious fireworks. He got to visit the Bahamas, the Florida Keys, Mexico, and other places. His latest dream was to move to South Carolina with Blair and I, to build a log cabin on a stream, and fish every day. The last day I saw him, that same day he was tying the flies, he gave me a catalog of log homes he had mailed to him from a builder where we are moving to, and pointed out the house he wanted, and gave me the rest of the catalog to pick out ours. And a lot of people said he was a crazy dreamer, and I know that I have said that before too. But who’s the one we should feel more sorry for? The man who dreamed of a better future every day of his life, and died with his dreams, or the ones of us whose dreams died long ago, and we have none? Dad would want us to dream, and to chase those dreams. I think if there is a lesson to be learned from his life and his early departure, it would be that you never know how much time you have left in this life. I think we can all agree, we shouldn’t waste it. I love you, Dad.
