A Tall Man

My older brother is a large man.  Much larger than me.  Growing up, he was a big boy.  Much bigger than me.

However, one out-of-the-ordinary-day, I saw how small he could be.  There was a Reverend there – a man of the cloth, a man close to our family, that was greeting us Mourners on this particular, special day.

It was calling hours for my Aunt, who was not really my Aunt.  In fact, all I know is that she had a love interest in my great uncle…  it did not work out, but my grandmother kept her.  And when my grandmother decided you were family, by god, you were family. 

Anyway, she was titled “Aunt” and that is the only important thing about it. – She was family.  And she passed away.

It was her funeral.

Me and my brother rode together to the ceremony.  And there he was: the Holy Man.  A man I respected, and, to this day, respect, greeting all of us walking into the building.

Funny thing about that man: when he spoke to you, he spoke to you eye-to-eye.

When he spoke to me, we were eye-to-eye.  I’m no runt!  I stand a proud 6’1.  My brother, on the other hand, has me licked by a few inches… and about fifty pounds.

Anyway, Reverend F__ shook my brother’s hand.  Faced him eye-to-eye.  After the formal, masculine greeting, the Good Reverend stood up, in all dignity.

In my eyes, he looked about SEVEN FEET TALL!

He had everyone in the room licked.

And that didn’t mean a thing to him.

He was eye-to-eye with anyone.

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