It takes courage and staunch determination to create a life wildly different from all one has ever witnessed, to find a way to spark hidden dreams to life.
This could only happen to someone with the grit of a firecracker who refuses to take no for an answer.
My dad’s paternal uncle decided at a young age he was destined to blaze his own trails. Tired of the drudgery of horse-drawn field work and unrelenting chores, Sam Young decided no one was going to change his lot in life except for the young man in the mirror.
On the day Sam left the team of horses in the middle of a half-worked field and struck out for an independent life, he was 15. Different from the 13-year-old penniless kid who had run away from home by hopping in a train’s railcar, this time Sam had been hiding money earned through boxing matches and taking on every odd job he could find.
Sam told me that his disdain for being bossed by an older brother and the unrelenting pace of farm work that just never let up led him to at times wonder if something was wrong with him or if everyone else had a screw loose.
He craved more than living just to work, and boxing matches gave him both a social and a physical outlet. Years of frustration found a place to go.
“I was jazzed up, and I finally felt alive when I was winning boxing matches,” my great-uncle told me, adding that he rarely lost.
There was not a hint of braggadociousness in his quiet telling of these long-ago stories. For Sam, boxing was a sport, and he trained to be the best he could be. On the semi-pro boxing circuit, he was known and followed. His good looks didn’t hurt, either. “Cash in my hand was just icing on the cake!” And it was a means to an end.
Sam had just turned 17 when he married Esta Roseborough, who was 20. They made their home in Ashland, and then bought a lovely, large house in New London. Eventually they built a new home on the western edge of rural Galion, as Sam worked his way up in industry.
Driven to give his all in a business world where he was respected, Sam proved himself as a hard and loyal worker. In my earliest memory of him, he was a plant superintendent, and in every way seemed to be a happy man.
Several foster children made a home with the couple, though they didn’t have children of their own. When they celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, they chose me as the greeter at a celebratory church event that was planned for months on end. Esta was a stickler for detail and accuracy, and she reminded me often that being chosen was high praise.
Shortly after this, Esta became ill, and Sam cared for her at home. She became weak and barely left her bed. Sam was a patient, kind and loving caregiver. He let us know Esta was unable to visit, and he would not leave her alone. We visited more often, my mother preparing meals she knew both enjoyed. The demands of a dairy farm kept each stay rather brief. Sam was not his usual jovial self, and my parents were concerned.
I sent weekly letters, sharing funny stories of school, and farm tales, sometimes writing in the voice of our wise, aging English Shepherd farm dog whom Sam adored. Uncle Sam would later tell me those light-hearted letters appearing in his mailbox were like a life ring tossed to a struggling swimmer.
I remember the day Sam called to let us know Esta had died. As difficult as it was, he took pride in keeping his promise to his wife, allowing her to remain at home throughout a years-long decline.
The day Esta was laid to rest, our dear uncle stepped away from the gathering. My heart ached as I watched him, taking a deep breath, wiping his eyes.
It struck me that he was now a solitary man facing a new beginning. I was young, and this may have been the first time I fully realized that not all beginnings come by choice.
Next week: The finale
