The Giant of Henry County

“Thank you for being the father you never had to be…”

There’s a giant living out here in Henry County; towering just over five and a half feet tall and weighing in at a whopping one-eighty-five. Of course, most people probably haven’t heard of him. He’s not exactly what you’d call ‘famous’ by any means. Far from it, in fact. Truth be told, you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who even knew his name, much less his life story. But like most giants, it’s the myth surrounding them that inspires greatness. And this one is no exception.

The son of a rambling man and a woman destined for sainthood, he was the unforgettable middle child with a heart as big as the August moon, and a smile as wide as Kentucky Lake. Raised on fried catfish and wild radishes, he was about as buck wild as a boy could be, and just as stubborn as any old mule. A fearless ruffian and patriot, he served in his first war at the ripe old age of twenty-two and fought in his last one a few months before he turned forty-nine.

But as fate would have it, war wasn’t where I managed to run across this mountain of a man.

Or should I say, where he managed to run across me.

No, the disjointed pews of an old Baptist church is where he saved my soul. Rushing into my life like a whirlwind, he saw something inside my dying eyes that no one else ever cared enough to look for. Something worth keeping around. Something worth saving.

I won’t lie, I fought back at first, angry at him for daring to get close – hating him for caring. But despite my best efforts, he just kind of stuck around. Through the pain and the heartache, he stood by my side like the old hickory down by the courthouse. He believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. Trusted in me, even when I swore to hurt him.

And perhaps nothing tested that trust more than the time we were forced to fix each other. Through the cold sweats and night terrors, he was there for me when I didn’t have the courage to face my own demons. Encouraging me to stand up and fight, even when sitting seemed like the easier option. And in return, I was there for him on the day his body gave out. The day the sky fell out on Highway Seventy-Nine.

For three months, I looked after him when he couldn’t stand up; carried him when he couldn’t walk.

For three months, I learned what it meant to trust someone again.

And on the day he called me ‘his son,’ I wept.

That was the night I lied in bed crying like a child. Not because I was angry or torn apart, but because for the first time in my life, I felt like I had a place to call my home. A home to call my family. In a world so unforgiving, living a life condemned by my own flesh and blood, it was that old giant that took me in. And it was that old giant who gave me a second chance on life.

Looking back now, I realize that I owe everything to him. My wife, my children, my salvation. In one way or another, they all trace their way back to the gift he gladly gave me. The gift I didn’t ask for, but one he knew I needed more than anything.

Even as I write this, I know the time will come when the good Lord calls him back home, and the whole county will tremble at his passing, and no one will be none the wiser that a giant has just died. But know this, dear friend: on that ill-fated day, I’ll be there by your side the same way you were always there by mine. And as you wither away into glory, you can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll be there to tell the whole world about the giant of a man who raised my spirit up from the dead. The giant of a man who took in a worthless kid off the streets and showed him that he meant something.

Oh, great giant… history might never remember your name, but I can promise you, the whole county will remember your heart. After all, it’s just too damn big to forget.

To the Army, he was Sergeant First Class Baker.

To his mom and dad, he was ‘son.’

To his sisters, he was called ‘Bubba’.

And to the rest of the world, he was just Jeff…

But as for me, by the grace of God alone, I had the unique privilege of calling him ‘my Dad.’

I love you, Ol’ Man… Never forget that.