06/21/2026
When I was a child, he would put me on his shoulders and I would grip his forehead as we waterskied around Lake Lanier. From my high perch, the wind would whip through my hair. Far below or, at least, what seemed far below from my vantage point, the water rushed past at high speed. It would be a long way to fall. But we never fell. And I was not afraid.
We flew his little plane to New Orleans when I was a senior in high school and had applied to Tulane. It was an overcast day and we were completely enshrouded by clouds the whole way. I could look out the windshield and envision another plane suddenly appearing and crashing into us. Then I would look across and see him busily working through the navigation charts on the clipboard on his knee, unconcerned about the possibility of danger. We never crashed. And I was calm.
I was new to surgery, still learning, still growing. I was doing a facelift, my first procedure in private practice. He stood across the table from me, assisting and offering gentle words of guidance when needed. He was patient and kind, leaving me in charge but there if I needed him, the way he was my whole life. And I felt reassured.
For some reason, this weekend I have thought about his hands, weathered and worn with the years. I remember the juxtaposition of his hands next to mine, soft and full and inexperienced. The skin on his hands was thin and wrinkled, discolored with age spots, draped across the tendons radiating outward towards each finger and criss-crossed with veins passing randomly across the back of each hand. Hands that had sculpted clay, painted portraits, created changes in the lives of his patients. Although he has been gone now for twelve years, I still feel his loving hand upon my shoulder each time I enter an operating room.
Now, as my career draws closer to the end, I look at my own hands, weathered and worn like his through the years, no longer soft and smooth. I would like to think that I have served my patients with the same care and humility as he did, that I carried on his tradition of excellence. That I was a good father and role model to my own children. I think that he would be proud of me. And I am content.
