Sharing Stories from Along the Way
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My Father's Shoes
A work in progresss for 50 years
My Father's Shoes
September 17, 2026
My Father's Shoes
September 17, 2026
The subtitle should be read: "My Friday evening conversations with Raj Abel"
I met Raj in the late 50s during the early days of Lakpahana, and our friendship continued through Spicer, Andrews, and into the present day.
Several years ago, we began a series of conversations every Friday evening, close to sunset, and he would be rushing to finish one more task before the sun went down. My phone would ring, and he would launch right into "Brother Pingho." I'd respond by making sure he stayed ahead of the sunset police. Light banter would continue and digress into a variety of memories, lessons learned, and the general situation across the board.
During my last conversation on Friday, April 10, 2026, we touched on the attributes of past leaders and the challenges faced by the current leaders and the leaders of tomorrow. That is when I mentioned "my father's shoes," and he loved the story. He made a point of reminding me to finish the piece so he could read it the following week.
And then, he was gone. Just like fifty years ago today. The day my father died.
September 17, 1976.
It was another Friday; I was headed up I-95 from Cary to visit my sister, her husband, and one-year-old son in Maryland. I recall stopping for a cheeseburger at the Quantico exit around 6:00 p.m.
I pulled into my sister's home around 7:30, and before I could park my car, my sister came flying out of the front door, and between the tears and the sobbing, she was able to let me know our father had passed on.
While I absorbed and processed the sudden change in circumstances,
I looked up and saw Raj Abel and his wife, Elizabeth. These family friendships go back many years and generations. On this day, it was normal for these dear friends to be there during a devastating time for our family.
The rest of the hours, days, weeks, months, and years are now a blur with stories for another time.
September 17, 2026
While sorting old pictures, films, and other media, I scanned many photos of family and friends.
One consistent feature kept popping up as I sorted through one batch. They were pictures of my parents, and
in every single picture, my father's shoes were shining. The gloss showed through 70- and 80-year-old photographs.
The early pictures were from the 1940s, when he left a lucrative career with the Bristol Hotel to enter the seminary to train for the ministry.
They were tough years, adjusting to the reality of sacrifice for the greater cause, tight budgets, and changing times. There were never any complaints, only the reinforcing determination and example he set for us to follow.
One thing was certain: shine your shoes!
As I recall, my father rarely had more than two pairs of shoes, and I had to shine them along with my brother's, sister's, mother's, and my own.
From age 4 until I left for high school at 14, my Friday evening chores included polishing the family's shoes. All that practice played out in my life:
No matter how tough and impossible times seemed, I had to shine my shoes before I walked out the door. The discipline of a simple exercise had a much greater meaning and impact as I grew older.
And then there was the matter of "filling my father's shoes."
George Jones, with the Grand Ole Opry, bemoaned the perceived lack
of country singers who could fill the shoes of the legends;
"Who's gonna fill their shoes?
Who's gonna stand that tall?
Who's gonna play the Opry and the Wabash Cannonball?
Who's gonna give their heart and soul to get to me and you?
Lord, I wonder, who's gonna fill their shoes?"
And then, more voices joined the chorus, younger and determined to make their mark.
Fifty years have gone by. My father's memory and presence live within me every day.
And there are times when I fell short of filling his shoes, no matter how hard I tried.
It didn't matter; I picked up my shoes, shined them, and went out to meet the world.
This is what is expected of us: "fill their shoes."
However, there is the alternative: find the shoes that fit you, fill your shoes to the best of your ability,
make sure they are shined, parade-shined, to the point where you can see your face.
This is my lesson for September 17, 2026. May your shoes always shine, especially in the direction you take.
Raj, I miss the conversations. However, you have left me with many stories and ideas to write and share. And always remember to shine your shoes...
My Father's Shoes
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