I want to begin by telling you a story about my brother Bill.
Long ago and not so far away, the three Fenton boys – John the eldest, Bill the middle and the runt Mike — could be found roaming the woods, fields and streams around the then small town of Laurel Maryland. We were a rambunctious lot back then and oh so competitive — the classic sibling rivalry.
During our explorations we would issue random challenges to each other in the form of Dare’s and Double Dare’s. Failure to respond to the Dare or Double Dare meant that loser would be called CHICKEN, and have to pay the winner a quarter.
John and I quickly learned that there was essentially no challenge, no matter how wild and risky, that Bill would not take. Once we dared Bill to hang by his hands beneath an abandon railway trestle and drop into the rain-swollen river some 10 feet below. He crawled out on the metal strut, lowered himself down, let go and landed with a huge splash, only to discover the river was only 4 feet deep. I still remember him standing in the river soaking wet looking up at his shocked brothers, with his hand out waiting for his quarter. And grinning that grin of his.
John and I would be considerably poorer by the end of that summer, and I am sure Bill enjoyed lightening our wallets. But I think what he really showed us then was that the things we fear are often not so fearful as we thought, and sometimes it’s ok to take that leap — that the waters that look so dark and threatening from above, turn out to be simply a soft place to land.
There is a song by the singer Jewel, called “Hands”, and in it there is this line
“… in the end only kindness matters…”
Those of us who knew Bill understand that he lived a life brimming with kindness and giving. That if he could give you his time, his advice, the shirt off his back, he would. And Bill was like that for as long as I knew him, which is all my 68 years.
I think we learn the most important lessons in life from those who come before us, and Bill Fenton taught us that being kind is not a sign of weakness; rather, it is the ultimate expression of strength and courage.
If you will indulge me for just another minute, I would like to paraphrase a short piece written by the writer Laura McBride. Whenever I read it I think of Bill.
It is entitled, “It all Matters”
“It all matters.
It matters that someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, and pays at the unattended parking lot,
It matters that we listen to the repeated tale, that we fold the abandoned laundry,
It matters that we play the game fairly, tell the story honestly, acknowledge help, give credit, say good night, and resist temptation,
It matters that we wipe the counter, wait at the yellow light, and make the bed,
It matters that we tip the maid, remember the illness, congratulate the victor, and accept the consequences,
It matters that we take a stand, that we step up, offer a helping hand, go first, go last, choose the small portion, and teach the child,
It matters that we tend the sick, comfort the grieving, and remove the splinter,
It matters that we wipe the tear, direct the lost, and touch the lonely,
That is the whole thing and all of it matters.
What is most beautiful, is sometimes the least acknowledged.”
I acknowledge Bill Fenton; your life and what you taught me. I miss you brother.
Rest in peace.
whoisfenton 