My Father
by Carl Lewis

     My father had given me so much, in so many ways, and now I wanted to give something to him. How about the 100-meter gold medal from 1984? It is the one thing I could give him to represent all the good things we did together, all the positive things that had happened to me because of him.

     I had never before taken any of my medals out of the bank vault where I kept them. But that day, on the way to the airport, I stopped at the bank to get the medal, and I put it in the pocket of my suit jacket. I would take it to New Jersey - for Dad. The day of the funeral, when our family was viewing the body, I pulled out the medal to place in my father's hand. My mother asked me if I was sure I wanted to bury the medal, and I was. It would be my father's forever. "But I'm going to get another one," I told my mother. Turning to my father, I said, "Don't worry. I'm going to get another one." That was a promise - to myself and to Dad. He was lying there so peacefully, his hands resting on his chest. When I placed the medal in his hand, it fit perfectly.