James Rawls Williams, my Uncle Jim, passed away last month at the respectable age of seventy-nine. My Uncle David died at age sixty-seven from a brain tumor that changed his personality before he passed. My Uncle Donald passed at fifty-nine from the same type of blood cancer that took Uncle Jim.
For most of my life, I always felt not quite grown up, even well into middle age. I used to say that a man is not fully an adult until he has raised a
child and buried his father. Thankfully my father still lives.
Cadets at the United States Air Force Academy (USAFA) in Colorado Springs are often paired with volunteer sponsor families living in the area. When I was a cadet, I was fortunate to have my actual family members as my sponsor family. From that four-year period, I learned to love my Uncle Jim as someone who gave good advice and lived a life of dignity.
I did not see much of Uncle Jim and family after I graduated. When Aunt Janie and Uncle Jim last visited us here in Dallas over a decade ago, Uncle Jim recounted his experience during the University of Texas tower shooting when a man with a brain tumor became a mass murderer. As he concluded, I could tell that Uncle Jim was still moved by that event even though it had transpired nearly a half century earlier.
From that visit, I have a picture of Uncle Jim and Aunt Janie with my wife Shannon just after I gave them a tour of my backyard pumpkin patch. In that picture, you can see that Shannon was pregnant with the last of our six children. My youngest son, James, is Uncle Jim to my two grandchildren.