My Friend Zeke

My friend Zeke is the classic Texas-American-Mexican. If the police were to ask me for any Identifying marks for my friend I’d have to 1st tell them about his Grin. Zeke has a constant grin that screams “I know you’re full of BS but I like you anyway”. His grin has a way of revealing who he is inside. The 2nd identifying mark I’d have to tell them is his absolute love he has for his family. Zeke loves his family. I don’t know how long ago he passed the 30 year  mark in his marriage but in all those years I have never heard him complain about his wife other than to mention her fiscal prudence when he wanted to buy a fishing boat.

Ever notice how people will tell you how impartial they are about their children then spend the rest of the afternoon bragging about their favorite child? That’s not Zeke. Zeke doesn’t just love his kids he cherishes them. He holds each of them in the bosom of his heart like a miner transporting Nitro-Glycerin, delicate, gentle and loving. I once saw a sign on the front of a church that said “God doesn’t love all of us he loves each of us. That’s my friend Zeke.

The 3rd identifying mark I would give the police would be his loyalty. Regardless of circumstance Zeke is the one constant in the storm of instability. Whether you were stabbed in the back or you shot yourself in the foot Zeke has that uncanny ability to raise his eyes above the event and quietly avail himself in anyway he can. In a world where the so called “good” people are more than willing to give you the shirt off someone else’s back Zeke stands up along side of you extends a hand and says “here take mine.”

Zeke is one strand in a thread of fiber that weaves throughout the fabric of Texas. Quiet people doing loud things in a silent meaningful way.

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