Joe N. Tucker
1947-2007
1947-2007
It is not an uncommon thing for children to latch on to the parents of their friends during their formative years--at least I hope it is not uncommon. I have visited with several friends of mine who have related the importance of their friends' parents in their lives when they were younger. Be this parent a father who coaches tee-ball or leads a scout troop, or the mother of a friend who really listens when you speak, I believe that these surrogate moms and dads can be as vital and important in our lives as our biological parents. Very often, these are the first adults outside of our homes who treat us as real people, rather than as kids stuck in the roles we fill in our own families.
Growing up, I was blessed with an entire surrogate family, just a couple of blocks (and one easily-leapt fence row) from my parents' house. The Tuckers were like something out of a movie to me--they were (and are) beautiful people, from Joe (the father) all the way down to the baby of the family, Leigh Ann (to whom I owe thanks for my first authentic marriage fantasy). The thing is that the Tuckers were smart and fun and generally just good to be around. They didn't even seem to lose their tempers when I did something stupid that resulted in property damage in their world (once the victim was their billiards bridge; another was a neighbor's coffee table). In each case, Joe and Kathy dealt with me as though my actions were almost understandable, and certainly forgivable. My desire to get tons of attention at any cost was, in their eyes, a phase that some kids went through, and they were always cool about seeing the mayhem in a larger perspective.
Their middle child, Tim, was and is a dear friend of mine from middle school onward. He was my brother and best friend through first girlfriends, first cars, first day of high school, and first road trips, and through everything in between.
This surrogate family provided me with more than I can relate here. I got an extra mom and dad to look up to, a big brother to idolize, a brother my own age as a comrade, and a little sister to dote over; several years, I got to accompany the Tuckers on their yearly pilgrimage to Ft. Walton Beach, Florida, where I was considered one of their own. I could ramble through many a story here that would relate how gifted they were at loving their adopted children, like me, but I have digressed too far already.
About three weeks ago, I got an email from Leigh Ann telling me that Joe had been diagnosed with leukemia--he had an unrelated problem with his esophagus that led him to the doctor, where the cancer was discovered. Everyone was optimistic because they seemed to have caught it in its early stages. Chemotherapy is terrible, and Joe's apparently allowed him to develop a fungal infection that eventually went to his brain; he passed away today around 2:00 p.m.
Joe was a giant to me. He loved playing golf well, loved enjoying his family and his friends, and generally kept a remarkably laid-back attitude. He did have a temper when he needed one, but I never saw him act out on whatever frustration he dealt with. I did see a model of a father who loved his kids and let them grow, a husband who delighted in his wife, a business man whose eyes flashed as he recounted a story to a client, a beach bum who could walk the beach for miles in search of the perfect shell, and a generous friend, even to neighborhood kids who awoke him in the middle of the night from outside his daughter's window (thanks, Justin!)
As is too often the case with surrogate fathers and surrogate sons, I did not take time to tell Joe Tucker that I am thankful for his life; I got busy making adult mistakes and just didn't take the time I wish I had. Like the people he loved who are his real family, I thought I would have more time. So I write this, now, to God and to the universe: Thank you for Josey Tucker, for all he was and is, still, to the people who love him. Even from us neighborhood strays.
Visitation will be on Wednesday at 6:00 to 7:30 at Lloyd James Funeral Home in Tyler.
Now, here's a little Rick Springfield:
My father's chair's still standing there
All alone since the long night
Now it's three years on and I still feel
He'll come home, we'll be alright
So where's this healing time brings
I was told the pain would ease
But it still hurts like the first night
That night my brother, my mother and I
Were looking up at a distant star
And wishing we could reach that far
And back in the house
And alone for the first time
We told each other we cared
We avoided my father's chair
I watch my family, we hold on
We are strong and we'll be alright
The clock continues counting down,
All the while
And every child will share the long night
But do the spirits meet again
Why am I still so filled with doubt
Is my soul everlasting
And the far distant future
When I knew you'd be gone
Came too fast and stays too long
Why do they leave the weak of spirit
And take the strong
But wherein the world turns sour
And I get sick from the smell
And I can't find no comfort there
I climb into my father's chair
