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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.

- By Carl Lewis
from "A Cup of Chicken Soup for the Soul"

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