[ WP ] He had done what so few men before him had done . He tried .

My brother was a man who put the'try' in'cross-country.' Not all that smart, fairly mediocre. But dearly loved. Why else would we all be here to remember him this summer morning? 
 
 Leo Fuentez was born in a small county hospital of Marion County, Oregon, on a cloud-filled September evening in 1989. Father had to drag me to see him that day. I was pretty close to beating Link's Awakening, but was interrupted by the birth of my little brother. Sullen, my first words to him were, `` not worth the trip.'' It took a couple days before Father's words the next morning struck me. I cried. Two hours old and Leo taught me how to be better for others. That's the kind of man he would grow up to be. 
 
 One time the school bus did not bring Leo home at 3:52pm. He was 10 years old. An hour later, Mother called the police. Another hour later, someone knocked on our door. There was a police officer with my brother grinning like an idiot. Upset, she asked him what happened. The officer informed us Leo heard some kid pulling on a girl's hair, so he stood from his seat and turned, telling him to knock it off. Angry that some brat was standing while he was driving, the bus driver purposefully dropped him off in the wrong neighborhood. When asking Leo what he was smiling for, he told us he found `` a doughnut shop we had n't been to before and could n't wait to tell us about it.'' His grades were lousy. His soul made up for it. We had doughnuts for dinner. 
 
 Back from his sophomore year in college, he dropped by the mech shop to spend my lunch time telling me about his plans for the new school year; Learn to salsa dance, impress some girl, run a magazine, ace all his classes, run cross-country for his school and become student president. I laughed over my boxed chinese takeout and wished him luck. It was a lot. My little brother had big plans. He came back five months later having dropped out. When asked what happened, Leo had that goofy smile on his face before he could n't smile anymore. The poor kid burned himself out and cried all the more for us seeing him this way. Not all that smart, fairly mediocre, he could n't decide which big thing he wanted to do. So he tried doing it all. A year later Leo would return to school and complete his physiotherapy degree. He came home with an education, a mean pair of running shoes and some girl he met at a dance class. Our family was and remains blessed to have Mary as an in-law. 
 
 Leo joined a clinic a few counties south, helping others get back on their feet while keeping his moving all over whatever park he could find. All over he would drag Mary and I out to whatever coffeeshop he found. Whatever social dance group class advertised on those coffeeshop walls. Whatever road trip his dance buddies organized. Unlike many men in his twenties, he tried out many things and met many people, no matter how briefly. A summer night some years back, Leo and I returned from an awkward evening at a city club. I got shot down one too many times. He leaned over and told me it was probably `` not worth the trip.'' With that big goofy smile on his face, we laughed. 
 
 At the time of the accident, Leo was a healthy 29 years old. He had big plans, but someone upstairs wanted him more than we did, to show how cool a brother he was. In his short time he had done what so few others had done or would do in their life times; he tried. Leo's failures gave him chances to try all the more, and he not only embraced those opportunities, but shared them. It gave him a joy for life that will inspire all who are fortunate enough to remember him this summer morning. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

