Look at Him!
- B Patrick Jensen
- Jun 17
- 6 min read
Updated: Jun 25
Look at Him! By B. Patrick Jensen
Thanksgiving Memory
News to Family
November 27, 1980
On Thanksgiving Day in 1980, I was nineteen years old and a Freshman at Cabrini College, home with my family on holiday break. I told my parents I had some news. They braced themselves. Was I kicked out of school already?
"Jesus Christ, what is it now Bri?" My Father’s voice.
My dad evoked the name of Our Lord quite a bit in conversation with me. Prayer as an exclamation point. One of his favorites was "Jesus, Mary and Saint Joseph!" We are Catholic. So he knew the main players.
I announced to my family that I was elected Class President.
There was a pause. My parents stared at each other from across the dining room table. I saw eyerolls. My siblings looked up for a moment, then went back to eating. My Grandmom Conboy slammed back another can of Schmidt’s Beer. She was unaffected.
They didn’t believe me.
I tried to explain. I told them I was elected Homecoming King too, and I didn't even know what that was. But that's why I ran for class president. And I won. I beat out three other candidates, winning the election handily.
My sister Eileen ("Bean"), who would attend Cabrini too, began to laugh. "No you didn't," she scoffed with a giggle.
“Yes I did,” I proudly confirmed. “I am Class President.”
Now I had their attention. My mom dropped her fork; my dad took a swig of Kiafi, his Danish wine he drank only on Thanksgiving and Christmas. It tastes like cough syrup. But it cleared any chance of Dad choking on a turkey morsel.
My parents' skepticism was warranted. My boyhood track record is checkered. My youthful passions proved hard to contain. My Mom was about to say something, but then looked to my Father as if to say, “You handle this one Walt.”
My father, for his part, seemed mildly annoyed, as if I had done something wrong. He demanded more data. “What does a Class President do?"
"I don't know," I replied. "I have a meeting about it when I go back to school."
That's when my father believed me.
"Jesus Christ, Bri."
He was praying for my success.
Redeemed
Baccalaureate Mass
Cabrini College Auditorium
Sunday, May 20, 1984
Fast forward to my day of graduation in May, 1984. I spoke at the Baccalaureate Mass. It was the "Meditation" a thing that Catholics sometimes do with a guest speaker to liven up those special holy events that occur from time to time.
It was a packed house of parents, faculty and family. My mom and dad were in the audience. By that time, my parents believed me. But they didn’t know I was going to speak.
I wanted to surprise them. And I did.
I was told that as I spoke, trying to sound like John F. Kennedy as best I could, that my father, not known as a sentimental type, stared teary-eyed whispering,
"Look at him, look at him, look at him Peg (my Mom)."
He kept saying it.
My mom could only manage, "Yes, I see him." She was stunned too. Knowing my mom she also probably wanted my dad to quiet his whispers so she could hear the speech!
It was very emotional. There was applause. When I returned to my seat, I lost it and cried. It was a scene straight out of an ABC Afterschool Special!
Honestly, I think my Mom and Dad were surprised by everything. My parents were good folks. And sometimes, not always, I made that hard for them in my boyhood years, and a few adult years too. I was a bit wild. And hard to reel in.
But I was redeemed that day. That magical moment was a topper. Not long after, my mother died in 1986 and my father in 1991. They missed much of the life that followed—career accomplishments, marriage, children, and countless blessings.
Yet I have never felt cheated by that. They were there for the moment that mattered most. My parents saw me become someone they could be proud of.
That memory has carried me for a lifetime.
The Wedding Ring
Saint Columba’s Church
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
November 8, 1958
Reflecting on that moment of redemption—when I finally felt truly seen by my parents—naturally leads me to the only other thing that bridges the gap between their time and mine:
The wedding ring.
Jensen monikers memorializing my parents are etched in two separate headstones in unattached plots on the opposite sides of Calvary Cemetery in Camden County, New Jersey. Our house on Springfield Avenue where I grew up is just a few blocks away. After 30 years as residents, my father sold the house in 1989. There are no keepsakes left there. That’s a different story!
The only forever memorial that binds them for posterity is my father’s wedding band inscription with their initials and marriage date, 11/8/58. My father gifted his wedding ring to me just before he died.
It is the ring, not their separated headstones, that is the most precious forever keepsake of their memory. I keep it still, safely stored. Throughout my marriage years, I wore a copy with no inscription because I was afraid of losing the original.
Blissful Memories
Bliss Wedding Chapel
Las Vegas, Nevada
Sunday, March 16, 2025
Fast forward nearly forty more years since that magical moment at Cabrini College. I have since grown up. Well, a little. I am entering old age now.
I was long-ago divorced, but the wedding band is an untainted treasure for generations for years to come. The copy that I wore for decades when married, was recently passed on to my adopted nephew.
His name is Stephen Tyler Branham, proud son to his father, Stephen Paul Branham. Tyler reminds me of my youthful flare worthy of my father’s ire and ardent prayers to The Lord as an exclamation point. The match is our pursuit of everything awesome in our coming of age years. The similarity is unbridled passion that is hard to reel in. It’s like looking in the mirror of my youth.
Tyler’s wedding in Las Vegas in March, 2025 propelled the family legacy for many future years that will surely outlive me. That is what I wanted.
I was there for Tyler's big moment with his father and family. Tyler wrote his own wedding vows and recited them masterfully as he gazed at his beautiful bride to forever be.
His father and stepmother lived my parent’s audience-experience from just a few feet away. I watched Tyler too, intently, from my place at the back of the chapel.
I was in awe of his public testimony. I didn’t expect that from Tyler. But I should have. I underestimated him; just as my parents underestimated me. It was my turn to be stunned and teary-eyed witnessing a loved one in the spotlight.
If I were sitting up front next to his dad at that moment, I would have elbowed him and shared with him out loud what I was thinking,
“Jesus Christ! Look at him, look at him, look at him.”
And then the spirit of my parents' voice whispered through the ages within me. “Yes. We see him, Bri. We see him. He has the ring. It fits perfectly. Good job Tyler.”
A few weeks ago, Tyler shot me a text message, reading,
“I love you buddy…You’re gonna get a kick out of my kids man. I hope y’all are close.”
And now I insist on living long enough to see it.
Look at Him!
That’s the sort of thing that multiplies the joy of legacy and extinguishes the folly of regrets. Unforgettable magic moments—chapters in an epic lifetime story:
A Thanksgiving report that made my mother drop her fork.
A college graduation speech that stunned my father— Jesus, Mary and Saint Joseph, that was awesome.
A Wedding Ring as the memorial to my parents legacy of eternal love forever preserved etched in gold, not granite.
Marriage vows in a Las Vegas chapel that harks the memory of my parents and the future of a new great family story.
A simple text message that evokes a new vision and dream— that inspires an old man’s reason to keep plugging in whatever years remain.
Look at Him! — Now that’s a quotable quote! Perhaps even a good title for the next Captivating Memoir!
“Jesus Christ, Bri.”
Amen Daddy.
Amen.
Patrick, what a beautiful tribute to your parents. It not only honored them, but also gave us a wonderful glimpse into your upbringing and the values that shaped the man you are today.
You are a phenomenal writer, and this is not fiction, it is as real and authentic as it gets. I loved every word of it.
Thank you for loving our children as their Uncle Patrick. Your kindness, wisdom, and genuine care have made a lasting impact on their lives. You are a phenomenal human being, and we love you dearly.