When I was about 10, my Dad taught me a lesson that has stuck with me throughout my life.

I don’t know if Dad ever had that same conversation with his “little” brother, but I’d be surprised if some variation of the lesson wasn’t passed down from Dad to my Uncle Gene.

Dad wasn’t a big man, but he was country strong and tougher than a $2 steak. He joined the Navy when he was 15 and served in World War II and Korea. Dad was badly injured when his ship was hit by a bomb in Korean waters in 1951, but survived and lived until cancer got him in 1991.

Uncle Gene idolized my Dad, which was just one of the things we had in common. We both had three older brothers and a bunch of sisters, and we both ended up being large men.

Uncle Gene died this past week at the age of 77. His wife of more than 50 years, my Aunt Martha, was by his side. That’s no surprise to anyone who knew them, because I don’t recall a time in my life when I ever saw the two of them apart.

Back to the lesson my Dad taught me when I was 10.

One of my best memories growing up was watching football with Dad, because he loved to snack almost as much as he loved football. There was always a bowl of apples, oranges and walnuts close by, and I remember being in awe of how Dad could take two walnuts in his calloused hands and crack them together like it was nothing.

He would crack a couple for himself, and then crack a few for me because as much as I tried, my hands weren’t strong enough.

Dad always watched me, because he knew exactly what would happen when I finally did accomplish the feat. Sure enough, the first time I put enough force together to crack the walnuts, I basically turned them both into powder.

Dad smiled and said, “Son, Pay attention to what just happened. You’re going to be a big man when you grow up, and you need to learn that not every situation calls for all of your strength. Some things, and some people, are only going to understand brute force, but finesse is usually better. You’ll also learn that people will respect you more if they know you have the size and strength to hurt others, but choose not to.”

My Dad said it, but my Uncle Gene lived it.

Uncle Gene was 6-foot-5 in high school and ended up being 6-foot-6. He was a standout basketball player at my old high school in Erwin, Tennessee, and at Carson Newman College, and spent 25 years coaching high school basketball in South Carolina — winning more than 400 games, a state championship and six regional titles.

He was inducted into our high school’s Hall of Fame back in the late 90s, and a year ago was inducted into the South Carolina Basketball Coaches Association Hall of Fame.

Uncle Gene and Aunt Martha — who stands 5-foot-4 but is someone I wouldn’t mess with on a bet — raised four of the best kids I’ve ever known in Kent, twins Grant and Gordon and daughter Kelly.

Watching Uncle Gene and Aunt Martha together was inspiring. On top of being coaches during the school year, he held basketball camps during the summers, and she taught swimming lessons from the pool at their house. Kids were drawn to them, and it would be impossible to count the number of lives they changed and influenced over the years.

I’ll remember Uncle Gene as an unabashed mama’s boy when Granny Stallard was still alive. I’ll remember how he loved Aunt Martha for half a century, as well as his love for flowers, playing golf with his sons, the Tennessee Volunteers, the Los Angeles Dodgers, his kids’ spouses, his five grandchildren and his lone living sibling — sister Bernice.

But, most of all, I’ll remember how the family’s gentle giant managed to be bigger than life without ever making those around him feel like they were too small to matter.