My father-in-law, Thomas Carnley, was one of a kind. There wasn't anything he couldn't fix or build. His woodworking skills were amazing, and we were always thrilled to be the recipient of one of his picture frames, birdhouses, shelves or other works of art.

The world is a sadder place since he died last year. And a lot of people who didn't know him really missed out.

Pop -- as us grown-ups called him -- was sweet, even-tempered and thoughtful. He doted on his wife, Marcia, and fulfilled her every wish. Even when he was so sick that he couldn't get around without assistance anymore, he always made sure Mom was taken care of.

His grandchildren, who called him Papa, were thrilled to be singled out for his attention. And my younger son, Zach, idolized his Papa and loved to be with him in his woodworking shop. Papa praised everything the kids did -- even if it didn't look like much. He always appreciated the effort that went into their labors.

A lot of people may not know what kind of person Pop really was because he was a very quiet man.

But he had a wonderful, dry sense of humor that came out at the oddest times. You just had to smile when you were around him.

Anytime something wasn't working at home, we would call Pop. He could fix it, install it, uninstall it or replace it, no matter what it was.

One Saturday when I called him to see why my air-conditioner wasn't working (again), we were all in the backyard when he arrived.

We didn't hear his knock, so he removed his shoes (like I did every time I went in his house), opened the door and came right in.

My little mini-dachshund, Pearl, took offense to that. She never did like men much to begin with. And when Pop walked in, Pearl grabbed the only thing she could reach -- his sock.

She latched onto that sock and with all seven pounds of her, she dragged Pop across the living room, through the kitchen and right out into the backyard. By the time she let go, his sock could have fit the foot of the jolly green giant.

I know he had to be surprised, but he didn't even blink when the little red piranha latched onto his sock. He just shook her off and kept on moving toward the airconditioner as if a flea had landed on his foot.

But I don't believe he ever took his shoes off again when he came to my house.

Not long after that incident, my air-conditioner stopped working again. It was well over 100 degrees. I called Pop and even after a long day at work, he came right over to see what the problem was. He didn't want his grandchildren getting overheated.

He took the casing off the outside unit and was using a hammer to remove the nonworking part. He raised up that hammer and came down with it on his thumb. He didn't even make a sound. He just grabbed his thumb and held it for a minute. Then he proceeded to fix the air-conditioner.

His finger was swollen for a week, and his nail turned black and blue. But he never said a word -- at least not out loud.

That's the kind of man he was. Nothing really ruffled his feathers. He was smooth as silk. He was gentle. He was loving. He was one in a million.

The world would be a better place if there were only more like him.

He will be missed always.

Lisa Carnley is managing editor of the Lampasas Dispatch Record.