Todd Daniel Taylor was born at 2:37 p.m. on July 13, 1964, at St. Joseph Hospital in Wichita, KS. His mother, beaming with a beautiful smile, remembers the exact minute to this day. Todd’s arrival set the tone right away with his older brother and a younger brother to come: Anything you can do, I can do better. He was born at the earliest hour of the three kids (first!) and was the biggest Taylor baby at 7 pounds, 5 ounces. We didn’t know then, but would discover as the years went by, that those seven pounds consisted of four parts heart, two parts generosity, and one part humor, extra large.
As a young boy, he loved dressing up in cowboy outfits, tussling with his friends and brothers, and hugging animals – sometimes too hard. He squeezed his mom’s cats with such delight that they often had a touch of fear in their eyes, until they wriggled free from his loving arms. That big heart again.
Todd had a talent for being caught in angelic poses in pictures. You’d look in those eyes and say, “How could he ever do anything wrong?” Uh, just ask his brothers. Or his friends. He always looked forward to visiting his grandparents in summers to fish with grandpa, play card games late into the night and slurp chocolate milkshakes, the kind that only a grandma could make.
He spent some of his earliest years in Oklahoma but most of his childhood and teen years in Frontenac, KS, home of the Raiders and fried chicken wars. Todd played youth baseball and football with a love for getting dirty and was a talented junior golfer. His love of the game stayed with him for life. As a pesky little brother, he was eager to tag along with the older boys if there was a game to be played. Get knocked down? Didn’t bother him. He would come up spitting. It was a trait that earned him the nickname Tank, a reference to his stature but also his spirit. The Raiders’ high school football coach once remarked after a thudding tackle by Todd, “If your little brother was any bigger, we’d have to bring him out in a cage.”
Todd was a proud Jayhawk, a member of the University of Kansas class of ‘86. He earned a degree in advertising but spent most of his business career in computer software and IT sales. He was a natural comic with a cutting wit, but with a quick smile that softened it. He had an amazing ability to say the clever remark, with just the right timing, that you wish you had thought up. He made everyone around him laugh.
His greatest joys were his two daughters – Lacey and Alexis. They loved his Donald Duck and Elmer Fudd impersonations. And how he could make raindrop sounds by thumping his finger against his outer cheek. Alexis remembers how he would always say “Boing, boing, boing” as he bounced her on his knee or as he lifted her high over curbs while out walking. Lacey remembers Butterfly Kisses and how, when she was a girl, he took her “puddle jumping” by driving his car through a wet parking lot after a hard rain, the water spraying up around their Honda Civic. His girls both remember the thrill of roller coaster rides, how he would laugh, and how he held an arm over them to protect them, just in case.
Although Todd made a living in sales, “his heart was in cooking,’’ Lacey recalled. It’s what he would have loved in another career. He competed with friends successfully in barbecue competitions, including the American Royal, and happily served up feasts to his family in foil containers, ready to re-heat. When she was little, Alexis said, “I was squirter girl. I was in charge of the apple juice bottle.” His daughters loved Sunday morning breakfasts with mom and dad, when they would whip up biscuits and gravy.
Todd loved movies and reciting memorable lines. The list of favorites was long and varied. There was Cool Hand Luke – “no man can eat 50 eggs” – and Pulp Fiction. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. The Shawshank Redemption. Shrek, and The Princess Bride. “We watched that a lot,’’ his girls recalled in unison. He loved sunflower seeds and peanut M&Ms and working out, but he hated being in the sun and really hated mosquitos and bees. No wonder: Whenever he got stung, he swelled up like a two-bit boxer. He loved KU basketball and hauling Alexis to Late Night in The Phog, and he was passionate about the Royals and Chiefs.
He loved his grandchildren, Brayden and Jersey, and a niece and nephew, Lauren and Kyle. Brayden remembers a generous grandpa who attended his baseball games and was fun to talk to – by phone or in person, didn’t matter. Jersey remembers a grandpa who was funny to be around and helped her cook a first lasagna. Todd had a knack for picking gifts that felt closely personal, a sign that he listened to those he loved and knew what would make you happy. “He gave me his big heart,’’ Alexis said. “He genuinely wanted to help others.”
Todd fought against difficult challenges in his life. But, as his daughters said, “We remember his determination and courage to try to push through it.”
When we lose someone we love, the stars seem to glow fainter at night. But they will brighten again with time, replenished by the love that was left in our hearts.
Todd leaves a loving family and friends: his mother, Kathy Woolsey, and step-dad, Jack Woolsey; his father, Frank Taylor, and step-mom Susan Taylor; his daughters, Lacey Gibson and Alexis Taylor and their mother, Lisa Ballou; a son-in-law, Eric Gibson; grandchildren, Brayden and Jersey Gibson; brothers Jeff Taylor and Corey Taylor and sisters-in-law Alison Young Taylor, Francine Taylor and Jo-Ann Barnas Taylor; a niece, Lauren Taylor, and nephew, Kyle Taylor.
In lieu of flowers, the family suggests contributions to the Friends of Johnson County Mental Health, 6000 Lamar Avenue, Suite 130, Mission, KS, 66202.
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