Eulogy

My dad was my favorite person.

On some nights when I was about 19, trying to go to sleep at his apartment where he was nice enough to let me be his roommate rent-free, he would stay up and talk to me about the cosmos. These penny-philosophy lessons taught me more about myself and my place in the universe, about a perspective that made sense to me, then any interaction I’ve ever had.

Because my dad was a thinker.

You knew that maybe only after knowing him for a while, I don’t know. He was quiet about it (like he was about most things). He had a deep, solid, way of looking at things. He wasn’t easily swayed, but he would change his mind if he saw the logic in it. He was DEEPLY RATIONAL, slow to anger (glacial even?), and not very outwardly emotional. He had a quiet way about him. And he was displeased with something he would indicate it ever so slightly, because he didn’t want to weigh in. Didn’t want to tip the scales. He let you be your own man, even though all I ever wanted to do was to please him. To be like him. I emulate him now because he is my role model, what I want to be.

My dad was a mystery. 

He kept his thoughts mostly to himself. He was a master at saying something profound in as few words as possible. But whenever something big would happen in my life I would want to tell him right away, both for the approval I hoped he would give, and to find out what his reaction would be. I got good at predicting his reactions, but he would still surprise me.

My dad had a funny sense of humor.

Fried rices at The China. Or, “Let’s went”. Classic. We would talk on the phone and find something funny and just laugh out loud at a joke that if you explain it it makes no sense. I remember one time when we still lived in Manhattan. My dad had been working on this puzzle which was made of two horseshoes linked by a chain with a metal ring in the middle, in such a way that the ring was too small to pull off the horseshoes. It’s a little puzzle and you’ve probably seen it before. Anyway, after about two weeks or so of fiddling with it on his chair in the living room in the evenings, he concluded to us “It’s a prank. There is no solution. It’s more like a statement about futility.” Anyway. Another week passed and then one day my mom, Gen, and I heard screaming from the living room. Some commotion with my dad making these terrible loud noises in the other room. So we rush over to the doorway holding each others hands afraid to go in, and my dad is standing there in front of us with the ring off the thing, in one hand, and the horseshoes in the other hand, laughing with tears streaming down his face. It took us a moment to understand what was happening, to register what we were seeing, and then tentatively start to laugh with him. Before that moment I don’t think my sister or I had ever seen my dad laugh before. 

My dad loved BG.

I think living here was more his speed. He loved to fly kites in the fields by the stadium, and he brought his business with him. He employed me and got me a company truck (a chevy S10), he let me get away with some crazy hours so I could sleep in, sometimes not coming in until lunch. He really started opening up here in Ohio. I got to know him, and I think other people did too. He invented gadgets with the intention of making it rich, he did line dancing, he worked on his business, but he was always looking for the thing that would take him to the next level. Something that would really knock it out of the park. I don’t think it really bothered him too much that nothing really took off, and I don’t think he ever really gave up trying. He just put it on the back burner. I know he loves Pat, and the house they have in Defiance is awesome. But I think BG is kind of like that too. He didn’t really give up on it, he just put it aside for later. I have to say, if you don’t know what I’m talking about I’m sorry, but it makes sense to me, because I think I do the same thing nowadays, too.

My dad was a do-er.

He really never quit. He kept doing his business until maybe a year ago, because he loved doing it, and was doing line dancing with Pat until maybe a bit before that, and playing cards with Pat and their friends in Defiance until recently. He always looked and felt young. He had good genes, I guess, but also took care of himself making home cooked food and being active. He wasn’t hyper, just a slow burner. He kept doing the things he loved because he loved doing them. A good lesson in there somewhere too, if I had to guess *wink wink*.

My dad never complained.

I mean I can’t remember a complaint coming from my dad. Not ever. In my 20’s I had a certain, shall we say, Derelict Chiq fashion sense. I would show up to work with a mop of hair, ragged courduroy’s, and a beat up stained T-shirt. I don’t think it was really I was trying to be an asshole, probably I just didn’t really enjoy doing laundry. Anyway, one day he asked me “Do you have to look like a homeless person all the time?” That was the closest I think my dad ever got to complaining about my appearance or anything else to me. Or the time he arrived in Philly after driving 10 hours with Pinky to come into Gen’s living room and Gen asks about Pinky’s new boyfriend, to which my dad chirps in “Yea, Pinky. Tell Gen about Sandy!” (pause) If you know what’s what, that’s my dad’s way of saying he had been hearing about Sandy for the last 10 hours.

I will miss my Dad.

I’ll miss talking to him on the phone. And laughing at jokes only we understand. I’ll miss talking to him about the universe and our place in it. I’ll miss bouncing the big ideas off him, like when I asked him at the hospital “Hey Dad, I think I’m going to ask Stacy whether or not she wants to marry me”, to which he responded “Good idea.”

But somehow, I know I’ll never run out of learning new things BECAUSE of my dad.

He’s not really gone.

Because we all remember him. He had an impact on all our lives. And the ripples from his life are still bouncing among us no matter that the body that housed the one who created them is gone. In its place is the shape of my dad, maintained by all that knew him and loved him, as I did.

And even though it sucks that he won’t pick up my calls, and I can’t ask him for advice, I can’t see if I can get him to laugh at something. 

I am grateful. I am grateful that he had such an impact on me, and taught me how to think, and how to react to conflict. 

I am grateful also that in the end he didn’t suffer or have a prolonged death. I’m grateful that he died intact and with dignity. From talking to him this year I could sense a certain change in his thoughts. He didn’t like being retired. He didn’t like that his friend (Gene?) with alzheimers didn’t recognize him let alone his own wife. I don’t think he was mad, just frustrated maybe. But he wouldn’t let on, and he didn’t. He wouldn’t have wanted any special treatment. No extra phone-calls or “I love you”’s. He would have wanted things to go on as before. Because, as someone close to my dad put it to me,

         “Your dad only adds to a situation, he never subtracts. And that’s not something you can usually say about a person.”

         Not a bad role model to have, if a bit ambitious. But I am my father’s son, so I guess I will make do.