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Eulogy I Delivered For My Father, May He Rest In Peace before/after This is the eulogy I delivered at my father's funeral. We sent him off in a manner that would please him, I think. We had a nice photoboard montage set up, and cashews laid out, as they were his favorite. There was an incredible amount of people, and tons of flowers. They did the service, and my brother and I eulogized him each in turn. And at the end? The end, to signify the end of the service, we had them play "On the Road Again" by Willie Nelson for the recessional music. You'd have to read the eulogy I delivered to understand, but either way I find it fitting.
He was respected and loved. He was blunt, but honest. He cared...about family and friends, and his custormers, that became his friends. He ran a successful business for over thirty years that I will continue. He knew every one of his customers by name when they walked in the door. And if he didn't...well at least he pretended to unitl he remembered. Or until Karen reminded him. And when he was reminded, then he would know their entire life history, their family, their friends, and anything else that you could imagine. It was amazing. It was just....sometimes his memory needed a little jogging as he got older. ------- My Father was my mentor, he was the protector of our family. Our rock in the stormy waters of life. He wasn't someone you would want to cross, especially when his family was involved. The house seems empty without him. Whenever my brother and I were together, with mom and him, we would tease him, lovingly, but relentlessly. And he would take it. He would take his "turn in the barrel" with grace, unlike Mom, who we learned over time really can't take a joke. He would just sit there and smile until he came up with a good comeback. Sometimes it took time. Sometimes I think he just liked his boys playing with him, so he didnt say anything. ------- He taught me to ride motorcycles. I remember the first time I rode a motorcycle. It was a small 80 cc bike. He said "Ok, ride it down the road, across it, and then back to me through the ditch. So I rode it down the road. NO PROBLEM. I road it into the ditch. OK. Then I road it back to him in the ditch. And I hit a stone. A large stone. I went head over heels. The bike went one way--I went the other. I had no idea what happened, all I knew was that I was laying on the ground. And he walked over, looked at me and said, "Y'know...we don't have to tell your mother about this." And you know something? Mom didn't find out about it until this week.
He was a lion in winter, a great business man with sharp acumen. He was careful in his consideration, honest and honorable. He did have his impulsive side, though, like when he decided to restore a classic car. Or when he decided to take up blacksmithing. Or go parasailing. Or when he told mom he wanted a monkey. That didn't go over too well. He also decided at one point he wanted a minuture horse. That...didn't go over too well, either. He had a whole plan of keeping one behind the shed. Ruth...didn't let him do it. ("Are YOU going to feed it?"...and that was the end of that.) I found the phone number for a minature horse farm at work, so he didn't let that one go too easy, though. ------------------------- He was a man of all seasons. He was a jack-of-all-trades,and a master of many. He was an excellent craftsman, he could make anything out of wood, and approached it like some approach brain surgery. Often I would think the project was done, and he would tear it all down and start over just because he didn't like one minutely small detail that was hardly visible. He took the same approach to firearms and hunting. He was a crack shot and an excellent hunter. He could accomplish anything he set his mind to. He willed himself to succeed. He could do just about anything. Except cooking. He couldn't cook a lick. Mom was in the hospital for a few days when Chris and I were kids. He cooked us pancakes....that somehow had a runny center, sort of like juicy fruit gum. One time when we left him at home for a week without a lot of food. We came home, and I found a half-full can of spaghetti-o's in the trash. He didnt use a can-opener, but He had somehow torn the top partly open with some sort of a tool. On the stove was a pot filled with water. I asked Dad what he was trying to do. "Make a double boiler." he said. It was just sad. We could have left him in a room with a stove, pan, can opener and a ton of canned food and he would have starved. I said something to him about this and offered to show him a few things, and he said "Why should I learn to cook? I got married." ------------ He was a loving father. He loved my mother more than life itself. They had been joined at the hip since she was fourteen when they met in Algebra class at Reese high school. He loved his family. He loved me and my brother, and we loved him. We both may have butted heads as sons and fathers do when chris and I were both teens, but there was nothing unresolved. The last thing I did with my father was to give him a hug. I told him I loved him often, and I know for sure at least three weeks before he died, if not sooner than that. I'm not ashamed to say it: I loved my father then, and I love him now. He always wanted to help us, he loved us. But he did have a temper. Paitence wasn't always his strong suit. There was the time he helped me fix my bike. I was probably about 13. I had a huffy omni ten. Ten speed bicycle. And the shifter was broke in back. It was a warm, sunny day, and dad strolled in, whistling, wearing black socks and shorts. He'd already had a few glasses of wine as he would usually do on a saturday. "Here Jay!" he said with his usual bravado, "Ill help you fix your bike." So he bent down and started working on it, and working on it. And working on it. And getting NOWHERE with it. And his eyes got darker and darker. Then his jaw clenched and his jaw muscle started twitching. Finally he snapped, picked up the bike and threw it across the garage. "ITS BROKE!!!!" he shouted. Then took the screwdriver he was using and threw it at it. The screwdriver hit the floor of the garage. SPARKS flew up. I looked at him and said, "Its just the rear derailleur, dad," "I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE HECK A REAR DERALLIEUR IS!!!" he shouted, and then stormed off. He didn't talk to me for the rest of the day. I must have teased him with that story at least a dozen times. -------- He loved his business. It was like another child. There was the time he fitted glasses for a special young child with Downs syndrome. He said the kid gave him a big hug, and dave said "That's payment enough." He had a big heart. I told him once I felt like there wasn't a place for me, that I couldn't find a place for me in the world. "Jay," he said, there's a place for you right here. I told him another time that I was unhappy with my accomplishments. He looked at me and said, "Yeah, but Jay the important thing is to be HAPPY." He had a plain spoken wisdom. He was always proud of me, even if I wasn't always proud of myself. -------------------------- But of all those, what I cant help thinking, through it all, is when I was a child. Dad was a morning person. He used to wake up in the best moods, and come and wake me up by saying "UP AND APPLE JAY!!! ITS GOING TO BE A GREAT DAY!!!" Which probably explains why Im not a morning person.... And he would sing to the radio with enthusiasm, with gusto, especially in the morning. He stopped doing that after a certain age. But when he still did, whenever we went on these long trips in the woods, or to some tourist destination, like King's Island, he would sing "ON THE ROAD AGAIN, LIKE A BAND OF GYPSIES AS WE GO DOWN THE HIGHWAY...." But there's a sunny morning in particular that Im thinking of, he sang a John Lennon song, "IM JUST SITTING HERE WATCHING THE WHEELS GO ROUND AND ROOOOOUUUUND, I LOVE TO WATCH 'EM ROLLLL...." And that's what I think of when I think of my Dad. A loving man, who loved his wife, his children, his family and friends, and through it all, through all the heartaches, the pitfalls and pain of life, would wake up and sing to his sons, who lived life on his terms grabbing it by the throat until the very end, a man's man, adored by his wife, loved by his sons, respected by the community. I loved my dad, and still do. And he will be greatly missed.
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