Remembering Dad

Today would have been my dad's 89th birthday.  He was so dear to me.  He taught me how to drive, even though many of our lessons ended with me stomping home, him following me and yelling at me to get in the car, and then him pouring a stiff drink the moment he got in the door.  He taught me how to pray.  We were not raised in a religious home, but as a kid I decided I wanted to know how to pray, so he taught me, "Now I lay me down to sleep..."   People said I looked like him when I was a kid, but I never saw it.  He passed away in March 2004, and those were some very dark days.  Anyhow, today I'm sharing the eulogy I wrote for him those eight years ago.

Eulogy for my Father

I want to thank you all for coming here today to support my family and say goodbye to my father.

We each come with our special memories of a man we knew as a nature lover, dog lover, bird watcher, friend, neighbor, co-worker, veteran, cousin, uncle, husband, dad, and pop-pop. Many of you have been sharing your memories with us, and I’d like to tell you one of our family stories usually shared by the relatives each Christmas gathering at my parents’house. Mom and Dad met thanks to her brother Ralph. He took his sister out to a club one night, and it was then that Mom met the blond, blue-eyed gorgeous sailor from Toledo, Ohio. It was love at first sight, but Dad was definitely a catch that took some taming. Stories have it that Mom’s father, a Philadelphia cop, liked to stroke his gun while talking to Dad about his intentions towards my mother. They made a beautiful couple. I have their wedding picture on my desk at school. Once, one of my students asked me who those people were in the picture. I looked at him quizzically and he said, “You know – that lady from Gone With The Wind and that movie star.”

My parents would have been married fifty-seven years this April.

We remember what a handsome guy Dad was. What a funny guy he was. If he got tired on a shopping trip with Mom, he would quickly walk around the store and touch all the merchandise. “There,“he’d say to Mom. “I’ve touched everything for you. Let’s go.”

We remember Dad as a war veteran. He liked to remind us that he was there in Pearl Harbor at the beginning of World War II, and he was there at the end, as Japan surrendered. He was a modest war hero, one who didn’t talk about his service duty. But he proudly wore his Pearl Harbor Survivor hat wherever he went.

Neil Sardinas best summed up my Dad recently in a comment he made to my sister. I am paraphrasing, but he said that Dad was quite a guy…a tough guy, a war hero, but yet the kind of man who would let his daughters, Lien and Laurel, play hairdresser and put ribbons in his hair.

We will all carry our special memories of Dad in our hearts. But if we look carefully enough, we will see him in others.

If you look closely, you will see my Dad behind and beside my mother as he holds her up while she begins to independently care for her health needs. Stop by our house at 5:00 on Saturdays; he’ll be there watching the East Enders with Mom.

If you look at me, you’ll see him at my side as I scour the yard sales and flea markets looking for that piece of junk that is really a treasure. You’ll hear him in my jokes and wry comments, as we shared a similar sense of humor.

When we were little kids, my dad was a rough and tumble daddy. We’d crawl all over him and do somersaults on his stomach. All you have to do is look at my brother with Reba, and you will see my father.

My father will be hovering over my sister, watching over her and guiding her as she raises her daughter, Reba Jean.

Reba Jean. The light of our lives. My father’s special “Bao Bao,” his treasured granddaughter. Helen tells us that Reba’s first spoken word was Pop-Pop. And that was also the first word she learned to write.
 

Reba loved her Pop-Pop. This Christmas she gave Glenn a cap with the Chinese character for the word “hero” written on it. He was delighted with his gift. However, we all were touched when all on her own Reba threw herself into Dad’s arms and said,” You’re my hero, too.”

When Helen explained to Reba what had happened to Dad, she told her that Pop-Pop would always be in her heart. Reba thoughtfully digested that information, and then asked her Mom a bunch of questions on the drive over to Bubbe’s.

“Is Pop-Pop in my heart?”
“Yes Reba.”
“Is Pop-Pop in Mommy’s heart?”
“Yes Reba.”
“Is Pop-Pop in Bubbe’s heart?”
“Yes Reba”
“Is Pop-Pop in Uncle’s heart?”
“Yes Reba”
“Is Pop-Pop in Aunt Barbara’s heart?”
“Yes Reba”
“Is Pop-Pop in the Survivors heart?”

So there you have it. Dad hasn’t left us. He’s here. In our hearts.