Dad and I were talking about death once, and we came to the decision that it always comes too early. Death will always interrupt the process of life, which is something that almost always has intrinsic worth. Even if all it interrupts is one more breath, or something as simple as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, that’s one more of whatever that won’t be had. When I think about Dad’s life, I consider the fact that none of us, no matter who, will ever have an absolutely perfect life, whatever that may be. I am certain that nearly everyone has something that they wish were different, something they could have done differently.
In contrast, when I look at my Dad’s life, I see a lot of integrity, I see completion. I see his civility, his friendliness, his kindness. I see a man who loved his pleasures honestly. He had a great sense of humor, he was definitely what is known as a ‘people-person’. He loved his dessert, his steak, his drink. He loved children, animals, and his family. He loved playing golf. It’s not easy to capture all of these years neatly, in just a few words, an entire life that seems for its over sixty years, still short by a decade at least. He could appreciate high and low art, equally as enraptured by the redneck comics as by the Westminster Symphonic Choir. At one time, he played a few piano recitals, Chopin and Gershwin accurately and expressively with his large hands. I consider that my father was the type of man that you could trust. He could be trusted with the CIA’ s field agent’s laptop computers. He was the kind of man you could lend your car to. If you were in any kind of trouble, he was someone to have on speed-dial. He could be trusted with the design of something complex, radars and missile systems. As systems go, he seemed to take complicated things in stride, I never understood why he used to say “Schlock Engineer.” Personally, I thought of any engineering as fantastically difficult and although I consider myself a quick study, I had no illusions of following his footsteps down that exclusive path.
I have always hoped that I inherited his trustworthiness as part of his legacy. I remember Laura telling me about watching a sitcom with him, one episode that featured adultery in a prominent yet somewhat casual way and it caused him to storm out of the room muttering imprecations. He found that lack of integrity distasteful, he was disgusted by dishonesty. A loss like this makes me think about legacies, his in particular, which seems to be mostly in this room right now. There are seemingly everyday things we just assume: to make a good living, to raise children successfully, to be there for your parents, to be a good spouse. These are small things we take for granted that my father saw as givens, these were what you did, what you were supposed to do. They were what he did, and they are neither small nor easy tasks. They seem less common every day.
From time to time, he would dream of self employment, these mostly involved a small business like “Hot Tub Heaven” or “Beef on ‘Wick,” maybe hanging wallpaper. He had a wide range of interests, he investigated dentistry, flying for the military, selling real-estate, accountancy. I remember a table saw in his basement workshop. He loved to garden and finished the basement, taking on even the things that most people contract out, the challenging plumbing and electric. I also seem to recall something about Tiara glassware, a few large boxes on the shelf, they were nice pieces.
There are a lot of things I’ll remember about my Dad. He taught me a lot, with the serious amount of patience that must’ve involved. He was always tireless in his support of whatever we were involved in. He taught me baseball, frisbee, chess and even coached my soccer team one season.
I think about what sticks in my mind, and what made the most impression on him. Aside from the previously mentioned Choir, there were two other things he was impressed by: the Nuclear-powered aircraft carrier U.S.S. Nimitz, and Yosemite National Park. That small list never really grew, I liked that. I am sure we all have our own top three impressive things.
The last time I saw dad in the hospital, I told him that I was lucky to have him as a father and I was thankful that he was my dad. I am glad I had a chance to tell him that. I am going to miss him a lot, my world is forever less than it was.
