Eulogy II

Coming up to one year since dad's passing. Now, my uncle (close to me like a dad) is failing. I never did get around to posting the eulogy I delivered for my dad on August 31, 2018 at St. Jude's Church, where I was baptized, confirmed, married. Where I remember hanging out in the parking lot with Lorraine, Lori and Linda, listening to The Shondells' Crystal Blue Persuasion blaring from the speakers of the Trabant on a hot summer carnival night...

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YO, Razz ...

As many of you know, that was one of my dad's endearing ways to greet you. 

YO, Razz! 

I can still hear him say it. It was meant for those he was happy to see. Today, you are all Razzes.

There were thousands of endearing things about my dad. It's difficult to know where to begin. Mostly, he shaped our lives in ways both colossal and subtle.

I want to start with a journal entry I wrote a few years back, one that I titled "You always want more."

"Looking across the table at my kids as we dine on sushi, I smile as I watch my son. He is fixated on the engineering behind chop sticks purposely rigged with a rubber band to make them 5-year-old friendly. The aroma of black tea as the cup nears my lips reminds me of pot incense. My daughter orders her usual steamed rice and edamame. 

Then, I overhear a request from a booth two doors down.

"Orange soda."

I want to immediately scream NO ICE. And at that moment, I realize how very different this dinner out with my kids is compared with those of my youth.

You see, growing up in the recession-burdened seventies in a blue collar neighborhood with a Depression-era father meant dinners out were either for a special occasion, or must involve a too-good-to-pass-up coupon. The special occasion was usually a birthday. As for the coupon, it was almost always McDonalds. I can still see him at the counter, always finishing his family of five order with TWO large orange sodas, NO ICE. And three extra courtesy cups.

So to this day, I am compelled to respond NO ICE to any mention of orange soda. And that is exactly what I did that evening in the Japanese restaurant. I chuckled to myself as I did so and thought of those days gone by, and all the other instances where my father's rationing and frugality made for good natured dad bashing conversations between my siblings and me. We eventually came to realize and appreciate that being raised by a spendthrift had no ill effect on us. It taught us conservation rather than wastefulness. It motivated us to work harder to earn more if more is indeed what you want. 

The only think I want more right now, is him.

My dad was a party. He was an aging child full of awe, finding humor in just about all situations. He was ever-questioning himself and others on topics both simplistic and profound. He possessed delightful spontenaity, whether it be coming home with a stray pet, a curbside treasure or another mechanical dancing figurine to add to his man cave decor. He had a sly style of slipping in clever one liners when you least expected it. Even though rendomly expressed hundreds of times, I never not laughed at Joe Bananas and His Bunch, music with a peel! He was extremely resourceful, and could and would fix anything, from Lincoln Continentals to lawn chairs. He was much smarter than he realized. His heart was immense. He was loved and respected by many, but not as much as by his devoted wife of 58 years, Catherine (yay, mom!) whom he cherished and with whom he flourished. And by his children. 

My dad will continue to bless our lives as we remember what he taught us by example, and as we share memories of him with each other. I thank all of you for being here this morning to celebrate his life.