I’m Jim, the youngest of five siblings. I was born 54 years ago, when my dad was 34. In 1958, 34 was considered well past middle age, and in that period, pretty old to be having your 5th child. Dad proved the skeptics wrong as he was active in all-of-my life. He watched me turn 50, watch my kids, Nikki and CJ, grow into adulthood and got to spend time with my grand kids Hailey and Drake. This was not unusual, Dad was active in all of our lives.
This afternoon you’ll be hearing from each of the five kids, along with a couple of surprise speakers I think you’ll enjoy. We each feel the best way to honor our dad is to share with you just a few stories and lessons learned. I’m blessed to have an amazing sister and brothers who are unique, yet similar in many ways, as you’ll see today.
Dad had cancer; we don’t know how long exactly, it was sneaky, appearing as extra fluid around his belly, ear aches, and other problems that caused recent hospital visits.
In the end, Dad figured out how to stop cancer from stealing valuable time from his kids. I believe he added 5 years to his life, however those 5 years were condensed down into months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds and divided into 5 for each of us to spend with him, one-on-one, over the past several months.
Cancer also brought me much closer to my siblings; something I didn’t think was possible considering how close we have all been throughout my life. We rallied behind dad, teamed up to watch over him with the doctors and hospital staff. No one touch dad without our watchful eye. We all loved caring for him and he loved seeing us all together.
So no, cancer did not win. Dad won. Family won. I won.
Four months ago, he took me out for tacos and a margarita to celebrate my birthday. Just two men, sitting in a booth, slowing down time. We sat for hours, we talked about life, being a dad, work, love, and memories of my mom. It was magical and the best birthday I could ask for. I got to express how I really felt about him, as a man and as my dad. Before we left that booth, he grabbed my hand tight, looked me straight in my eyes and said, “I’ve had a good life, I have five great kids, happy birthday.”
I responded, “Dad, one last question, who’s your favorite?” He just gave that grin, nothing more.
Dad was born in 1923, his first refrigerator was an ice-box. No, that isn’t a brand name, it was an insulated box that had a block of ice in it to cool it down. His first phone was a party line, he would pick up the phone and the operator would connect his call. He didn’t learn to drive until his twenties, they would gather around the radio, not the TV, to be entertained.
I asked him what technological advancement he appreciated the most and he told me: carbon fiber and titanium.
That makes sense I said, you used those materials at Valley Machine Shop. “I’m talking about my tennis racket, they’ve come a long way since laminated wood”, Dad said with another grin.
As I looked at thousands of family photos over the past month, it dawned on me that I was taller than him. I found that funny, as I always thought of him taller than me. That will not change.
I always described my dad as a quiet man. What I came to understand was, he's simply an intense listener. He didn’t duck a hard question and would offer advice when asked, but he preferred to listen. I would like to be as good as a listener as him someday.
His roots grew deep. 47 years in the same home on Christmas Tree Lane, the only home I remember growing up in. I celebrated 41 consecutive Christmas Eves in that home, it’s full of memories. I’ve come to appreciate everything about the home this past year, like sitting at his roll-up desk that I used to do my homework on in high school. He told me a few weeks ago, “oh you’re going to have a lot of fun going through the house when I’m gone, it’s full of treasures.” He wasn’t kidding. I opened his main dresser drawer and right next to his underwear were hundreds of postcards, from each of the kids over the past 40 years. He kept them all, right next to his tighty-whities. Hand written postcards, with a picture that speaks 1000s of words. Postcards are so underrated in today’s text message society. When you leave here today, pick up a post card and send it to someone you love. If you get one, stick it in your underwear drawer.
Be kind and watch what happens. Dad never held back a thank-you, regardless of his poor health or lack of strength. He found the strength to say it…often. I got to witness the power of those two words, over and over again and how it truly touched his doctors, staff at memorial hospital and at Rosewood. I learned that "Thank You" is an expression of love, be generous with them.
Dessert. My dad NEVER passed on homemade desert and we learned at an early age that a meal was not complete without desert. I going to miss hearing him say, “What’s for dessert?” Start enjoying dessert again and think of my dad.
I didn't doubt that my dad knew that I loved him. These past weeks allowed me to have moments of true clarity with him. I wanted him to know I was struggling with what my life would be like without him, when he had been there for me, my entire life. It’s not that we talked all the time, we didn’t, but he was there when I did call. He always greeted me with a hug and got choked up, in a cute way, when it got time for me to return to Oregon. Now I can talk to him without picking up the phone and I fill his presence all around me.
As I am standing up here today, I realize how fortunate I was to have him as my Father and am thankful for the influence he had in my life.
As I close, if there is one thing that I would want you to remember about my dad, it would be that he loved us, with all his heart. As we gather here today to celebrate his life, I know there is not one member of my family that wished Dad had loved them more, we simply wish we could have loved him longer.
Good Bye Pop – Give mom a hug for me.
...Jim
Great picture, Jim. Thanks for posting your eulogy.
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