Irreplaceable

Recently my good friend and blogger extraordinaire (Trelvix) posted a story as he was remembering the anniversary of the death of his father. It inspired me to post something as well.

My Dad was one of the most amazing human beings I've ever known. He was always the most wonderful father to me, and even after three years of missing him I still get a little bleary-eyed sometimes when something reminds me particularly of him.

He was well spoken, much loved, much admired and had the most amazing gift for making people laugh. He was large in stature (picture in your mind John Wayne), but he never made those around him feel small. He was a good lawyer for many years, generous with both his time and his money, active in his church and the community... but I think it was his friends and family that brought him the most joy.

He taught me to play tennis and golf, how to properly hand wash and wax your car, the importance of saving money and how to balance your checkbook, but most importantly he gave me a love for life. I still miss him.

So, below, I give to you the eulogy I read at his funeral. I can't tell you how many times I had to rehearse this before I could even make it to the end without completely losing it. It still chokes me up a little just in the re-reading, but I'd love for people outside of our family to know what an amazing man he was.

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John Milton Peters' funeral, June 2004

Here we all are gathered, friends and family, to say a last goodbye to my Dad, John Peters. Some of us have been saying goodbye to him for several years now, so in many ways his death, while it brings great sadness and tears, also brings a real sense of relief. Dad suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, and the last few years, especially, have been hard on all of us. The John we knew for so long as a vibrant, active, loving man was replaced by a hollow shell. Gratefully, he’s no longer chained to that shell, but has moved on to a much better place; or as President Reagan once said, he’s “slipped the surly bonds of Earth to touch the face of God.”

This is also a time to say hello to Dad. Now that he’s no longer confined by his physical body, he’s able to be with us everywhere, and at all times; we’ll see his smiling face hidden among the garden flowers, or hear the echo of his laughter in the clink of ice cubes at the bottom of a cool glass of whiskey. This should be a time of celebration, a time to be thankful for each other, and to be happy in the knowledge that we, as Christians, have a better life waiting for all of us. Dad’s in a wonderful place now, doing all the things he loved to do, and enjoying life with the friends and family that got there before he did.

I’m continually surprised by what other people tell me about Dad – how he touched their lives in a memorable way. He had that effect on everyone. I don’t think I ever met anyone that didn’t like my dad, but just as important, I never remember hearing my Dad say an unkind word about someone else. He was a very special person, and taught all of us kids the importance of tolerance and forgiveness, but also how laughter can heal any wound and bridge all gaps.

So, I’d like to share with you just five of the many things that I will always remember about Dad. Things that made him so special to me, and special to all of us.

1) Dad LOVED a cold beer. But he was not picky when it came to brands. As a matter of fact, if it was on sale, it was his favorite. I especially remember “Schmidt” brand, because each of the cans had a different wildlife scene on it, and I thought that was pretty cool. But I also remember on multiple occasions we had that horrible black & white “generic” beer in the fridge. Which makes me pretty glad that I wasn’t old enough to drink beer back then… And of course the freezer was always full of frosty glass mugs – that’s a tradition ALL of us kids carry on today. I can always picture a “just-mowed-the-lawn” sweaty dad sitting at the kitchen table, and how his face would light up after a long, cold gulp.

2) Dad LOVED ice cream. It was always a treat when just the two of us would stop into Evans Ice Cream parlor... I remember sitting in the booth, and my feet didn’t touch the floor. Dad would always get a turtle sundae. Like with ANY food he loved, Dad would emit lots of “MMMMmmmmms” while he was enjoying every bite. You could also find Dad on many a late night, sitting at the kitchen table with an open carton of ice cream and a spoon. This is a bad habit I still carry with me. But if we had chocolate or caramel sauce or strawberry preserves in the fridge, you can bet his ice cream was drowned in it.

3) Dad told the world’s longest jokes. ANYone who ever new Dad remembers that he was a classic story teller and loved to entertain people with his joke telling. He would pour every ounce of energy into facial expressions and body language to aid in his joke telling… Who can forget such classics as “Big Mouth Frog” and “Moose Turd Pie”? Told by anyone else, they really weren’t all that funny. But when Dad told them, you couldn’t stop laughing. Making people laugh brought him a lot of joy.

4) Dad was a great dancer. When my folks still lived up at 214 5th Ave. – that large foyer with the black and white checkered flooring frequently hosted the dancing feet of late-night party revelers. The females of the group would often remark to me “I just love dancing with your Dad - he is such a good dancer!” But I have two distinctly different memories of dancing with Dad – one as an adult, when we shared the “Daddy-daughter dance” at my wedding… I remember how thankful I was that he was still healthy enough back then to shuffle me around the floor, and I clung to him, knowing that his dancing days were numbered. But I love most the memories of dancing with him as a little girl. When I was very small, he’d cinch me up on his waist with one arm, and hold my hand with the other. I’d throw my arm around his neck and hang on for dear life, because once he started do to the Lindy Shuffle (or whatever you call that bouncy shuffle dance he used to do) my legs would flop around wildly from side to side, and I giggled and giggled and so did he, with his cheek pressed against mine as he intentionally made my legs flop even more wildly. When I got a little bigger, he’d have me stand on the top of his feet when we danced. It was almost like a game – me, with my arms stretched around as far as they would go, hanging on tightly and trying not to get bucked-off while he shuffled and dodged and sang along to the music in his classic “boo-dee-doo-dumm-dumm” sing-song. He really loved dancing, and really loved a good tune.

Which brings me to number 5
5) Dad really LOVED music. ALL kinds of music. He’d often sit at the piano late into the night, plunking out tunes and singing along. And he really enjoyed singing Christmas Carols. But the sound of barbershop songs in our house is a gift that ALL of us kids will carry with them their entire lives. None of us can put all the parts together like our parents did – our harmonies are horrible. But the image of Dad with his finger in his ear, eyes squeezed shut with concentration, belting out one of his favorites… is an image that is permanently burned on my brain. Bill Grogan’s Goat, The Old Songs, Silver Dollar, Old Green River, Goodbye My Coney Island Baby… it still brings me such joy to sing these songs with the rest of my family. And now I know the next time we sing them, Dad will be there, crooning right along.


I love you Dad.

Bandaid

In what isle of the Walgreens does one find the Bandaid for sorrow? There's Scooby Doo, Spider Man, flesh colored, all shapes and sizes, but nothing I can find says "heals the hurt from an emotional wound". Dang.

My oldest squab is going through a tough time right now. Mid-twenties, and her world is all confusing and full of tough decisions. I don't miss that shit. Not that being in my 40's is so great (sore knees, chin hair, fat ass, saggy boobs and SOOO looking forward to menopause down the road), but it sure beats the crap out of being 25.

Do you remember how SHITTY being single and dating was? OH MY GOD - I SOOOO do not miss that. Sometimes I do miss the initial thrill of new love, but not often. My poor squab is lonely and single, and she's missing a lost love from years past.

How do I tell her that she's looking back with rose-colored glasses? How do I tell her that if things HAD worked out, she'd likely be divorced by now? (jr. high/high school romances SO RARELY work out). How do I tell her that she's not doing herself any favors by not moving on? I guess these are things one has to work out for one's self. I've been there, done that. I just wish she didn't have to re-invent the wheel, but, unfortunately, that's what growing up is all about.

Learning to deal with sadness, healing your heart, then getting stronger from it. If I could figure out how to manufacture THAT Bandaid, I'd be a friggin' millionaire.

Smart Asses R Us

I've always known that I come from a family full of smart asses. Myself included. And I've always known that we come by it honestly - a genetic trait handed down from my grandmother, through my mother, and now to my brothers and me.

Those who have come to know our family accept this lively banter as our manner of communication. Rarely is a complete sentence spoken without one of us slinging a backhanded remark or unfurling a great comment like Sir John Gielgud's butler in the movie Arthur... "I'll alert the media." (if you don't know the movie, I won't bother explaining it).

Tonight we gathered at my Mom's retirement complex for "Pool Night". This is the second time we've done this: my mom orders a bunch of pizza, somebody brings a cooler full of beer, and we hang out in the pool room at the "death star" (as the local firmen call it) and play pool (poorly) and make fun of each other.

It was a blast. I think my mom totally enjoys having all her little chicks scratching around while mother hen directs traffic. Mostly she joins in and makes fun of us. "Gee, sure seems like a long time since someone's hit a ball in." "Do I need to pay for lessons for you kids?" That sort of thing. She'll have one beer (no more; "it gives me heartburn") and a piece or two of pizza, and just soaks it all in.

At one point when the sarcasm was at its zenith, my husband turns to my mom and says, "Your realize, of course, that YOU taught them to act like this." She just lowered her head and started to giggle.

I will never, ever, forget the day when I was about 10 years old, and my mom, dad, and I were sitting at the kitchen table with fresh cones from Dairy Queen. Mom sniffs her cone several times, making a sour face with each sniff. She hands the cone to my dad. "Does this smell strange to you?" My dad, ever trusting, puts the cone to his nose (it was quite the large honker, mind you) to test the scent... and BAM! Mom pushes the cone into his face.

I thought I would die. I may have peed my pants, I don't remember. All I can remember is my mom laughing for about an hour. My dad was a saint.