Father's Day Tribute

It's ironic that the last time I updated this blog was on Mother's Day.  In that post, I detailed how much my mother has meant to me and how she helped make me the confident person I am today.  At the time, I was also thinking of what I was going to write on Father's Day, knowing that I would also post about what a positive impact my father had on me throughout the years in making me strong.  Little did I know at the time that the post would essentially be a eulogy. 

My training for the last month has been lacking.  First it was because I was preparing to go on vacation and had limited time.  Then my father died, I did go on vacation, then prepared for and went to Connecticut for his service and taking care of his affairs.  Last week, after returning home, my training returned almost to normal.  It was still not perfect, and I skipped my long bike ride today, but I'm getting back into my routine.  With 10 weeks to go, I no longer have any time to waste.  I'll report back next week on how that's going, but this week I'm going to share the speech I gave at my father's memorial service/celebration.  I did not stick to this script exactly, but you'll get the idea.  Thank you, Dad, for giving all the love you had to me and Nicole. 

Thank you all for being here today.  You may have known my dad as a brother, an uncle, a friend or a Marine.  I’d like you to know him as Nicole and I did, as a dad.  I’ll briefly share some memories of the man that I, and many others, considered invincible. 

When I was very small, before my parents divorced, he would get home from work as I was waking up from my afternoon nap.  And if I had been a good girl that day, I’d get his pocket change.  I thought I was rich with the coins he’d give me! 

He was the guy that bought me my first fishing pole, and then had to wade into a freezing cold Lake Williams to retrieve it when I accidentally let it slip from my hands while casting on a chilly afternoon.  He taught us to swim in that same lake.

I called him Doug USMC because of the tattoo on his arm—as a young girl I knew it had to do with the Marines, but I thought that was his “Marine name”, Doug Us-Mic.

He encouraged us in everything we did, and would never let us say “I can’t” if we thought we would fail at something new.  His response was always, “Yes, you can.”  Whether it was our first front flip off the diving board at Aunt Lo’s, climbing higher in a tree in the back yard in Lebanon, or throwing the ball farther in softball practice.

He taught me to drive a stick shift.  You remember that beat up old white Ford truck?  Yeah, I thought all cars with a manual transmission had to start in 2^nd gear, but really it was just that one.  As a vain teenager I drove that truck to the store, to the movies, anywhere he’d let me, really, and I now know those are the little things that build character.

Dad and his cars—he had a Pontiac when I was little, he called it the Green Slime…it was so loud that when he dropped me a nursery school, which happened to be right around the corner from here, as he would peel out of the parking lot I’d proudly say, “There goes my Daddy!”

After our parents divorced and Nicole and I would visit him on the weekends, we would often bring friends with us to play.  He was always accommodating.  What a patient man—he would sit and wait while we played on playgrounds, shopped in the mall, went to the movies.  Whatever we wanted to do.  He was there for my sporting events, often sitting in his truck with Tim to watch from the parking lot, but there, nonetheless.

We would also break into spontaneous dance at the house in Lebanon while visiting him—some good song would come on the oldies station on the radio, and Dad and Nicole and I would act silly.  Something that we did even as adults when we would see him.  Dancing, singing, always laughing.

Of course, he could also be the disciplinarian.  If we were goofing off when he told us not to, all he would have to do is come outside or wherever we were, stand with crossed arms and pursed lips, and we would stop in our tracks.  He used to say that he didn’t need a belt for discipline—he had “the hand”.  Yet not once did he lay a hand on us, he never needed to.  That’s the kind of respect we had for him.

On the occasions when we were sick or got hurt, he was there to comfort us.  He would make us special pancakes on the weekends, spelling out our names with the batter or making the shapes of our requested animals of choice—always a dog, for me, usually a monkey for Nicole.

He taught us to love animals, to find joy in getting down on the floor with a dog and playing like you were one of the pack.  He taught us to respect nature.  He taught us how to fart.  He taught us gun safety.  He taught us to be kind.

He came to visit Nicole and I in Florida a few years back, and knowing how much we love seafood, he drove down with a bunch of Maine lobsters and scallops that he wrapped in bacon and cooked up for us.  He was a good cook, which, like most things he was good at, he just had a feel for—he knew how to make things work.  Another time he visited, my husband Brian and I were working on our backyard fence, and of course Dad jumped right in to help.

He was a good man, good to the core, a goodness that all of you experienced.  Through all of his faults and seeming shortcomings, his invincible heart shone through.  He was all heart.  I know he was proud of me and Nicole, and I know he loved us and hopefully knew how much we loved him.  But I also hope he knew that we are who we are because of him.  I’m sure he had no idea of the positive impact he had on people, and my only request of all of you today is that you remember his goodness above all else.  It means a lot to us that you’re here and we know you loved him, too.  Thank you.