Aug, 2013. My father is 74. What will I say at my father's wake?
I'm not the oldest son. I'm the middle son; the fourth of
five children my parents had together before the implosion of their marriage.
I wanted to tell you all the truth - that my father didn't
teach me anything. That he didn't teach me anything useful, but I realized that
wasn't quite true. You know, when you’re a kid and you touch a hot stove and you
burn your hand, you learn to not touch a hot stove? That's how my father taught
me useful things. From him, I learned how NOT to be a father. How NOT to be a
parent.
I wanted him to show me how to throw a football or a
baseball, but he didn't. I would have even enjoyed him showing me how to fish,
or hunt, or camp. But he didn't do that either. He DID NOT show me how to tie
my shoes, ride a bike, fly a kite, shave, or treat a lady. He once, when I was
24 and had just been honorably discharged from the Army, tried to tell me about
the birds and the bees - dating etiquette. Which at the time I thought was too
funny to try to stop him.
It may surprise you all that I would come up here and say
these things. After all, my father is dead and America has a long tradition of
telling only good things at the end of a person's life. Unfortunately, I have
none of those things to tell and I'm an Atheist - perhaps the one thing he and I
did share, although we never talked about it. For me, dead is an end game. The beginning of a chemical and biological
process where the molecules that make up or bodies decay and become the fuel
for other organisms. And I think he thought that too, although to foster your
friendships, he may not have said so.
You all probably knew him better than I did. I have not seen
him since 2006. He did write me - two letters - in 2013 trying to attend my
daughter's high school graduation. His granddaughter, whom he had not seen
since she was five. I know in this day, it is probably more common as families
move away - different states, different countries even - for families not to
see each other or talk for long periods. But in our case, we were just a 40 minute
drive apart. And that was too far; or maybe too close.
That's where you all come in, knowing him better than I -
better than his granddaughter knew him. You see, he chose to spend his time
with all of you. You all probably know him as a great man. Selfless. Giving of
his time and energy for the many causes he enjoyed. Like the Shinn House. Town Council.
Historical Society. Square Dancing. These were all pursuits he CHOSE over
spending time with his son and granddaughter. Every time there was a conflict
in scheduling between YOU and US, you always won.
I've often told my daughter that for her, I tried to be the
kind of father that I WISHED I had. I wasn't great; I certainly wasn't perfect.
But if I was the kind of dad that I had growing up? Well, these days, that's
illegal. Child abuse. Child neglect. Child endangerment. Call it what you will.
I don't know what I did or said that he preferred the
company of strangers to that of his family. I don't know what I could have said
or done differently - although I suspect, there was nothing. For me, my father died a long time ago. When he let me know through his actions that I
didn't matter to him. My loss then was
painful, but I got over it. And if I can
be of any comfort to you now, I can say this with certainty: you'll get over
him too. May the knowledge that YOU saw the best of him bring you peace.
