Matching Tracksuits

Nana and Papa helping us move from Ashville to Greenville — fifteen years ago.

Sometimes, I just get to thinking about Nana…

Today was Papa’s memorial service. Unlike with Nana, I decided to eulogize my father. I’d planned everything out, but I’d planned it as I’d planned my lessons: only an outline, a general guide for what I wanted to say. I still didn’t know how to begin, though. I decided it was best to write it out.

There are three general ways a man can play his part as the male parent. The eulogy a son would write for these three different male parents varies in difficulty.

At one extreme is the absent or abusive male parent. He doesn’t deserve a name because he hasn’t fulfilled his obligations: he’s simply the male parent. The only real difficulty in writing a eulogy for such a man is whether or not to give into the temptations a son might have to use the eulogy to excoriate his male parent or simply to say nothing at all.

At a bare minimum, a man might fulfill his most basic obligations by providing for his children materially but for one reason or another neglecting them emotionally. Unlike the first example, we might call these men fathers, but there’s little thought that’s going into a eulogy for such men. A few empty platitudes and cliches and it’s done.

And then there are the dads, the men who give themselves to their children unconditionally and unreservedly. Eulogies for these men are the hardest — not because, as with the second example, it’s challenging to find much to say about them beyond platitudes. Eulogies for such men are difficult because there’s never enough time to say all the things that need to be said. One must cut. One must eliminate. One must disregard. A eulogy for such a man has to narrow down an exemplary life to a short speech that will never do that man justice.

I am very blessed and cursed to have this problem. How can I begin eulogizing my father when I know I’ll never want to quit? How can I narrow to a series of bullet points and anecdotes the life of such a disarmingly friendly, unflinchingly generous and selfless, incredibly patient, and unconditionally devoted man? In short, I can’t, but I know I don’t have to. Everyone in this room saw my dad in this light.

The reason there are this many here and many more present in spirit is the fact that the first thing everyone noticed about my father was how incredibly friendly he was.

The rest was an outline — the general shape I wanted things to take with an idea of how to transition from one idea to another.

Friendly
Never met a stranger
loved talking–last one to finish eating / first to start talking
all the stories he told
navy
debt collector
getting hit by truck
we could all probably finish his stories

once he became your friend…

Generousness/selfless
Put his own interests second consistently
shrimp
giving of time for others in church

Leads to a lack of ego / Ability to laugh at self
The Coke can with Maw-maw: amusingly impulsive
Making fun of his singing

someone this selfless inevitably has patience because he’s always put himself second

Patient
A man of infinite patience
Mom never said, “Wait until your father gets home”
never got really angry but once (lard cookies)

leads to Always seeing the good in others
reeling in Mom

Unconditionally devoted/loyal
To mom most of all
stopped attending because he would not leave her alone
example of a strong marriage and that devotion showed to everyone

Afterward, as with Nana’s service two years ago, we had a small meal and everyone sat and chatted. We told each other the stories Dad told so often and so enthusiastically. We recited all his funny sayings, especially all the silly ways he’d answer a question affirmatively. Is a pig’s rump pork? Does a bear live in the woods? Is the pope Catholic? We laughed a lot. We cried a little.

I think Papa would have approved.

I’ve been working on editing my obituary for Papa. I know there’s not a right way or a wrong way to compose them. Sure, there are traditions and conventions, but in reality, I’m free to write it however I want.

Still, even given that freedom, there’s no way to capture a man’s life in a few paragraphs. There’s no way to tell where he came from, what made him who he was, how he impacted those around him in a text short enough to fit on a memorial brochure.

“I’m glad this is the last obit I have to write,” I think, and then I think again. We never know, do we?

Ideally, we would all write our own obituaries ahead of time, but of course, that’s not ideal at all: we never see ourselves as others see us, for better or worse.

It reminds me of a piece of advice I read somewhere — can’t remember where or who wrote it. It had to do with becoming the “you” you really want to be. It was simple and to the point: “Write your dream obituary, then work backward.”

Papa was far too humble to admit it, but I think he did just that.