My dad: May his memory be a blessing.
My sister and I wrote this eulogy and delivered it way too soon, on July 7, 2010. Sweet dreams, papa bear
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Dad was larger than life, in more ways than one. He was always the life of the party. But the size that was most important—most him—was how big he loved. And you had to love the things he loved.
As anyone who knew him knows, he was so passionate, loyal and generous. He was one of a kind. Everything he loved, he loved with such joy and pride. Dad taught us how to truly love life. He found happiness in so many things, and he wanted to share them all with everyone he cared about. He taught us passion for many things that define us as individuals and as a family.
- Movies—mostly comedies, but a few dramas that he watched over and over again. While we couldn’t stomach another viewing of Dances with Wolves, we all loved hearing him recite every line of Caddyshack, and laughing with him over and over, even though he (and we) knew it by heart.
- Music—he was so proud of his days as a DJ, and of his exhaustive record collection. I loved classic rock before it was even called that. When I sing along with Bruce Springsteen, I still pause for the skips on his LP.
- The dogs—when his kids moved out, he put all his fatherly love and affection (and there is a lot of it) into his dogs. First Ebony, then Morgan, and now Mason and Biggie. They were his new babies—truly his best friends.
- Food—Dad did things big, and food was definitely at the top of that list. Although we all worried about his health, he just wouldn’t have been the same with a salad and grilled fish filet in front of him. My brother and I both became cooks—David professionally and me a hobbyist. Not that he much liked my recipes from cooking light—he preferred to go to either the fanciest, finest restaurant, or the greasiest, most homey burger joint.
- Wine—Red, expensive, and lots. Martinis–Grey goose, dirty up, 3 olives. Why wouldn’t we join him?
- Washington—this city he fell in love with as a teenager. He loved everything about it…the architecture, the cherry trees, and especially the politics. To this day, I can’t believe I’m not a White House staffer, but my whole career was shaped by my love of this city and it’s industry of policy and personalities.
- Baseball and the Nationals (the Os never really took with him). When the Senators left his adopted city, he says he cried and cried. The Nationals brought his first favorite sport back to his most favorite place. And we all joined in his newfound dedication, especially mom. Despite their record.
- Football and the Redskins—I learned to love watching football as a family when I was young, when my new dad moved my family into Redskins country and taught us all to be Redskins fans, especially my mom, who is hoarse from screaming at them after every game. Football is all about the bond, to me. I may have been the only little girl in the metro area with a poster showing the ref signals for each penalty. I still know them all. Being a Redskins fan in diaspora is especially tough these last few years, but even my children know the fight song. And we’ve sung it at the Georgia Dome.
- Friends—As you can see by those here today. He has friends here that he met when he was 6 and when he was 60, on the playground and in the workplace. Even my teenage friends couldn’t get enough of him. His friends’ messages this week have been completely consistent. He was joyful, happy, proud, quirky, and loved.
- Us—Dad really made us a family. He fell hard for my mother, and he never lost his amazement at his luck in finding her. He embraced my brother and I, just as much as his own flesh and blood—our sister. We always knew that he thought we were the smartest, best looking, most impressive people in the world. Our relationships with him were unique from each other, but they had the same foundation of perfect, unconditional, big love.
He lived large, no matter who was watching. When I was younger sometimes he used to embarrass me by singing out loud in public places. Then when I would beg him to stop he would tell me “you are ruining my joi de vivre.” But it couldn’t be ruined, not by me, not by cancer, not by anyone or anything. I now know how important it is to feel and express the happiness that exuded from him. Whether we were having a delicious meal that mom cooked, or out in one of our favorite restaurants it was a little party from beginning to end. We just enjoyed being together and enjoying life.
We will miss him, but he will never be far from us. We love the things he loved, and they are ours together. And so is he.
