Goodnight, sweet prince

Many nights I lay in bed attempting to capture our memories into a profound narrative in preparation for today. But, I stand up here and realize I’m not prepared. I never was, and was never going to be. How am I to sum up my father’s life in just a few minutes? I cannot, however, here are some fleeting moments I’ve caught and kept. 

I’d like to ask you all to turn to chapter fifteen, page 174. This book, To Kill a Mockingbird, was my father’s favorite story and he often referred to one scene over again. The little girl, Scout, tries to break up a mob of men at the courthouse who are trying to harm her father Atticus Finch because he’s defending a black man. In the middle of this mob, Scout speaks to Mr. Cunningham, the father of a boy she attends school with, putting a halt to the mob. She tells him what a good son he has and asks him to say ‘hey’ for her. Whenever my dad recounted this scene, he would chuckle with tear-filled eyes.

An unusually curious man was my dad. I am his only child, but far from the only person who ever adored him. He came from nothing but was absolutely something. Do you know the kind? He didn’t possess wealth in the form of riches. His wealth was in knowledge, but even so he knew he was a lightweight. 

He had a fascination with the universe - planets, stars, solar systems. My father and I experienced not one, but two solar eclipses together in full totality. He always felt and knew there was something much bigger than us, and that made him smile. 

He found it amusing when the physicist Richard Feyman would tell a joke and then tell the audience that it was in fact a joke he had just told. 

My father always had a globe when I was growing up, and he used it often. 

My dad loved boxing. His father and uncle were boxers. One of his favorite films was Raging Bull, about the life of the famous boxer Jake Lamotta. He often quoted the scene when Sugar Ray Robinson has Lamotta in a bloody mess against the ropes and Lamotta says, “You never got me down Ray, you never got me down.” There’s nothing that ever got my dad down.

My father had a hell of a right hook. He’s known to have knocked out a few people in his time that had it coming to them. 

He spent over twenty five years cutting concrete. He worked in the best of places and the worst. Often, he worked during the hours when the world was at rest except for the restless. When pariahs drag their feet in the streets to find food and warmth. A story he loved to tell was when he worked a job in a neighborhood where not even the inhabitants were welcome. Across the road, a man three times my father’s size stared at him; watched him. The man walked into the building he was standing in front of, then walked out and hurried across the street toward my dad. From behind his back, he revealed a small plate with a slice of cake from the bakery he owned, an act of kindness in a dark place.

When I was little, I thought he could fix anything. Our Chow Chow had a litter of puppies. One puppy accidentally ate an adult kibble and began choking. My dad placed the pup on his workbench and attempted to pull out the kibble from his throat with pliers. He got it, but it was too late. My dad remembers me asking him, “Daddy, you can fix him though, right?” I still believe he could fix anything. 

When he was thirsty, he would pick up his soda and say, “Every once in a while, I like to enjoy,” he’d put the soda to his mouth, take a swig, smack his lips and continue, “an ice cool beverage.” When I was a little girl he took me to the mall and I once said, “Dad, can we get an ice cool beverage?” He was proud that day.

He loved Fontina cheese and we’d often buy a freshly baked sourdough baguette and eat the entire thing in one sitting with Fontina. 

We were playing cards once, when I was a teenager. He taught me how to play poker. I won a hand and started laughing and pointing in his face. He opened his mouth, reached out and bit my finger. He was the one laughing now, and I never pointed in anyone’s face again.

When I was eighteen, he showed me how to use his tattoo gun. He let me add color to a bird on his leg. He was covered in tattoos, and I grew up to never get any. He said his grand plan worked. I do have plenty of piercings though. 

My dad taught me how to drive a stick shift when I was in college. One year, he surprised me for my birthday and bought me a car. He drove it to me, told me to get in, and taught me for an hour. Then he said, “Alright, it’s all yours. I have to go.” I told him I needed more time, but he said I’d figure it out. I figured it out, but I wish I had more time. 

When I asked him what his wishes were when he died, he said he didn’t want to be buried. I asked why not. He said he would never want me to feel guilty about not visiting him at a cemetery. He didn’t want that burden on me. 

He once told me that I surpassed all expectations he ever had for me. I didn’t tell him, but so did he. 

He used to say he was right about all things 97% of the time, and he was. He was definitely right that there is something much bigger than us, something that even science cannot explain, and that is love. Especially the love he gave.

Oh yeah, he was also right about another thing - always eat dessert first.