I some how thought that when the time came to write a eulogy for my father it would be easy. He was a man of so many facets there is easily so much I could say. But as I sat to the task- putting my butt in the chair and doing it, as he used to say, I found I was stymied.
What does one say about ones father?
How do I sum up his 62 years into little phrases and thoughts?
How do I express to you in 100 words or less what this man meant to me and to my family?
I don’t.
I can’t.
No one should be summed up into a Cliff Note’s of Life.
My father was an English major and Lawyer- he had a great command of the English language and was very expressive. I’m sure he could have written something that was humorous, emotional and eloquent.
Some of our fiercest arguments as I was growing up were over an English class or assignment. I always wrote too little for his taste. I needed more supporting facts or arguments.
I’ve never like writing, especially like he did. I think it was my one great rebellion.
What I find ironic is that now, when I want to write eloquently and paint a beautiful word picture about my father, I’m stuck.
I think perhaps he’d laugh at my conundrum.
My father was more than a father, he was my Papa. I know that is a somewhat dated phrase. None of my friends ever called their father that, but then again none of them were MY father.
To me he epitomized what it meant to be a Papa. He was a man out of a distant time. He wore a pocket watch, had a deep booming voice and a big beard, he seemed to me... larger than life.
My Granny used to say that Mama wasn’t older than Papa- she was just born first-
simply put, Papa was born old.
While occasionally, he seemed stuck in that distant past, his sense of honor, chivalry and ethics is something that seems sorely missing from society today.
Papa believed very strongly in the spirit of the law and in the fundamentals that form our constitution and country. He was like a modern Voltaire- He may not have agree with your opinion, but he’d defend your right to express it. (Unless you were a Yankee fan and then all bets were off.)
He taught me that if I wanted a voice in this Democracy I had to vote- I had to be informed. When I turned 18 and the first election rolled around we ALL went down to the polling place together. It was a BIG day in the Kenison household!
Sometimes, however, being the daughter of an attorney could be trying- you try arguing with him as a 16 year old girl- yeah good luck with that.
But now,in retrospect, I see that he was teaching me to use my mind, to be articulate and to be really good at twisting words around.
Most of you knew my father as that hard working attorney. He typically worked 6 days a week, while wearing his standard uniform- a suit and tie. But what you may not know is that he was always more at comfortable in Levis, a white crew neck and a blue button down oxford. In college, it was joked that he had a degree in the three Bs- Babes, Booze and Bridge, and not necessarily in that order. You could add a fourth B to his degree- Baseball. He sure did love his Damn Bums- other wise known as the Dodgers. Through thick and thin- really thin lately, he’d loyaly root, root, root for the Dodgers. Usually that involved some cussin and hollerin at the TV but he was loyal to a fault. He instilled that tragic love in me and growing up that was something we could always see eye to eye on. I will always treasure the games he took me to- just the two of us. We’d talk baseball and eat a Dodger dog- I feel lucky to have had the chance to spend time with my Papa, one on one and as and adult, add drinking a beer to that ritual.
My father loved many things in life, his Dodgers, his Jazz collection and his Scotch - but he loved nothing so much as my mother. She was a treasure to him and felt blessed to have her in his life every day. My mother could do no wrong and anything she wanted he’d try to give her. They showed me how a marriage should be: the give and take,the respect, the laughter, the joy and above all, the love. His one great wish in all of this calamity was that my mother not suffer.
My mother,
not him,
but my mother.
He didn’t want her to suffer through his decline. He loved her so much that he was willing to die for her and he was stubborn enough to do it too. It was his last great gift to her.
There are many great lessons my father taught me but none so profound as the dignity with which he faced his fate.
He knew he would die and knew how he would die.
Yet knowing all of that, he didn’t let it stop his adventuring spirit. After his diagnosis, we went on a roadtrip to Yellowstone National Park, I basically invited myself along well in actual fact I simply announced I was going.
We shared so many moments of beauty and awe along the way and for that...I will forever be grateful.
He didn’t let ALS stop him from trying to live life. Every last bit of it. Like his scotch, he consumed life right down to the last drop. He faced death on his own terms, and who am I to begrudge him that?
I am very lucky to have no unfinished business with Papa. He always said I could do what ever I put my mind to and was very supportive of my goals and dreams. I knew he was proud of me- he told me so. I knew that he loved me. The last words I shared with Papa 2 days before he died were I love you.
He said
I love you too kid.
There is very little else one can ask for.How blessed am I to have that memory and that gift? So very blessed.
Obviously there is a lot I didn’t say here about my father- We don’t have all day.
There are huge aspects of his life I have skipped over, including:
how he was shaped by his experiences as a young man in the 1960s,
how he was affected by the death of his sister at a young age,
his medical difficulties
and how he loved his kids and grandkids.
There is no way I can begin to tell you all about my Papa- it’s all about perspective anyway but please take the time to think about how you knew him and how he affected you. I’d be willing to bet there are some funny stories in those memories. He did have a wicked sense of humor and loved to laugh.
Not all of our memories will be humorous but as those memories begin to weave together I imagine the complex picture that will emerge of this man, friend, colleague, and husband, of my Papa will have many colorful threads of love, laughter, conviction, and integrity. He was a man of honor, my father and I am honored to have known him- I hope you were too.
Now cracks a noble heart:
Good night, sweet prince,
And flights of angles sing the to thy rest.
