Eulogy for Our Dad
by Leslie Cook Johnson
When I think of Dad, the first thing I remember is his sense of humor. I think that's his legacy to us. Whenever something really difficult or challenging happens in my life, I'll start to get upset, and then I chuckle, thinking, "What would Dad say?"
I have so many quirky, funny memories about Dad. He was a unique, eccentric person. One of his traits that stands out is his thriftiness. He wasn't the least bit materialistic. He loathed consumerism. I remember, as a teenager, being mortified by his lack of hipness. The most embarrassing things to me then were his cars. I remember being in the backseat and ducking as friends would drive by, Dad at the helm of the old Dodge Dart, replete with the signature red electrical tape covering the broken taillight. After that car died, it sat in the driveway for years. Then came the lime green Plymouth Polaris, which didn't help my image any more than the old Dart. Dad knew that his cars were an embarrassment to me, but instead of dropping me off a few houses away from my destination as I requested, he would pull right up front and honk the horn. I would get out and say, "Thanks for the ride, Mr. Cook," pretending he didn't belong to me.
Another trademark of Dad's was the stapled hem. I remember in middle school, not having a mom around and knowing no better, I stapled my own hems on my pink Dittos. Well, that didn't go over too well at school the next day. Needless to say, I learned how to sew. But Dad never did. 12 years later at my wedding, he proudly showed up in his recently purchased tux from FedCo. I looked down at the hems of his pants. Sure enough . . . he had stapled them.
My kids have fond, funny memories of Grandpa Gene too, mostly revolving around potty humor. There were, of course, the fart books. I can't remember how many volumes there were. Unfortunately, Dad didn't specify whom they should go to in the will, so I'm afraid we'll be fighting over them for years to come.
One occasion at Grandpa Gene's in particular stands out for my kids. I took them over to Dad's house after he had just gotten home from a colonoscopy. For those of you who've had this procedure done, you know that they fill you with air. Well, this produced flatulence in Dad of epic proportions. The kids had never heard anything like this before in their lives, not even from their own father. To this day, all passing gas episodes are measured in comparison to that day at Grandpa Gene's. If one of the kids has a loud outburst, the other will say, "Wow, Grandpa Gene would be proud" or "That was almost as loud as Grandpa Gene."
Dad was really sweet with kids too. On Jake's 3rd birthday we went to visit Grandpa Gene. Dad asked Jake what he wanted for his birthday. Jake, being 3 and quite eccentric himself, said he wanted a sledgehammer. So Dad took him to the hardware store and bought him a rubber mallet. Jake was elated. He carried that hammer everywhere with him and proudly told everyone that his Grandpa Gene bought it for him. He listened to Jake, and Jake loved him for it.
As you know, Dad was also a do-it-yourselfer. Not the Bob Vila kind, but a do-it yourselfer nonetheless. He thought he could fix anything. Why pay someone to do something when you have the intelligence to do it yourself? Need a new roof? Just go to the library and check out a book on roofing. No problem. I can't even count the number of projects Dad started but never finished. He was most skilled at the demolition phase, but after that part, he would become overwhelmed and move on to the next project, sledgehammer in hand.
These are just some of the memories of Dad that I now hold dear, the funny, ridiculous things that he said and did, the way he used humor to comfort others and put them at ease. He was unique, eccentric, and sometimes embarrassing, but I'm not afraid to say he belonged to me anymore. He was my dad.
