I have sometimes described my dad as the biggest pain in the ass in my life, but he was also the best man I ever knew. I am deeply saddened to know that my daughter will not get to know Grampa Larry and that he only had a glimpse into her life. Since shortly after Lily was born, we have been planning on moving back to Michigan to be closer to family, and I know that made my father happy as he continued to battle his health issues.
I couldn't speak at my father's funeral because I don't think I could have kept it together, but there are some things I would like to share from my 43 years of memories and lessons learned. I often hear people say "mad father taught me how to be a man," but more importantly, my father taught me how to be a person. I learned from my father that when someone needs you, you're there. When someone needs to talk you lend an ear, when someone needs to cry you lend a shoulder, when someone needs a dollar you lend two. When someone goes through a door you hold it open, when someone is down you pick him up.
One of my earliest memories was the day my dad brought home or first family dog. Without telling anyone, he brought the dog home, came inside, and said "come outside, I want you to see something." My mom, my sisters and I, five years old or so at the time, went outside, and there was our puppy. That was the first time I learned of my dad's love of surprise.
To my father, there was nothing more important than family. In my youth, when he often worked long hours and was extremely busy during tax season, his receptionist was told to put any call through to him that came from family, a simple act that instilled a strong sense of family in me. The family vacations we took were probably some of the greatest joys he ever had. He wanted his children to experience as much as we possibly could.
When I was in the fourth grade, dad started getting season football tickets to his beloved University of Michigan, which he continued to do until his death 32 years later. When I graduated high school, I think we had missed about three games in those eight years. Football Saturdays in Ann Arbor were the greatest Saturdays a son could spend with his father. But it wasn't enough to take me to the games, he always had at least four tickets, and enjoyed sharing his extra seats with different people every game. Years later, after I had moved out of town, he had his seats together with an old family friend who was now bringing his young son to the games. It was this five year old who gave my dad the moniker "Football Larry," a nickname he wore as proud as the maize and blue beanie he used to wear to the games.
If the measure of a man is the impact he has on other peoples lives, my father was a great man. Although he had his flaws, as we all do, anyone who knew him for who he truly was, knew the sharpness of his mind, the warmth of his heart, and the goodness and generosity of his soul. My father left this world with nothing because he gave everything he had. He taught me to give, he taught me to love, and he taught me to live.
I miss him already.
(Don't forget to breathe.)
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