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My dad, Bob, passed away on May 5th, after almost 91 years on this earth. I feel his absence profoundly and I miss him every day. My sisters and I all spoke at his celebration of life and each shared our stories of having Dad be our Dad and how incredibly lucky we were to have experienced his love. No parent is every perfect, but though he was sometimes grouchy and a bit impatient at times, he was perfect for us. Below is the eulogy I gave for him.
Sad is not something I normally am. It’s uncomfortable for me to sit in the grief, and at the same time knowing it’s worth it to feel this sadness because what I had was so good. So instead of being sad, I’m going to attempt to share with you the joy of being a daughter of my dad.
I think my dad was only really mad at me three times in my life. The first time was when I backed out of the garage and dented the whole side of Karla’s car to the tune of $1600. He was mostly mad because I was taking the car to my friend’s house - two blocks away. The second time was when I insisted that I needed to drive to Omaha with an impending snowstorm to see my boyfriend (now husband) because he had knee surgery. The third time was when we, my husband and I, wrecked the pontoon cover. Each time, I deserved the anger but it didn’t last long.
My dad was so funny and so quick witted. We use his phrases all the time. In my classroom, my students will say, “Mrs. Northrop, do you know what?” And I’ll say in Bob fashion, “I know lots of whats.” Sometimes I’d ask my dad, “Do you want a beer Dad?” and he’d say, “What’s a beer dad?” Sometimes his phrases were nonsensical like Heidi mentioned “one side or leg off” when people are walking down the middle of the parking lot aisle. I have no idea where it came from, but I say it all the time. My dad knew the first line to every song (even though he couldn’t sing), he’d sing us Happy Birthday in a Donald Duck voice, and he’d write us funny letters about the dog’s adventures, complete with muddy pawprint. Even toward the end, when he was in the hospital, a nurse came in to take his vitals and put gloves on. He said, “Good thing you’ve got gloves, you don’t want to leave fingerprints.”
My dad was a storyteller. If you knew him, you knew his stories. One of my favorite stories was about the day I was born. He said that the nurse came out after I was born and said disappointedly, “Well, Bob, you’ve got another girl.” He made sure I knew each time he told that story that he was definitely not disappointed. He was the quintessential girl dad before that even became a thing. In his later life, we heard lots of stories about his time in the army, the time he rescued Uncle David from the tree, his various jobs, and his cross country adventure with his best friend, Don.
As a girl dad, he taught us that we could really do anything we wanted. All three of us are teachers in some form or another. Though not a teacher by training, we learned so much from our dad. We can all point to different things we learned from him, but for me it’s about honeysuckle, mayflowers, lawn mowing, shingling, geraniums, woodworking, bats, meteor showers, and birds. My dad loved to brag about how he used to play defense on me in the driveway and foul me to teach me how to be tough as a basketball player in the lane. He taught me how to read a road atlas, pound a nail, a sander, refinish furniture, pack a car, and stain a deck. I learned from him about burn weed, the hard way, and that he wasn’t always being serious, even when he sounded like it. And though likely highly illegal, I learned how to deliver mail on my days off from school. He taught me the value of hard work and also the importance of rest.
As a grandpa, he taught my kids about fishing, how to yell when docking the boat, how to use your imagination when drawing from a squiggle, how to make a stepping stone, how to be silly, that you can’t cheat at dominoes or take too long to take your turn, that puzzles are quiet entertainment, and especially how to listen to stories told by those you love. For me, the most important things he taught me were about unconditional love, the importance of service to others, and forgiveness.
I’ll close with the best advice my dad ever gave me. It was during my horrible first year of teaching and after a bad car accident. I said, “Dad, I just keep praying for this to get better.” And he said, “Amy, you can’t pray for it to get better. You have to pray for the strength to get through it.” Since then, that’s been my plan for making it through the hard days.
