Harvest Season

It's while painting my dad's house that I remember an encounter with a person that must have the worst job in the world.

On the worst night of my life, I got a phone call from a complete stranger.

It was about three in the morning and I was waiting for the Commander to call me back from Space Camp.

Our phone rang but the caller id display said it was a private number.

Who the f is calling me this late (early?)?

"Hullo."

The voice on the other end of the phone isn't clear. It sounds like somebody calling in to an AM radio station and you are about to lose the signal.

"May I speak with VW, please?"

"This is him."

"I'm sorry to call this late in the evening but it is critical that I speak with you as soon as possible. I understand your father passed away earlier this evening. Is that correct?"

"Yes." This stranger is the first person outside of my family that I have told this to.

"I am truly sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." Why do I sense that some gears are about to get shifted?

"VW. Was your father an organ donor?"

I don't think I've ever been so angry at someone in all of my life. My dad is dead. I can't sleep. And this guy is calling me looking to harvest body parts?

The truth is my father would have been happy to give an organ or two if it would have helped somebody else. He donated nearly 70 pints of blood during his lifetime.

But I don't think he really had anything of value to donate.

Skin - sun damaged
Eyes - Messed up since birth
Vital organs - well...they hadn't worked out so well for him this week.

I apologized to the stranger on the phone and told him that this was too much to think about right now and that I think too much time had passed.

He politely ended the conversation on his end and I hung up the phone.

Like I said, that guy has got to have the worst job in the world.

VW

Extreme Home Makeover: Death Edition

The irony of this situation doesn't escape me.

Throughout my life up to now, I've avoided doing work that I always associated with my dad.

I never wanted to build anything. I never wanted to work with tools. It's just not me.

And now that my dad is dead, I wished that I had 1% of the skills that he had.

It would make working on the house that much easier.

We've packed up most of the house and I'm going to have movers come this weekend.

Anything that can be boxed up is now in the center of the room. Large items are pushed away from the wall.

My dad's clothes are still in the closet. I want to donate them but I need Number 2 to check them out first.

We are ready to make over the house.

My father-in-law (Big Daddy) brings over his painting supplies and surveys the situation.

I will follow his lead and work until he is ready to quit each day.

Painting is a pretty solitary experience. It is probably the best thing that I could do right now. I'm not ready to go back to work. I'm not ready to be a parent. I'm not ready to be a husband.

But I can paint.

And it all becomes a blur to me. It pretty much goes like this:

Paint. Lunch. Paint. Go Home.

But because with work with both the front and back doors open, there are interruptions.

Moondoggie likes to hang out with us while we are painting. He wants to help and his heart is in the right place. But sometimes, a problem he has makes him a painting liability.

I'm talking about a drinky-drinky-glug-glug type of problem.

Coming over lets him pound a beer or two without Gidget catching him. One time, he was so lit and trying to paint that I thought he was going to miss a wall.

We also develop another interruption.

His name is Tripper and he's already bugging the crap out of me.

Moondoggie had told me about Tripper and how he wanted to rent my dad's place. Now Tripper was going to ask me about it.

Tripper is in his 60's and he wears the same thing every day. White t-shirt tucked in to blue jeans and no belt. He's got grey, Eddie Munster hair and he's about a foot shorter than me.

Tripper smokes little cigars and ends every sentence with "you know what I'm saying" as his on personal punctuation.

I shoot him down about renting the place to him for the month and it becomes my single greatest decision of the year.

I give him a bullshit story about how I've got to watch out for my brother and that it's too soon to rent the place out. I wish I could be more straightforward and just tell him the truth - I don't want you in this house. I know the Rabbi would have figured out a way to tell him that without sounding like a jerk.

I can't. I'll admit it. I don't like conflict and i'll avoid it at just about any cost.

I'd like to tell both of these guys that they are bugging me. They are bugging Big Daddy. And that they can go somewhere else to do all of this bugging.

But the reality is, they just want to help.

And when you feel the way I do right now, you need all the help that you can get.

VW

An Afternoon at Marty's

The first time I took the Rabbi over to our place in Orange, he saw something on the way that made him perk up quite a bit.

It was Marty's.

Marty's is your typical Orange County neighborhood bar and it is within walking (stumbling?) distance from my house.

The funny thing is...we never went there. The Rabbi and his wife had moved to Encino and there weren't too many opportunities for us to get together.

The Rabbi was in the process of getting ready for another move. This time, back to Israel for the better part of a year.

With me being off of work and the Rabbi having some free time too, we decided to finally check Marty's out.

And Marty's was everything that I thought it would be.

Dark. People smoking even though it's against the law. Pickled eggs for only a dollar. The obligatory dart board and pool table.

Marty's isn't a place you go to to have a good time. It is a place that you go to so you can forget whatever is going on in your life that brought you to Marty's in the first place.

The bartender flashes us a missing tooth grin and asks what we'll be having.

I don't drink much these days. I have a regular drink night that I attend and my limit there is usually three beers.

Today, I'd like to have a double Cutty on the rocks.

Just like my dad used to drink.

The Rabbi gets the same thing.

We chat for a bit about everything else that is going on.

His impending move back to Israel.

Our crappy fantasy baseball team (the Rabbi thinks we're done while I think we still have a chance).

Which one of our friends is currently being a jackass.

And then we get to talking about the memorial service.

He wanted to let me known that he thought it was great. It was great that Number 2 and I were ourselves and allowed others to share our grief as well as share in the humor.

It's really nice to hear that from him. It means a lot to me.

It's only a few more minutes and Mike G comes through the door.

Mike is a friend of a friend that has become a great friend for me. He's here for a variety of reasons. He wanted to see the Rabbi one more time. He hadn't seen me since the funeral. And he was there for another reason too.

Mike G's father is dying.

Mike G gives us an update on his dad's situation. it doesn't sound good at all. I wonder for a while which situation would I like to be in - losing a parent suddenly or watching a parent slip into oblivion.

I realize that it is a stupid question to ponder. Both scenarios suck beyond your belief.

The three of us sit at the bar and bust each other's balls about whatever comes to mind. We'll have another drink but that will be it. The days of binge drinking with these guys is long gone. But it feels so good to be with these guys and it takes me a long time to realize why.

It's because it is a normal thing to do.

VW

Ghostdusters - Conclusion

Organizing my dad's paperwork reinforces a key thought from this past week.

He knew his time was almost up.

Bill after bill demonstrated this.

Because everything was paid off.

Well, not everything. There is still a mortgage on the duplex but it is more than manageable and is actually covered by the frozen in time rent that Moondoggie and Gidget had been paying for the last 20 years. And he had been making triple payments on it all year. Most people would kill to have a mortgage payment this low in Southern California.

But everything else is paid off.

Credit cards. Doctor bills. Everything.

He knew.

Nerdle and I spend the better part of the afternoon working silently in the different rooms. It takes her all day to document and pack up all of my dad's books. It takes me the same amount of time to go through all of the paperwork on the dining room table and I start to work on the paperwork that is in the kitchen and I take a closer look at what in there.

There are a bunch of pictures on the refrigerator that I notice for the first time. There's a couple of the Chicken. There's a nice picture of my grandparents. And there's a picture of somebody that I don't recognize.

It's an African-American kid. He's probably in 4th or 5th grade.

I pull the magnet off of the picture and take a look at the back. There's a thank you note there.

"Dear Mr. VW, Thank you very much for a great day. I had a lot of fun and really enjoyed it. Yours truly, LBK."

That's weird. Probably will end up being one of those questions that won't get answered.

I'm getting to be okay with that. I'm going to have to be. Looking for answers is going to drive me crazy. I'm just going to let the answers come to me.

VW

Ghostdusters - Part three

I'm glad I'm not packing my dad's things alone.

Nerdle takes a set of boxes that we just purchased from Staples and heads into the computer room to start packing all of my dad's books while I'll set up in the living room to sort and organize all of my dad's mail and paperwork.

My dad didn't really sort his mail very well. A tower of mail takes up nearly all of the space on a small dining room table. Much of it is unopened.

I'm afraid that I'm going to find some pretty big bills that his estate is going to be responsible for.

I start chucking junk mail. Pulling together bank statements. Organizing tax returns.

I'm finding receipts for everything...including the phones that he just bought for all of us just two weeks ago.

I've got the front door open and I can see anyone that is walking around the neighborhood. I see Moondoggie leave his house and start to head over to where I'm at.

It's Friday morning and he's not at work. Did Moondoggie lose his job?

"Hey, VW! Thought I'd come by and see if you needed anything."

"Nah...just going through all of this stuff."

"Yeah..hey...just so you know. Gidget and I are going to start working on the garage next week."

"That's cool. Thanks for doing that."

"What are you going to do with this place?"

I know what we are going to do. We're going to get my dad's stuff out and get a tenant in. He would have been pissed if we didn't start generating rental income.

"Well. we'll clean up. Get the place painted. And find some tenants."

"VW, you don't need to paint. Your Dad just painted this year. That would be a waste."

He's wrong. The place needs to be painted. My dad died here. A fresh coat of paint wasn't going to change that but it was certainly going to make this a warmer place.

"Hey, VW. If you want to make some quick money, there's somebody that was wondering if they could rent this from you for the next month or so. They'd pay a thousand bucks a month."

My interest is peaked. It would be nice to get somebody in here right away.

"Do you know Tripper? He's working on Craigo's house across the street. He's getting ready to move back east and just needs a place for a couple of months. Gidget doesn't like him but he's a good guy."

Great. You want somebody to move in here that your wife doesn't like. I don't say anything yet but it just isn't going to happen.

"He did a lot of work here in this house. He put in those shelves in the kitchen."

Hmmm...the shelves in the kitchen. I hadn't really noticed them before but there were shelves in the kitchen that weren't there when I lived here.

I hate them.

The shelves don't fit into my memories of this house.

The shelves have to go.

Moondoggie cracks open a cheap beer and downs it like it was a beer bong. He lets me know that if I need anything just come by.

I'm starting to realize that I'm not going to have to worry about coming by for help. I'm getting the feeling that Moondoggie is going to be coming over more and more as time goes on.

VW

Ghostdusters - Part II

The Six Million Dollar Man is on and my parents marriage is ending with Oscar Goldman speaking in the background.

The girl that I've broken up with everyone for is now breaking up with me and it's the last time I'll ever see her.

I race my Big Wheel into a chain link fence and rip off my thumbnail.

Number 2 and I are in the bathtub together and my dad is crying and saying goodbye. He's just been kicked out of the house.

I'm losing my virginity to Lori and I can't believe that it is finally happening. It's the best birthday present you can possibly get when you are 17.

I say goodbye to Patti. She's moving to Chino and I break up with my best friend's step sister.

A drunk lady is calling for my dad out at the open front door. My dad is asleep (passed out?) on the floor and I try to wake him up. She's freaking me out.

It's 3 a.m. and I'm pinwheeling in the bathroom. My dad picks me up and puts me in the bathtub.

My mom beats both Number 2 and I because we've drawn the letter P on every wall of our bedroom.

I win five bucks from my dad's boss after Larry Holmes beats Gerry Cooney.

A neighbor bangs on my door and begs me to call to the cops. Her mom is killing her sister.

A front window breaks and I hide under the NFL sheets on my bed.

I bring the Chicken over for the first time. I don't let go of her. There are at least three guns out in the open.

Santa Claus visits us but it doesn't make sense to me. How did he get in? We don't have a chimney.

I've come home late and my dad didn't know where I was. He punches a hole in the wall. He patches it but never paints over the patch.

I fall in the street while playing kickball. I still have the scar on my elbow.

My friend Nick torches a Castle Greyskull playset that belongs to the kid I babysit across the street.

Number 2 and I watch from our bedroom as our parents renew their wedding vows. Jokers Wild is on in the background.

I spill a glass of milk on my brand new Intellivision. My dad gets mad because I shake the milk out of it on to the carpet.

My dad and I watch every episode of Moonlighting together.

I'm 13 and I stop giving my dad a good night kiss. I'm too old for that I tell him.

Number 2 and I are crying because we don't know that our parents went to the other unit in the duplex to paint after we went to bed.

I move back in after a fight with my Mom. I'm 11 and my dad tells my grandma that he now has a reason to live.

My dad's out of town and I have a party at my house for the last time. I don't get caught but it just wasn't worth it.

I bring the Chicken over for the last time. My dad and I take her to the Long Beach Aquarium. He's exhausted after two hours with her.

My dad puts my Schwinn Cruiser in the back of his El Camino and takes me to school. I'll ride the bike home.

A motorcycle takes the corner in front of my house too fast and crashes into us. It's the first traffic accident that I've been in.

I silently cry in the bathroom after my dad tells me to go "nuke my face" to take care of the acne that has appeared upon entering puberty.

We pack up and move out of the duplex. I'll get my own bedroom at our new house. I'm 6 years old.

I'm back at the duplex with my sister-in-law. We are here to pack everything up the day after my dad's funeral.

VW

Ghostdusters - Part one

After most of my family left our house, I was talking with the Commander and my in-laws about what I needed to do next.

It is probably too soon for me to be thinking about this but I needed to start getting my father's unit of his duplex ready to rent out.

I know. It's only been a week since he died. How could I be ready to even think about this?

The truth is...I don't think I am ready but I don't have much of a choice.

I have a limited window of time to work at the duplex. I had made arrangements to take vacation through next Wednesday, report to jury duty on Thursday, and finally return to work on Friday.

I've got six days to pack up my dad's life.

I also don't think that Number 2 is going to be much help here. It is too difficult for him to be inside this house.

My in-laws want to help. Big Daddy loves this kind of work and my mother-in-law wants to be in the mix too.

And before we get started on cleaning and preparing for tenants, my sister-in-law (Nerdle) is willing to help me pack.

The Commander wants to help too but I need her to be with the Chicken. She needs one of us to focus on her.

Nerdle is excited about this. She is the Queen of Packing. A career student who has lived in 5 different states and 2 different countries, she is a master packer. She already has a plan of attack.

I'm glad she has a plan for the stuff but I'm worried about something else. I'm going to be dealing with some ghosts.

Not the Casper variety mind you.

The ghosts of all the memories from that house.

Memories that I can't get away from because I can't leave.

I'm going to have to face all of the memories and I don't know if I can.

VW

Black Like Me Redux

It's getting close to the end of the reception so I grab a piece of the lemon meringue pie.

It's good but not as good as my dad could make.

My grandparents are ready to leave and I say goodbye to them. Every time I do this, I feel like it might be the last. My grandma has been telling me for 25 years that she doesn't have much longer in this wicked world and I'm only now starting to believe her.

My wife and I invite my Mom's family to come back to our house. We have dinner ready to serve there before people hit the airport or the drive back to Bakersfield.

I like having my family over because I'm proud of what the Commander and I have been able to build together. Our house isn't the greatest but it is ours.

The women on my Mom's side of the family gravitate towards the living room and start chatting. My late grandfather used to call this the hen party - and a whole lot of clucking would be going on.

I left the room to check my emails when I heard an explosion of laughter coming from the living room.

"VW! You need to come out here!!!" yelled the Commander.

My cousin and my brother were looking at the baby pictures that I picked up from my Mom's earlier in the week.

"VW, ask mom who the black guy is in your baby pictures," said Number 2.

In a few of the baby pictures of me, there was a black man holding me. I had no idea who it was but I was too worried about it. I didn't even think to ask my Mom about it.

"Mom, who's the black guy in the picture?" I asked.

"That's your Godfather."

Number 2 and the Commander thought that this was hysterical. I couldn't believe it. How could I go 35 years without knowing that I had a Godfather? How can this happen?

My Mom explained.

"He and his wife lived by us when you were born and we used to do a lot of things with them. But then we moved away and he and his wife divorced and we lost touch with them."

"So what's his name?" I asked.

My Mom paused and said three words that blew me away.

"I don't know."

More laughter erupted in the room. I've just found out that I have a Godfather but his name is lost in some fuzzy memory that my Mom had.

"How can you not know the name of my Godfather?" I pleaded.

"I'm sorry, VW. I don't know. Your father would know!" my Mom replied.

And that's where we are at today. We forget for a moment that my dad is no longer with us. We all assume that we can just ask him about it...but we can't. From here on out, any questions for my dad will have to go unanswered.

I reply to my Mom.

"Mom, it's a little late to ask Dad now."

And once more, laughter fills our little house.

VW

Speed Bump

You never can tell who is going to show up at a funeral. I had not only completely blown my forecast for total attendance but I also had some pleasant surprises regarding some of our guests that had shown up.

Number 2 and I had a very special connection with one of them and I never would have known it if this person hadn't told me about it.

It goes back to when my parents had to put us in childcare.

We had a variety of babysitters throughout the years. Some definitely better than others. But we always had to call them by their last names. There was Mrs. Shoemaker down the street and Mrs. McDonald just a block away from school.

But my favorite was Speedy.

That wasn't her real name and I don't know how it became her nickname. It was an appropriate name though. She must have been 60 or so when we started going to her house to be watched. She was a short lady who always made sure that you were sitting six feet away from the tv (she measured). Speedy always had a smile.

And it was the Speedy show while we were there. She was on all of the time.

She would sing songs on her toy guitar or play you a game of Bible Memory ("I know I flipped over Moses somewhere over here...DAMN...Lot's wife again!).

it was always fun to be there.

We were also going there when something really bad almost happened to Number 2.

He and another boy were getting ready to leave our elementary school (you know, when it was "safe" to let a 7 year old walk home from school) when they were approached by an older teenager that was looking for a kid to molest.

Number 2 got away from him. The other kid didn't.

Instead of going to the school office to alert the staff of what was going on, Number 2 went to Speedy's.

The other kid showed up to Speedy's later. Crying and screaming at Number 2.

"WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME THERE?"

I felt bad that Number 2 was getting yelled at like that but I was glad that he got away. I never blamed him for taking off like that. The flight instinct took over and he ran to the one place that he new he'd be safe.

At Speedy's house.

Speedy had passed away a few years ago and I think my dad told me about it probably 3 months too late.

That would have been a service that I would have liked to go to.

This all flashed through my mind when Speedy's son introduced himself to me.

I didn't even know that Speedy had a son. I always thought of her as a slightly-nutty old lady that sang "My Dog Has Fleas" all of the time.

But she had a son.

And he was standing in front of me.

And he looks just like her.

Not really just like her. But he does have her smile and that's what I remembered the most.

I share with Speedy's son and daughter-in-law how much I enjoyed Speedy and tell them a few of the stories about her that I had.

What I appreciate most about Speedy's son is that, while his mother is gone, he's enjoying the stories that I"m sharing with him.

I can't wait to get to that place.

I want to hear about the funny things that my dad did or said and I want it not to hurt so much after.

I let Speedy's son go and tell him that it was great to meet him.

Speedy's son may not have expected it to happen but coming to this funeral ended up completely making his day.

VW

Feedback on Fifty

Please excuse this break in the story but I just wanted to share a couple of thoughts that are outside the scope of where the narrative is currently.

When I started this blog two weeks after my dad died, I really didn't know where it was going to go or who was going to read it.

For the first time in my life, I had a story that I knew that I had to record.

I really had no choice but to write about this.

It was either write or explode (and I thought writing would be less messy).

What I didn't know going into to this is how much I was going to appreciate the feedback that some of you have already provided.

Whether you have posted on my blog or the guest book, or sent me a private email, or just stopped by my cube at work, I can't tell you how much your feedback has meant. So many of these stories that I've told (and are going to tell) are so funny to me, it is nice to have a group of people that I can share that laugh with.

I have had people ask me, "did that really happen?" regarding some of my posts here. All I can say is that I don't have the talent to make this stuff up. I'm doing my best to honestly tell you what I was (and have been) going through. In some cases, this has definitely been a case of truth being stranger than fiction.

Others have asked me about how I am portraying some of the people that have appeared in the story and if they know that I'm doing this.

I recognize that sometimes I can write about a person and it may not put that person in the greatest light. But more often that not, I believe that my judgments about other people may not put ME in the greatest light.

At the end of the day, it is how I felt at that moment in time and I think an honest story will be much more interesting to read. But if you are really concerned about some of the people that have been written about here, I think you'll see in future stories that my opinion of some of them will change over time.

As for the people that know that I'm doing this, there are some but they are folks from my life, not my dad's.

For my wife, this blog has helped fill in not only the blanks created because she was at Space Camp but also the blanks that I've created because I can't articulate how I'm doing. Both my Mom and my brother are aware of the blog but I'm not sure how much they've read. Somebody in Israel logged on this week and I'm assuming that was the Rabbi (Hey G, I need your address). So yeah, there are some folks that know about this.

I had also mentioned that i wasn't really sure where I was going to go with this blog when I started. Over the last couple of weeks, I have figured that out. The only caveat is that at this point, I just don't know where to end. That's because I'm still dealing with the fallout of my dad's death.

In one of my earliest posts, I shared a road map of where I'd be taking us. Now that I've hit 50 posts, I thought I celebrate that milestone by giving you another sneak peek of upcoming topics.

- Speed Bump
- Black Like Me (part II)
- Marty's
- Packing with Anne
- Moondoggie and Jack Tripper
- Mr. VW's neighborhood
- The Reading of the Will
- Retirement Party
- The Library
- The Gentlemen's Club
- Return of the Wood Lady
- F*ck you, Hooray for ME!
- Extreme Home Makeover: Death Edition
- Church Ladies
- We Get Letters!
- Money for Nothing
- Dish f'ing Network
- Mega Millions

and the story you will all be waiting for - Calling my dad's Booty Call!

That's just some of what I've got planned. I'm also going to start adding photos to the blog. The first one will go up when we return to Black Like Me.

Anyway...I just wanted to stop and say thank you. The encouragement and feedback that I've received from you means so much and makes me want to write even more.

Take care and I promise I won't break from the story again until we pass the 100th post.

VW

Frenchie Toasted

My dad had mentioned Frenchie to me before.

He had hired her on occasion to clean his house. Every once in a while, I would see some cheesey addition to the house and more often than not, it was a gift from Frenchie.

Watching her mingle with my dad's friends, it is obvious that they know who she is.

I didn't know where they met and I didn't know why he called her Frenchie.

Until I heard her accent.

I approached her and asked, "Are you Frenchie?"

She looked at me for a moment, maybe stunned that I had approached her. And then she started speaking with an amazingly think French accent.

'Yes. I am Frenchie. It is so nice to meet you VW."

She is wearing too much perfume. Like a stripper would (or so I've been told).

"It's nice to meet you too, Frenchie. My dad spoke of you often."

Frenchie quickly makes that cross sign that Sammy Sosa makes every time he goes to bat.

"You father, God rest his soul, was such a nice man, VW. He was such a nice, caring man. I loved him so much."

One word stretches through my mind - aaaaaawwwwwwwwwwkkkkkkkkkkkwaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrddddddd.

I don't think they were an item but I've started to learn that I can't leap to any conclusions about my dad and his relationships.

"VW, nobody will tell me. How did your father die?"

It wasn't like it was a big secret. It looks like he had a heart attack. I didn't have the death certificate yet and the LA County coroner doesn't due full autopsy if it isn't a homicide. So I just told her that I thought it was a heart attack.

"He had such a big heart, VW. He was so good to me. I will miss him so."

Did my dad really date Frenchie? What was going on here? I've got the Wood Lady telling me one thing and Frenchie is talking like there was something more there than what I knew about.

I thank Frenchie for coming today and excuse myself to grab some pie.

"When you find out how he died, could you please tell me?"

I tell her I will knowing full well that I will never see her again or talk to her again.

I don't think I want to know the answer of the Frenchie riddle.

VW

Table Touching

I finally made it out of the chapel and it was a relief.

Number 2 and I got into my car and we drove about a mile away to some sort of men's club (Elks? Masons? Shriners?...I'm really not sure) for the reception.

I was looking forward to some lemon meringue pie.

One of Big Daddy's friends helped us out by going to the bakery and picking up all of the pies for us. I couldn't believe that he did that for us. But what I'm finding is that people want to do something to help you when your in a situation like this.

And I really needed all of the help I could get.

We brought a CD player into the reception room and put in my dad's Leon Redbone album. I know he would have enjoyed that.

I found myself bumping around to the different tables checking in on everyone. Finally, the Commander told me that I didn't have to host this event so I pulled up a chair and started on some of the food.

I scanned the room to see who was all there. There were still a ton of people that I didn't know. There were also some people that I hadn't seen in 25 years. I got reacquainted with Buffalo Bob's daughter. She was 18 the last time I saw her at her brother's funeral. Now she was over 40 and had two of her own children with her.

A couple of girls that Number 2 used to hang out with during his church days showed up too. One got right in my face and said, "VW, do you remember me?"

Sure, you're the crazy church girl (I don't use my "out loud voice" for that thought).

I just smile and nod.

I still had the picture of my dad flipping off the camera that I had brought up with me to the podium. I took that around to a couple of his friends to show them.

It got a huge laugh every time.

T.J. had come to the reception and was sitting with the Big Guy's family. I brought the Chicken over to her so they could meet.

The Chicken let T.J. hold her for a bit before fussing and heading back to her mother.

"She's beautiful, VW."

I know every parent thinks that there kid is the cutest. I'm certainly no different. But with the Chicken, we definitely dodged a bullet - she looks like the Commander and not me.

"Thank you. I'm glad you made it today, T.J."

"Me too. I've missed you two boys. Sometime down the line, is it okay if I call you?" asked T.J.

As I've written earlier, T.J. and my dad had a very bad break up that was still very fresh in her mind. They had purchased a house together in 1993 only to break up five years later. For whatever reason, my dad didn't force her to sell the house to get his half of the equity until last year. She couldn't have been happy with him.

"Sure," I said while getting up. "Give me a call whenever."

I moved around the room some more when an older woman caught me eye.

She was wearing something that maybe she might have looked good in 20 years ago but now she looked like a woman in her mid-50's that was just dressed inappropriately.

Maybe even like an old stripper?

My dad had talked to me about this woman but I had never met her.

That was about to change.

As much as I don't like talking to strangers, I was going to introduce myself to a woman named Frenchie.

VW

The Last Picture Show

I start having to do something at the chapel that I wasn't really expecting I'd have to do.

I have to talk with complete strangers.

Those of you that know me probably won't believe this but I am an introvert. Anybody that thinks I'm an extrovert...sorry...you fell for the act.

And I have lots of strangers talking to me now.

Probably a dozen union guys come up and say the same thing. "Best funeral ever. Sorry your dad died. He was a good guy."

It's just another dozen awkward moments for me. It makes me laugh that so many people said it was the best funeral ever. As if this one was better than any other funeral. Or that another funeral sucked more than my dad's.

There's no such thing as the best funeral ever. They all suck.

Another set of strangers approach me. It looks like a husband and wife, both in their 50's. He's in a dark suit and kind of looks like a tv sports guy. She's wearing a white suit and BIG sunglasses. She's been crying and her lips are quivering.

"VW, you don't know us. We are the Urribees."

I've heard that name before. Where did I hear it? I should know these people, shouldn't I?

Like a Jeopardy player that comes up with the correct question before time runs out, I realize who the Uribee's are.

The day before my dad died, he had acted as a representative for my grandmother at the funeral of their 28-year-old son.

Mr. Urribees speaks while Mrs. Urribees tries to hold it together.

"We were so thankful that your father came to our son's funeral last week and when we heard that he had died the next day, we wanted to meet you boys and pay our respects."

It's then that I realize that no matter how bad this week has been, there is always someone in worse shape than you.

The loss of a parent is brutal enough. I thought I could imagine what that pain might be like and I was wrong. It was worse than anything I could imagine.

The loss of a child. I won't even kid myself to think what that could possibly be like. It probably feels as though someone has ripped out your soul.

I can't believe that the Urribees are here.

And then I do something I never thought I'd do today. I comfort someone about their own loss. I give Mrs. Urribees a hug and thank her for thinking about us.

Mr. Urribees hands me a large Manila envelope.

"VW, there were a lot of cameras at our services. One of our friends happened to take this."

I open up the envelope. It's a picture of my dad in his black Hawaiian shirt.

"We thought you boys would probably want this. I'm guessing it was the last picture ever taken of your dad."

I hadn't planned on this happening today but it looks like I really did see my dad one last time.

VW

60 Seconds with the Wood Lady

Five years after my parents divorced, my dad got pretty serious about a lady named Robbi and I thought I was going to have a stepmother.

As a 15-year-old kid, she seemed perfect for my dad. She was funny and smart. She could make the best pasta dishes ever.

And she was stunning.

As often happened with my dad's relationships, things didn't work out and I'm not really sure I know why. It could have been because Robbi was going to want children of her own (after Number 2 was born, my dad had the operation to ensure there would not be a Number 3). It could have been that my dad just had too much baggage.

Whatever the reason, Robbi left our lives without any fanfare.

Nearly 20 years have passed and she is still my favorite of all the women that my dad dated.

Now, I'm standing face to face with the last woman my dad dated.

She hasn't introduced herself but I already can feel that it is the Wood Lady.

I can feel it because outside of Number 2 and I, she is the saddest person in the chapel.

She's standing in front of me holding some tear-soaked tissues.

She is not at all what I expected.

She is old.

I know. It's not really fair to say that. But I've just seen every woman that my dad spent any considerable amount of time with and ALL of them appear younger than the Wood Lady.

It just keeps getting more and more interesting with my dad.

I ask her if she is the Wood Lady and she nods while trying not to cry again.

I give her a hug and I can feel some of her sadness drain out of her. She lives in Northern California and I know that she's been grieving by herself this last week. If she drove down this morning, it was at least a 5 hour drive.

"VW, I am so sorry about your father."

"I know," I reply.

"I just need you to know that we had a very special relationship and I loved him very much," said the Wood Lady.

How do I even respond to that? I've got a ton of questions but now isn't the time or place. So, I respond to only way I know how.

"Are you going to come to the reception?" (Could I sound any more stupid?)

"I'm sorry VW. I have to drive back home now. Just know that your father was so proud of you and never stopped talking about you and your family."

I could tell that she was about to make a break for it. It doesn't really dawn on me that this might just be freaky for her too.

"I have to go. Take care of that little one of yours. That's what he would have wanted more than anything."

I ask the Wood Lady to wait and turn to get the Commander. I have shown the Commander the emails that I've received from the Wood Lady and she is just as intrigued by this entire situation.

But when I turn back around, the Wood Lady is gone.

I go back to trying to get folks out of the chapel. The cheesy funeral guy comes up to me with a small canvas bag.

It has the logo of the funeral home on it.

"Here are all of your CD's as well as all of the cards that came with the flowers."

Unbelievable! They never told me that there was a gift with a purchase! Spend $12k on a funeral, get a free tote bag! Sweet.

"Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

Well...you could have spit out your gum before you announced where the reception was going to be. But I guess that is just a bell that can't be unrung now, can't it?

"No thank you."

I take the tote bag and begin to leave the chapel.

One mystery is solved today, I know what the Wood Lady looks like. But it appears as though I'm not going to find out about her relationship with my father.

Unless...I wonder if she is going to email me again?

VW

Don't hate the player...

We did not have the chapel for much longer so after my grandma was through speaking, Mr. Stream brought the services to a conclusion.

On a scale from 1 to 10 on how Jesus-y Mr. Stream got, I'd have to give him a 2. And I'm pretty happy about that.

The final song of the day was Leon Redbone and I could swear I could hear my dad singing along with his favorite singer.

While the song was playing, I decided to turn around and take another look at who was present. And it dawned on me that something very strange had happened.

My dad's high school sweetheart from Long Beach was here.

My Mom was here.

My dad's girlfriend from his 40's and 50's was here.

And somewhere out there, I knew that his secret girlfriend of the last 4 years, the Wood Lady, was out there.

None of these relationships had ended well, yet all of these women were here.

How funny is that?

The services end and I honestly feel the weight of the world leave my shoulders. It feels like closure but I recognize that what I'm feeling is just closure for today. I'm still going to go through quite a bit to try to fully comprehend what my life is going to be like now.

Many of our Guests approach me and a lot really don't know what to say. And that's okay because just being here is enough.

I seek out the people that I work with and one by one, each one of them gives me a hug. Once again, I'm not a hugging type of person but each moment here means a lot.

I had been thinking all week about quitting my job and heading a new direction in life. After seeing all of them here, I know that I'm in the right place.

A friend pauses while greeting me and tells me that we'll talk later. This person wants to share something with me but now isn't the time or the place. It gets shared eventually and it is the first of a few positive events that occur as a direct result of my father's death. For now, it's going to remain a private moment between me and this person.

Just know that what was shared in this private moment made me feel great when I was just about at my lowest.

A great friend of mine that I used to work with (and compete in urbanchallenge.com with) but now works for a rival company is there and I am shocked. I haven't had a chance to see him since the Chicken was born and he here is.

It is the only time today that I can't hold it together while talking to people.

I see the other guys from my wedding party - Bono and Mike G. They immediately give me grief for not telling them that they could have worn Hawaiian shirts today.

Then I start talking to the women from my dad's life.

I talk to the high school girlfriend first. She's looks better than I thought she would. I had heard that she had cancer but it wasn't apparent. She thanked me for calling her mom to let her know what happened.

She asked how we were doing. I'm just going to smile and blink every time this question gets asked.

Just two rows behind her is my dad's girlfriend from his 40's and 50's. We call her T.J. because of the way they broke up.

They got into the fights of all fights and for all practical purposes, the relationship was over.

My dad got into his Crown Vic and started to pull away from the house but before he could accelerate away, his soon to be ex-girlfriend leaped on to the hood of the car - much like William Shatner would as Officer T.J. Hooker.

I think it is safe to say that when you find yourself becoming a hood ornament, it is time to do some serious soul-searching.

I had always like T.J. but she had made the mistake that so many women seem to make with men.

She thought that she could change my dad.

I ask if she is going to the reception afterwards and she says only if me and Number 2 want her there.

"Of course we do," I reply and I tell her that I'll see her there.

I spend some more time talking with friends and relatives but we have to get moving out of the chapel. If we delay the next service, they will charge us $250.

I'm trying to get people to leave when I hear a woman's voice call my name.

I turn around to see who is trying to get my attention.

She doesn't have to tell me who she is.

I already know that it's the Wood Lady.

VW

Three Men and a Little Old Lady - Conclusion

After the Big Guy wraps up everything that he wants to say, he heads back over by me and I great him with a huge hug and whisper "thank you" into his ear.

I know it wasn't easy for him to do and I'll never forget that he stepped up today.

An older gentleman goes to the podium. I don't know who he is and I don't recognize his name when he introduces himself.

But he speaks very highly of my dad and he flew down from his retirement home in Utah to be here for today's service.

Here I was just an hour ago worrying if anyone was going to show up and we've got people FLYING in to be here.

I should have known better.

I shake this man's hand as he walks back to his seat and Mr. Stream does something that I'm totally not expecting.

He introduces my grandma.

One might think by looking at this frail, slightly hunched, legally blind, 88 year old woman that she just might have a weak, old-lady voice.

You'd be wrong.

She has a booming voice that is full of life.

She is a God warrior.

Normally, when she starts preaching to me, I just smile and remain respectful. I listen to the same stories over and over. I hear what a wicked world this is and how close we are to Christ's return. I nod as she tells me for the millionth time that God chose me before the foundation of the world.

And now, I brace myself because she is a mother that has lost her oldest son and has 300 hundred people here that can do nothing but listen to her now.

She is going to preach.

As she gets going into a sermon that I've been privately privy to for three decades, I'm surprised that I'm not embarrassed by her. It actually feels right to listen to her today.

Because she is thankful for the 62 years that she had with my father.

My dad had almost died so many times during his life it is ridiculous.

Childhood illnesses. Severe car accidents at 16 and 23. Attempted to enlist during the Vietnam War but couldn't pass the physical. Swelling of the lining of the heart in 1980. The internal bleeding a couple of years ago.

Both of my grandma's sisters had buried children before her too. She couldn't really complain about her lot when one sister had buried a child at 28 and another sister had buried both of her adopted children way before their time.

She ends by mentioning that about the only thing she can do now to be useful is pray. She wakes up around 4 a.m. and prays for everyone connected to our family that she knows (who knows, some of you may be on the list).

My grandma wants everyone to know just one thing - God does all things well.

I don't know about that but I do know that my grandma has been that little voice in my head that has been my conscience throughout my life. It was her that taught me that when the choice is present to do the right thing or the wrong thing, I had to do that right thing.

And that's why I think that it's my grandma that does all things well.

VW

Three Men and a Little Old Lady - Part Two

If we weren't spending significant holidays at Buffalo Bob's house, we were at the Big Guy's house in San Pedro.

For about a decade, my dad and I did everything with the Big Guy's family.

Vacations in Hawaii. Whitewater rafting the American River. Every Super Bowl between 15 and 27. Every New Year's Eve.

We did everything with them.

And then we didn't.

I turned 19 and it just wasn't cool to hang out with your dad like this.

But I love the Big Guy. He still looks the same even though I hadn't seen him since he came to my wedding 7 years ago. For somebody with the nickname, Big Guy, he's really not that big. But his personality is larger than life.

He kind of looks like Bluto from the old Fleischer Popeye cartoons.

I was hoping that he would speak today. Number 2 and I had both asked him to but he didn't think that he could do it.

Keester finally was through with his tribute and my heart soared because the Big Guy was heading up to the podium.

"Dammit Keester! You took all of my time with your freakin' speech!"

I was crying now but it was because the Big Guy did what he always did. He made me laugh.

He told some great stories and he was able to get the guys that new my dad to laugh one more time at them.

There is something very special about being able to laugh at a funeral. I think for me it means that the death you are mourning, while certainly a loss, isn't a tragedy.

My dad wasn't murdered. He didn't die in a war. He wasn't in a plane that flew into a building.

His time just ran out.

And I'm so happy that the Big Guy could share things about his life that we all could laugh about.

VW

Three Men and a Little Old Lady - Part One

I had two fears going into the day of my dad's funeral.

The first was that nobody would show.

The second was that nobody would speak about my father during the service.

Turns out that I didn't need to worry about either.

After I concluded delivering the eulogy for my dad, I returned to the front row of the chapel as "God Only Knows" played softly in the background.

Mr. Stream returned to the podium and invited anybody that wanted to say a few words about my dad to come up and do so.

Keester was the first person to come up. He had been a peer of my dad's for the last few years.

He had also saved my dad's life three years ago.

I found out about this situation in the middle of the work day. My grandma didn't have my work phone number but she did have my work email address. I received a panicked email from her telling me that my dad was in ICU in Long Beach.

I called her up and she was crying and asking me to go check on him.

I left work immediately and drove straight to the hospital. It took me a little bit to track down where my father was and when I found him the situation didn't look good.

I could only focus on the blood transfusion that he was receiving. It made me want to puke.

All he could say was "What are you doing here?"

Keep in mind, this was three years ago. The Chicken is still a twinkle in my eye. The relationship with my father at this time is strained at best. So I'm only thinking one thing after hearing that question.

"Jackass."

Instead of talking like father and son, I interview him like cop and suspect. I found out that he had internal bleeding and that he had ignored the symptoms thinking he could "tough it out."

Once again, "Jackass."

I'm willing to stay with him but he doesn't want company. "Get outta here. I'm fine!"

Yeah, buddy. You look fine right now.

I leave to go track down Number 2. He tells me what really happened.

Our dad hadn't been feeling well for a couple of days and everyone he worked with was telling him to get to a doctor or an emergency room. Finally, he decided that he did, in fact, required medical attention.

He called Keester to take him to the hospital.

While Keester was on his way, my dad collapsed in the shower and had cut his head open pretty bad (sound familiar?).

Keester found him unconscious and called 911. Keester saved his life and gave my dad three more years.

It's appropriate that he speaks first.

Unfortunately, Keester is a little boring up there. He speaks in a slow and deliberate manner. He is reading definitions out of Webster's dictionary to set the stage for what he is going to talk about.

It's kind of killing me right now. But once again, he saved my dad's life. So I listen to what he has to say.

I perk up when I hear him talk about how generous my dad was. How if a union member was behind in his or her dues that my dad would pay the dues for the union member so that they could work. Or if a union member hadn't had much work and it was getting close to Christmas, my dad would go out and buy presents for the union member's children, wrap them up, and say they were from Santa so these kids wouldn't go without opening something up on Christmas day.

This is the first time I've ever heard about this. I never knew this side of my dad. It didn't surprise me that he did this but it did surprise me that I was hearing about it now.

Keester read one more definition and it gave me an answer to one of the questions that had just recently popped up for me.

It was the word that my dad used to name the account where all of his charitable contributions came from.

The Eleemosynary Fund.

VW

Brothers don't shake hands

The Commander and I have been in our house in Orange for about two and a half years. In September of 2003, I realized how much equity we had built up in our townhouse and was starting to get nervous that if we didn't trade up soon to a single family house we might just be stuck.

I decided to send the Commander out on a house hunting mission with our realtor brother-in-law during her month off in October.

That's when she met Orland, the previous owner of our house.

Our future house popped up on the MLS after it had fallen out of escrow and the Commander got over there to check it out before anyone else had a chance to.

Orland was a small man with a big voice. He was about to embark on his second marriage a year after his wife of 40+ years had passed away.

It's a good thing that I wasn't along for the Commander's visit to this house because I'm all business and the Commander likes to find out things about people.

After maybe a 15 minute conversation, the Commander was going to be the only person that Orland sold his house to.

As Orland shared his story about losing his first wife, his emotions would get the better of him. His eyes would well up with tears and he would bring his first to his mouth to stop the sadness from coming out.

The fist would stay in front of his mouth for 15 or 20 seconds...and then he would release the completed sentence in a rush to share the thought without shedding any tears or having his voice break.

I'm not worried about tearing up while speaking about my father at the funeral but I am worried about sounding like Orland.

I delivered my eulogy much like I had envisioned it. I did veer off of my script and told my dad's favorite joke that he used to embarrass me with while out to eat.

I also felt my voice begin to crack when I talked about the Chicken being born.

Fortunately, the Chicken saved me.

Just as I was about to break up, the Chicken heard me say her name and let out the biggest "HI!" you will ever hear during a funeral.

The sadness that had started to get the better of me was washed away by the joy that the Chicken exudes.

And I knew I was going to get through this.

As I wrapped up my final thoughts and shared with our guests why were were playing each selection of music, I thanked everyone for being there for us and then something strange happened.

Number 2 came over and gave me a hug.

I find myself on the verge of laughter because of a line from the Chris Farley movie, Tommy Boy.

"Brothers don't shake hands. Brothers gotta hug."

VW

What did Number 2 do with the stinky shoes?

Here is Number 2's eulogy.....VW

My name is Number 2. I am my father's youngest son. Today I am not here to mourn my father's death but celebrate his life. You'll see people here today wearing Hawaiian shirts. Dad is wearing one too. It was one of his requests to be buried in one.

I chose to wear a suit today because it would be out of character if I didn't do at least one thing today to piss him off.

And if he could say something to me right now, I know what he'd say.

"You are out of the will!"

That was my dad.

I would like to tell you a couple stories about my dad. The first one is for the saints from the church. It's one of my grandmother's favorite stories.

My dad is partly responsible responsible for the time I spent at the church. One Sunday, my Mom called to tell him my bicycle was stolen. This is the part of the story where my grandma would interrupt and say it was the second bicycle that was stolen.

Anyway, my Dad called up my Grandma and said "Get this kid out of here or I'm going to kill him. Take him to church!"

That's how I got to meet so many wonderful people from the church.

The next story is for the his fellow union brothers and sisters even though you know this story already.

My Dad was injured and lost the tip of his middle finger. The fingernail grew over the wound and created a lump on the tip of his finger.

Now I know that it must have hurt him to lose a piece of his body but he joked about it. Naming it "Gumby" because it resembled that green glob of clay. I know that you union brothers and sisters know about Gumby. And those of you who thought worthy got to see Gumby.

And I bet some of you saw Gumby a lot!

Those two stories might put my dad in a bit of a bad light but I can tell you that he cared more about his friends and family then he did his own well being.

He was a provider and a teacher.

He had prepared for this day and as a provider, he knew that my brother and I won't have to worry about anything.

He was a gun enthusiast but as a teacher he knew that he taught me how to load and unload his weapons so I could remove them from his house.

I'd like to tell you one more story. This one is for me. When my brother and I were making the arrangements for Dad, we know what we had to do. Dad had told us his wishes so we picked out the Hawaiian shift and the Vans.

There were two pairs of shoes in his closet.

One pair was his old torn up pair with all of the holes in them.

The other pair was brand new and still in the box.

We brought them both here and when we had to turn in the clothes to the funeral home, my brother said to me, "These shoes stink. I can't give them to that girl in there."

Luckily, we had the new pair.

As we were leaving, my brother asked what should we do with the shoes. He was concerned that the car already smelled like feet.

I took the shoes and tossed them in the back of my truck thinking we had more important things to worry about at the time.

The last time my Dad and I went to visit my Grandma, he had some bad news for me.

He told me that the Shoe Tree at Vidal Junction had been burned down. A senseless act of arson.

For those of you that don't know, a shoe tree is a roadside phenomenon where people tie old shoes together and throw them into the branches of a tree along the freeway.

We had always enjoyed looking for the Shoe Tree because it meant we were almost to Grandma and Grandpa's house in Earp, CA.

We passed the charred stump where the Shoe Tree once stood and I can admit to being sad. I guess someone thought it was an eyesore rather than a novelty.

This week when I went to visit my grandparents and my aunt and uncle, I was pleasantly surprised to see that around the blackened remains of the Shoe Tree were new shoes.

People had come back and paid their respects to the Tree.

It became apparent what I had to do.

On my way home, I stopped at that Shoe Tree and laid my father's stinky, torn up, worn out shoes at the remains of the Shoe Tree. And I was comforted.

The fire that took the Shoe Tree didn't kill it. It merely transformed it into something different.

And the people still came to honor it.

My father didn't die either. He was transformed into something different.

He's with the Lord now and you people came to honor him.

My whole family thanks you.

Number 2.

Reject Man

For the longest time, Number 2 was the youngest of all of the cousins on my Mom's side of the family.

When all of us used to get together during the holidays, the cousins would retreat to my grandparents bedroom to watch Twilight Zone marathons on a 10 inch black & white TV and figure out different ways to pick on Number 2.

A favorite game we played was to use your feet to keep Number 2 off of the bed. When you were able to lift him off the bed with your feet, you launched Number 2 off of the bed and yelled "REJECTED!"

The game was called Reject Man.

Today the Reject Man would be speaking before me after Mr. Stream starts the services. To be honest, I'm worried about how he is going to pull this off.

He has become a very shy person and I don't know if he can do it.

So I'm going to stand up with him.

We both go to a podium. Me in my Hawaiian shirt and Number 2 in his suit. He's also wearing a brand new pair of blue two-tone Vans that my dad had purchased but never had a chance to wear.

He begins what he wants to share and I get a good look at who is here for the services.

There are plenty of faces that I don't recognize and I expected that. My dad knew plenty of people that I had never met.

Then I start locking in on the people that are there for me and Number 2.

I see my aunts and one uncle. With them are two of the cousins that created the Reject Man game with me.

I make eye contact with the men that were in my wedding party and they are all smiling at me. I can't really tell if it is because of my outfit or if they are just smiling to support me. Whatever. It works.

I also found that some of my current and former co-workers made it out today. It seems a little strange but of all the people that were there, their presence meant the most to me. More than they will ever know.

And then something else catches my eye.

It is Number 2. He is on fire with his eulogy.

He is funny and sweet. He is compelling. And for the first time in my life, I see him as the adult that he has become.

He is anything but the Reject Man.

VW

Front Row Seats

Have you ever had a moment when you felt like everyone in your immediate vicinity was looking at you?

That's how I felt when I got out of the car.

I quickly gathered everything I brought with me (the eulogy I wrote, the CD's that would be played during the services, and some pictures of the Chicken that we were going to request be placed inside the casket with my dad) and walked the 150 yards to the chapel entrance.

Although I saw friends and family gathered outside, nobody approached me. It could have been because I was freaking some folks out by wearing what my dad would be wearing if he had been attending. Or maybe it was just because I was walking with a purpose.

I wanted to see how everything was set up.

I entered the chapel and I was surprised at what I saw.

Flowers were everywhere.

It wasn't like when Princess Diana died or anything but I didn't expect over a dozen flower arrangements to be there. I had always thought that it was such a waste to send flowers to a funeral but this experience changed my mind about that. Every arrangement said the exact same thing to me - "We miss your dad, too."

I approached my dad's casket and placed my hand on it. It was smooth to the touch and slightly cold. It wasn't as small as I thought it was going to be. It looked like to me that he would have plenty of room in there.

Mr. Stream approached me and asked how I was doing.

I just turned and blinked at him. How am I going to speak if I can answer a simple question like that?

The representative from the funeral home comes up behind Mr. Stream and introduces himself to me. He puts on an empathetic face but if you look deeper, you can see that he's only concerned about turning over the chapel to the next service.

He asks if I have the CDs. I respond in the affirmative and he escorts me to the room immediately behind my dad's casket. There's an organ back there and a closed circuit monitor of the chapel. He introduces me to the organist.

"Do you want me to play anything on the organ as your guests arrive?"

I tell her what order to play the music in and let her know that I don't really want the organ.

"God Only Knows is really nice. The services for Brian Wilson's mom were held here and he sang that song then," she shared.

I nod and head back into the chapel.

The Commander has set up the memory board she's created and people are looking at that. My Mom has taken the Chicken. She's wants my wife to be with me for this.

The theme from High Road to China begins to play.

I see my grandparents and my uncle and aunt enter the chapel and I go to greet them.

I'm five feet away from my grandma and she asks me, "Who's standing there?" It has got to be a bitch to lose your sight.

"It's me grandma."

She's startled that it is me. She's been so frustrated with getting old and having both her body and mind begin to fail her. But for 88 years old, I still think she's doing pretty good.

She pulls me to her to give me a hug. I haven't seen her since Easter. My dad had asked if we could bring the Chicken out to see her great-grandparents because he didn't think that they would be around too much longer. I had videotaped much of the time that we spent out there to have footage of her with her great-grandparents.

Oh my god. I have video of my dad with the Chicken and I totally forgot about it.

Mr. Stream pulls me away and I grab some tissues and head to the front row.

We are just about ready to get this started.

Sig Alert

Loyd Sigmon was a local radio reporter in Los Angeles that developed a unique relationship with the LAPD during the 1940's.

It seems that whenever there was a bad car wreck on city streets, the police got into the habit of notifying Mr. Sigmon. Over time, these notifications entered the vernacular of Southern California and became known as "Sig-Alerts." It is, apparently, a term unique to Southern California but the frustration in being caught in one is definitely universal.

Fortunately, I am one of the few residents of Southern California that doesn't have to deal with traffic on an everyday basis.

My house is exactly 4.8 miles from my typical parking spot at my work and I don't have a need to get on a highway to get to it. A bad traffic day for me is when I hit 8 or more red lights.

I guess I should have been expecting to get backhanded by some serious traffic karma on the way to the funeral.

We had left our house in Orange for the funeral in Whittier a solid 90 minutes prior to the services. Number 2 and I were in my car and the Commander, the Chicken, and Nerdle were in another car.

We hit traffic almost immediately.

Bad traffic.

The kind of traffic that makes me wish to see a demolished car on the side of the road because there is no excuse for the freeway that I need to take to get to my dad's funeral to be so packed at 9:30 a.m. on a Thursday morning.

I scan the AM dial and there is no news about this traffic.

While watching the minutes tick off of the clock, I continue to worry about things that I can't control. Most of all, I see-saw between two questions.

What if we don't make it in time?

and

What if nobody shows up?

It's entirely possible that this whole day could go south in just a matter of minutes. We just have to make it on time.

My whole week has been just like a sig alert and this is just the frickin' cherry on top of the sundae.

I feel like if I could just make it through today and have it go well (or as about as well as one can hope a funeral goes), I can bust through this sig alert that I'm currently in and get my life back on track.

We finally make it to our off ramp with about 15 minutes to spare. It's another 5 minutes to the chapel but then I'm coffin-blocked by a funeral procession that is cruising along at about 10 mph.

All of us eventually make it to the chapel and instantly both of my questions are answered.

We have made it on time but we have a difficult time finding a parking space.

There were a lot of people here.

VW

The Best Part of Waking Up

I am not a morning person.

I never have been and I never will be. It takes me about an hour to even get to the point where I want to talk to anybody.

The morning of my dad's funeral is no exception.

I do, however, wake up before the Commander and the Chicken and start getting ready for the day.

My Mom's family and the Commander's family will come back her after the reception. Under normal circumstances, the Commander would be quite nervous about having so many people over.

But normal circumstances have now been thrown out the window.

I put the eulogy I've written in one of my dad's business notebooks. I also tape a picture of him that I found the other night on the inside flap of the notebook.

He's leaning in towards the camera, flashing his Gumby.

Gumby was the name for his middle finger on his right hand. 20 years or so ago, there was an accident at work and his middle finger was smashed. He ended up losing the tip of his finger but in the process, he gained a joke that he would use for the rest of his life.

Whenever somebody was annoying him, he would ask "Wanna see Gumby?" Without waiting for a response, he would pull out his middle finger that now bore a strange resemblance to the classic claymation character.

If I get too upset during the services, I'm hoping that picture will get me through it.

I take care of the three S's before anyone gets else gets up. After two weeks of not shaving, I have the thickest goatee of my life. But for the first time ever there are flecks of grey appearing on my chin.

I put on everything that I'm going to wear (including some sweet sunglasses) and I look in the mirror only to be shocked by what I see.

I look just like him.

VW

The Eulogy

At the end of the summer of 1998, a great looking 25 year old kid that I worked with shot himself in the head behind a 7/11 in Tustin. The day before, he had been put on suspension at work for drinking on the job. I guess he couldn't take whatever pressure came with that and he ended what had always seemed to me to be a charmed life.

Hundreds of people that we had worked with showed up for his funeral. His family invited anyone that wanted to speak to come to the podium and do so. I so badly wanted to go up there and let his parents know what a special kid they had and how destroyed I was that I didn't see this coming. That I didn't know he was that close to such a horrible decision. As family and friends each took turns at the podium, I realized that it was going to be impossible for me to get up there and speak. I was so full of sadness that it seemed to seep out of every pore. The services ended and I couldn't seize the opportunity to say some great things about a great friend.

Knowing this, I was determined to get through a proper eulogy for my father.

Upon my return home, The Commander wanted to show me the Hawaiian shirt that she had purchased earlier for me. It was a nice print. Not too loud but it just enough flair that my dad would have probably worn it. Then she pulled out a little surprise for me.

She had purchased a matching outfit for the Chicken and I.

I thanked her for her help and quickly went to the computer. I spent most of the night there. Sometimes laughing and sometimes crying. But always with the thought that I needed to make sure I got everything out that I needed to.

Here's what I ended up with:

My father took me to a lot of funerals over the years. He’d even pull me out of school sometimes to go with him (which I wasn’t about to complain about). Sometime during these days he would eventually tell me – “Son, you don’t go to a funeral for the dead. You go there for the folks they left behind.” I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you all taking time to come out here for us today.

This past week has been like a thunderstorm passing through. Sometimes, it is dark and rainy. And sometimes, it is just partly cloudy with a slight chance of showers. But throughout the week, memories of my father have been like lightening – they come out of nowhere and are brilliant for a moment before fading away.

I’d like to tell you all a little about my father and for those of you that knew him, I hope that you’ll do the same. For those of you that aren’t comfortable speaking today, I hope that some other time you can share your story or two with my brother and I.

Fate has a way of circling back on a man and taken him by surprise. Man sees things differently and different times of his life.

When I was five, I thought he was the greatest guy in the world.

When I was fifteen, I was thinking about how to keep him from embarrassing me.

When I was twenty-five….well, I was still thinking about how to keep him from embarrassing me.

But now at thirty-five, I’m back to thinking he was the greatest guy in the world.

That lightbulb went on for me on October 12th, 2003 when my daughter was born. I had two thoughts flash across my brain that moment. First, was “that was the most beautiful thing I will ever see. I will love this baby more than anything in the world.” And the second thought was, “If I feel this way about this new baby, then my parents must feel this way about me.”

Knowing this completely changed my perspective about my father forever.

My father had a penchant for spoiling us rotten. There weren’t too many times that we didn’t hear – “It was only money” before getting from him whatever was the latest and greatest.

But more than the “things” that he purchased for us, I am thankful for the other gifts from him that we received along the way.

First and foremost, he instilled in us a supreme work ethic. And I think I can trace that back to something as simple as making the bed. Every Sunday when I was living with my father, we would change the sheets on both my bed and his bed. I was never too thrilled about this and if I wasn’t holding up my end of the deal he would say “I am not going to send you out into this world without you knowing how to properly make your bed!” And that would be my cue to stop complaining or screwing around and finish getting the beds made.

Another gift from my father was patience. He did not sweat the small stuff. I remember one day when my friends used my bb gun to shoot out a car window of a neighbor one day before he came home to work. The neighbor yelled at me “When your father gets home, I’m coming right over to tell him what happened!” I sat outside and waiting for my Dad to pull up – hoping that I would have a chance to plead my case before the neighbor stormed across the street. When my Dad pulled up, the neighbor flew out of the house to catch him before I could talk to him….and I thought I was sunk. Maybe a week’s restriction heading my way? Maybe the Intellevision would be taken out of my room? What would happen???

The neighbor lashes into my Dad telling him the story of his awful bb gun toting son that shot out his car windshield. As the neighbor wrapped up the story, my Dad looked at me and asked “Was it an accident?” I nodded yes. My Dad told the neighbor, “Get it fixed and send me the bill” and left the neighbor standing there with his mouth open. My Dad could tell that I was upset about the situation and warmly said, “please don’t let that happen again. I don’t like that guy and I don’t want to cut him any more checks.”

I really appreciated my Dad’s patience after that.

His final gift for us was something really simple and so appreciated today. He prepared us for his passing. He knew he didn’t have much time left and every time he was with one of us, he gave us additional instructions to be carried out after his passing.

“Don’t get anything less than high blue book for my truck” or “Moondoggie and Gidget have until September to clean out the garage” were just some of the things mentioned to us over the last couple of months. He did everything he could to make sure that the most painful moment of our lives was as easy as he could make it.

There were many things that I enjoyed doing with my dad when I was a kid and I just wanted to share some of them with you today.

* Watching the Gong Show with my dad and dancing like Mean Gene the Dancing Machine.
* Going to Dooley’s in Long Beach and getting a couple of hot dogs.
* Going to work with my Dad.
* Going to the movies
* Going to Bolsa Chica beach every other weekend during summer for the entire day.
* Getting donuts and watching Popeye & Friends on Sunday mornings.
* Getting either a lemon meringue pie or a bunny cake for my birthday.

My brother and I have started the exercise of going through my father’s belongings. And every couple of minutes, one of us would say “Hey, check this out!” and be amazed by some treasure that he had left for us. One item that really touched me was a father of the year proclamation that we had given him in 1982. For some reason, it was sitting on his dining room table.

Another treasure that I found this week was a videotape with his name on it. If this story rings a bell with anyone here, I’d love to being able to put it in some sort of context. It appeared to be part of some sort of presentation skills workshop shot in 2000. I watched as my father started out a bit nervous but then delivered what was just a stellar presentation. Part of my role at work is to facilitate classes and deliver presentations. As this presentation unfolded, I found myself in awe of what an amazing job he was doing.

The presentation ends and he gets feedback from the class facilitator as well as the other people attending. One of his peers commented that “Gene made great eye contact with everyone.” My father took off those coke bottle glasses of his and said “That’s funny. Because I can’t see any f-ing one of you.”

As far as I’m concerned, it is a tape worth its weight in gold.

Among the many different thoughts that I’ve had this past week, one of them comes my grandmother’s preaching – In everything, give thanks. And although this has been a very sad week, there are many people that I am thankful for and I’d like to recognize some of them that made this week a little easier.

Moondoggie and Gidget – Your kindness this week will never be forgotten by either Number 2 or myself.

Mr. and Mrs. Stream – Thank you both for looking after the two of us this week.

M – Thank you for being there for my brother on Thursday.

The Rabbi and Galaxy Girl – Thanks for being my wingmen this week while the Commander was at Space Camp.

The Big Guy and Buffalo Bob – Thanks for just letting me talk to you about my Pop.

There are some folks that I work with that have been amazing. Thanks for just letting me talk when I needed to. It is people like you that make it worthwhile to go to work every day.

A & E – thanks for helping the Commander with that amazing tribute to my father and the VW family. I know how much work and effort that took and I love it. My Dad would have been amazed at your work.

The entire Big Daddy family – You have always treated me like either a son or a brother and in this week when I needed help the most, you all were there for me.

My grandparents and my uncle – Thank you for your ongoing support. We think we’ve done exactly what Dad would have wanted us to do. I know that it was a tough phone call to make to me but I want you to know that I’m happy I heard the news about my Dad from you.

Mom and J – Thank you both for everything.

Number 2 – I have never been more proud to have you as a brother.

The Commander – Even though you were 2000 miles away when this happened, I’ve never felt more close to you. Thank you for everything that you do everyday.

The final person I have to thank is my little Chicken. She was the light of my Dad’s life these past few months and has the ability to chase all of the dark clouds away. Chicken, if I can be half the father that your Grandfather was, you will have the best dad in the world.

Thank you all very much for coming. I can't express how much it means to me.

At 3 a.m., I hit File>Print and I've got maybe the most important Word document that I've ever created in my hands.

Gotta shut off my brain now and get some sleep.

VW