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.
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.
posted by JVW at 9:48 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home