What I Wrote For My Dad's Funeral
Since I’m in a church, I think it’s time to get a confession off my chest. I never got to tell my dad this, but I once got in trouble with Our Ladies of Lordes. Right after the 9 AM mass on Sunday where I sang with Folk group. I kind of blurted out “Let’s Go Mets” at the end of the mass when the Mets were plaing in the World Series in 1986! Which I might add was met with laughs, murmurs of support, applause, and the attempted excommunication from Father Bill who I learned later was a Yankees fan. But at least here, my conscious is clear that I’ve told my dad now.
I don’t want to get all formal and write an epic poem like most English majors who turn IT. Dylan Thomas can kiss my foot. Sorry, this is a church, and I can not say how Dylan should go off into that gentle night. Seriously, I really only had a few hours to put this together and Cathi is very nervous what I might mention.
But I want to dedicate this series of memories to the man who introduced me to egg foo young, computer games and scoring baseball. My dad who lived in a home to the largest paperback library of science fiction and miltirary suspense stories in the Northeast. And please remember the West Islip Public Libary’s conders Thomas P Smith one of their most wanted for overdue books.
One of my earliest memories, I remember him going off to work in the apartment eating his wheat germ sprinkled on his Total breakfast ceral at 6 AM.
Watching Met Games while they still on Channel 9 with Schaffer commercials and cursing about the games on some premium service called Sports channel.
The Saturdays he took me to Chemical Bank and how I cleaned out his office branch of all their hot chocolate. How I thought that any moment I would witness a bank robbery at the age of seven.
I remember learning to drink pepsi and eat pretzels with sour cream before we learned the taboo of double dipping.
Being the first to try cable TV and Atari game systems much to the apprecaition of our baby sitters.
The job of picking up and returning of cheap soda at the beverage distrubution center. I remember trying not to drop the dirty plastic crate filled with glass bottles before the parties we would have at home. We kept the double dipping in check back then, don’t worry.
Long drives in the car which were beautiful to behold, but impossible to appreciate since Jennifer, Thomas, Cathi and I were all turning green with all the car sickness.
The hiking we did on vacations where we would lean just enough off a cliff to give my mom premature red hair. Especailly when you consider how long it took my dad to take a picture.
The Catskill Game Farm whereing these weird visors while staying at
Frans’.
Eating rib sandwiches at a place called the Cuckoos nest in PA.
Our Loon Lake vacations - where I relied on him for getting me on all the thrill rides despite the look of pleading in his eyes that said, “not that one.”
One of the best memories I have is when he dropped me off to be away from home for the first time in college:
“Now if you and Brenda break up, I don’t want to hear that you want to leave Oneonta.”
It was also there where they picked me up after my first year uncle Fred and dad in Oneonta. I should have insisted we make a stop in Cooperstown.
Even my most recent thought of him:
My dad asking me about going on scary rides with him last Novemeber. Losing my blue tooth headset while falling on the Screaming Tower of Terror in Walt Disney World.
I know he would want to thank everyone who came by with a hug or a prayer. To all our friends and family. He would be blown away by the amount of flowers, mass cards, the 45 tons of cold cuts, salads, and baked ziti people have dropped off. Food is love over here.
I know we all feel he’s in a better place:
In a place where, his slot machine winning strategy finally pays off.
Where he finally picks the correct stocks.
Where he can still get the Fox News Network, the weather channel, and CNBC.
And there in walking distance under construnction site, for Shea Stadium where there’s plenty of parking next year. But Aunt Joan is concerned that the traffic might be too much with all of that going on.
At last now, Grandpa Smith has backup.
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