For the Love of Dad

Otherwise known as... Enough Said

Prologue:  The author wrote-- and subsequently read-- the below eulogy as a tribute to her recently deceased father.  She now shares this tribute to her readers who were not able to attend his funeral service on Tuesday, January 3, 2012.

My dad believed in karma, that what you put out in the world, comes back to you.  If we got a good parking space, he would say, That’s good karma, Jen!  A couple of years ago he happened into a really great deal on a barely used Buick, and he told me it was because of his good karma.  He liked to help people.  So, about three weeks ago, when Dad was in the hospital recovering from his hernia surgery, I don’t remember what had happened, but one the nurses who was clearly of Indian descent was in his room talking about something.  Dad said, You know Padma, that’s good karma!

DAD!

What?!  She’s Indian, she knows what karma is!

That was my dad.

My dad, Johnnie David Single., whom most of you know as Dave, was born on April 9, 1949 in Jacksonville, Florida, an only child to Johnnie and Mary M.  My granddaddy was only 18 when Dad was born, so he would always say that they grew up together.  Dad had this way about him, of creating family wherever he went.  Of course, he had his amazing parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins on both sides of his family, in addition to his grandmothers and great grandmother.  He was very close to his southern roots, enjoying the time he spent on my great-great grandmother’s farm while growing up and my great aunt and great uncle's home in Key West.  When he turned 21 years old, my great-great grandmother told him that she gave up on him, that he was just going to be a bachelor forever, and so she gave him the wedding afghan she had knitted for him.  

She married at 16 and was widowed at 19.  At 21, my father was ancient.  He met my mother, Toni, when he was 22 and married her 6 months later at the age of 23.  He had just been waiting for the right girl to come along.  I came along two years later and my sister Kimberly was born five years after that.  Dad’s immediate family was complete.

He did not stop with us, and to be honest, he didn’t start with us.  At the age of nine he met his best friend, Rick L.  They became lifelong friends, and brothers.  Dad had the best of both worlds—loads of attention and affection from his parents at home, as well as lots of space; and Uncle Rick’s huge Italian Catholic family.  Uncle Rick and Dad were inseparable.  Dad told me about the night before Uncle Rick was leaving to be a paratrooper in Vietnam.  He said that Uncle Rick thought he was invincible, so Dad wrestled him to the ground, and said he wasn’t such a hot shot (I think Dad used stronger language) and the most important thing was that he come home.  Uncle Rick and his wife, my Aunt Lynne, were married the same year as my parents.  They had two sons and a daughter.  The sons, Bryan and Mark, are about the same ages as my sister and I, and we were intended for them.  The four of us let our parents down.  But you know, as I told Uncle Rick a couple of days ago, it’s more important for the church to get a priest than for me to get a husband. 

Dad’s family continued to grow as he started working for Western Electric, which would become AT&T.  He became friends with Norm D. and several other colleagues at the Miami plant.  Their friendships continued when they transferred here to Orlando.  In recent years Norm and his wife Pat have given my parents quite the social life—sharing major life occasions like their daughter Jenny getting married, going out to eat, and playing the Wii at their house. 

Twenty-seven years ago Dad met a man in the fishing department at K-Mart—y’all know how much he loved to fish, and trolling the aisles examining rods and lures was one of his favorite past times.  Robert and Dad have been friends and fishing buddies ever since.  And it all started in K-Mart.  How many folks do you know that could meet a lifelong friend at K-Mart? 

When Dad retired from AT&T about ten years ago, he wheeled and dealed in antiques for a bit.  I think that it was his way of remembering his mother—particularly his collection of Depression glass.  Dad knew everyone in downtown St. Cloud. 

A few years ago Dad began working as a custodian for the My County School District.  His family grew even bigger.  He touched the lives of students, teachers, and office staff.  When he worked at Maple Tree Annex, which became the Melody K-8 School, he would write notes on the whiteboard, particularly if they had done a good job keeping the classroom clean.  He left candy on desks before holidays.  He befriended students in need of a strong male figure.  He was more than a custodian—he was a mentor, a jokester, a caring ear.  I also know for a fact that he talked about his daughters a lot more than he should have… but that’s only because he was so proud of us.

When he transferred to the Technical Education Center of My County in 2008, his family grew still larger, bonding closely with his custodial team and the office staff, who became such a strong support system for him when he was diagnosed with cancer last year, that rather than stay home and rest, he went back to work.  He needed to joke.  To flirt.  To prove to himself that his body was strong even though his surgery and subsequent cancer treatments made him weak.  I also suspect he was privy to a lot more junk food at work than he was at home.  As you all know… Dad had a stomach that wouldn’t quit.  

Throughout all of Dad’s adventures, he had his steadfast wife at his side.  My mom was his rock, and he looked out for her as much as she looked out for him.  These past few years they have found a common bond in gardening, playing UNO or Farkle, and taking cruises together.  They were great role models on what it means to love someone in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, till death do us part.  This June they would have been married for 40 years.  

Dad wasn’t just a father to my sister and me.  He was a father figure to most of our high school friends and a lot of our adult friends as well.  As one friend recently told me, When your dad asked you how you were doing, he really wanted to know.  He really wanted to listen to how you were doing.  I really loved that about him.  It’s true.  Dad had a gift of drawing people’s stories out of them.  And they loved him for it.  Over the past few years he has grown quite close to my best friend’s boyfriend, Julio.  He’s the Puerto Rican son my father never had.  They would sit out on the back porch at my parent’s house and drink coffee together.  Julio did a lot around my parent’s house when Dad got sick.  We always knew that we could depend on him if we needed any kind of job done that Dad couldn’t do.  Dad thought the world of Julio, and I know that the feeling was mutual.  It is such a special thing when your friends start loving your parents nearly as much as you do.  It was hard for my dad to relinquish jobs around the house that he used to be able to do himself, but drinking coffee with Julio was his way of offering a part of himself that he could still give… his time, and his caring heart.

For all of my dad’s strength, he had a very tender heart.  When his feelings were hurt, he had a hard time letting things go.  I know there are people that he would have put things right with if he had known that he was going home to our Heavenly Father on Thursday night.  I think there is a valuable lesson in that.  Don’t put off making things right with your loved ones, because we never know when our time will come.  The only thing that is certain, is that it will, and we must be prepared.  I started out this afternoon talking about Dad’s belief in karma, that what you put out in the world and how you treat other people comes back to you.  A lot of people don’t get to hear nice things about their parents until after their gone, and it’s true-- I have heard a lot of great things about Dad in emails, phone calls, Facebook posts, and conversations I’ve had with friends and family since his passing.  But you know what— I probably heard at least weekly, if not more often from a coworker or an acquaintance, or even a server in a restaurant… You know, your dad is a really wonderful man—and he really loves you girls.  He had a great way with people, he was generous to a fault, he loved and was loved by so many.  He embodied the phrase, “To know him is to love him.”  If you are a member of Dad’s extended family, blood or otherwise, you know who you are.  We are all fortunate that we had the blessing to be members of his family.