Syzdekistan

Here is the eulogy that Rob gave at his father’s funeral:

The Greatest Generation is the last generation with iconic heroes, those individuals who most of that generation respect, revere, and idolize. These are the few who set the example, the standards for everyone, simply by the way they have lived. Franklin Delano Roosevelt is probably the most revered American hero of the 20th Century, but my father’s hero was John Wayne, a man who exemplified understated wisdom and action.

I’ve read that no generation after my father’s has iconic heroes. The media does its best to prevent such honors, but this doesn’t mean we don’t have heroes. Since September 2001, we’ve seen heroes and heroism discussed widely in the media. Firefighters are heroes. Soldiers are heroes. Policemen can be heroes. However, the most important heroes are the ones who are also most unrecognized; the most important heroes are devoted parents.

Over the past few weeks my sister Kate has been collecting stories from family and friends about my dad. Some are funny. Some are poignant. They are all great because they show my father’s depth of wisdom and devotion.

Robert Williams, my dad, was a great man: a hero as a son, a brother, an uncle, a husband, a father, and a grandfather like no other. These stories remind us what he taught us, how he cared for us, why he’s a hero.

First, a story he wrote himself. These are his words:

“I lived in Caliente until about 2nd grade. One day before moving I was walking down the middle of the street. A car stopped me and scolded me for walking down the street. To make sure that I had better things to do, he gave me a dog, my very first dog. Mom and Dad were not too happy about this, but I couldn’t give it back because I didn’t know who gave it to me; therefore, Bozo became part of the family.”

This story is quintessentially my father, who always seemed to take on responsibilities with a cheerful active devotion.

My father was a humble man. He never spoke or bragged about the favors he did for others. But, I know while he was in Vietnam he sent much of his pay to his parents. The money bought furniture for his parents’ home and helped to build a wall to protect the house from cars speeding around the corners of the neighborhood.
I never thought of my dad as a looker. Sure he was a handsome man, but a hottie? Hmmm… This is Joann’s story.

“Uncle Bob was so handsome that he always had a lot of girls vying for his attention. So, when I got to go with him, they would get very jealous of me. The only problem was, he always introduced me as his niece! Wow! That blew the air out of my sails. In spite of this drawback, he was such a good sport that he would take me to movies, parties, swimming, and church programs. It was always fun to be with Uncle Bob.

Joann continues:

“I remember a wonderful Halloween party that I went to at the Baptist Church. Uncle Bob introduced me to lots of kids, and lots of boys. I was about 11, and it was fun to be part of such a large group. Everyone was just naturally drawn to him. He let me have fun, but kept a careful eye on me so that I didn’t get myself into trouble. He made me feel so grown up.”

Even as a young, attractive man with JoAnn, my dad had the wisdom of fatherhood. He had already mastered the ability to balance risk and protection. Personally, I think this is one of the most difficult aspects of parenting: protecting our kids while giving them room to grow. I hope his spirit will continue to help me with this as Aidan grows up.

My cousin John Leeming wrote about my dad’s humor and subtlety. It’s amazing how one comment from him could bring a laugh, diffuse a situation, or bring some shenanigans under control.

Before John was able to come down for a visit he wrote a letter to my dad, “Bob, do you remember the time you caught me, and I think some of my brothers, skinny dipping in the pool? With a child’s mind, I thought if my mom found out about this I would have lost the skinny off my butt. But you just said, in a manor that suggested, “I don’t think your mom would approve, ‘Did you lose something?’” I can still remember swimming to the side of the pool trying to cover my unmentionables as you turned to go into the house. I was thinking how cool my uncle was.”

My dad was the greatest straight man. He could have taught Abbott and Costello a few things. Some of you may have noticed over the years that my dad’s eyebrows never showed any signs of aging. Do you know why? Actually, it was natural; however, sometimes he told people that President Reagan taught him the best way to dye his eyebrows when he was in the Secret Service. People were pretty impressed.

Growing up, my father pulled off the ultimate family façade. For years, we’d tried to become fishermen. At the time however, the only people who could catch fish in my family were the girls. I’m still pretty sure that Lake Mead actually has no fish or at the very least they can smell me coming. Despite there being no fish in the lake, my dad took Mary for a little father/daughter time with some fishing poles. They were gone all morning, and you should have seen my face when they came home with a chain full of fish. I couldn’t believe it. We talked about it, and he told stories about catching each fish that day.

I think Mary gave away the secret talking about a stop at Albertsons on the way home from the lake. Mary said he even took the time to get his fishing knife dirty just in case someone got suspicious. I usually laugh fondly at this memory, which I’ve personally labeled the greatest “fool-the-family” moment of our history.

Another example of my father’s deep wisdom is easily seen in how he played cards. Of course, he could play any card game and his skill with games was as great as anyone’s. It wasn’t his ability to play that showed the wisdom, but how he played with different people.

Every time my dad and I played Cribbage he had to remind me of the rules. I loved playing with him because he never LET me win but he did let me learn from my mistakes without penalty. He would tease and joke, but he always knew how far to take his teasing. He made it fun.

At the same time, it was fun to watch him play with more serious game players. It was always pretty entertaining when he’d point up on my Uncle Dell. He was also wise enough to ignore the obvious cheating of both of my grandmothers. Watching him, I learned that games are about playing, not about winning.

Richard Phillips wrote about my dad being an inspiring example and about learning the “lessons of work.” I have to agree with Richard. My dad certainly taught me the joy that comes from work.

To this day I love to do yard work. I remember working with my dad, kneeling in the grass, digging up a wayward sprinkler, and getting a surprise soaking when my dad thumbed his finger over the valve to aim the water at me. Fixing sprinklers seemed like our June ritual in the house on Shore Lane.

Before sprinklers, I learned to mow the lawn. I would stand in the middle rung of the mower’s handle, not yet tall enough to push the mower myself. I’d push from the middle while my dad pushed from the top. I’m sure I was more in the way than anything else, but to this day this is one of my most vivid memories, I think because of the pride I felt being allowed to help with such a grown up task.

My father never grumbled about work, any work. Not only could he find the “spoonful of sugar” to make any job easier, but he worked with the understanding that hard work is more for the man than the job. He taught me that from work comes self-respect, confidence, pride, joy, and character. This is one of his greatest gifts to me.

More than anything my father was a true family man. He was constantly on call as a railroad engineer, but I cannot remember a single time he missed a major family holiday. He always got up with us on Christmas morning. He always hid eggs on Easter, and although sometimes we had to eat early, he never missed Thanksgiving dinner.

My sister Kate gets nostalgic whenever she walks into Lowes or Home Depot. The smell of the lumber helps her remember the times my dad would take her to Von Toble’s for tools or wood or some other item needed for his home projects and “honey-dos”. Dad was never shy about taking us with him. He simply enjoyed his kids and his family.

In the past few weeks, I’ve heard several stories from different family members about how my dad was a great example of a father: reliable confidant, and often the first person to turn to in a crisis – all from family. Also, I’ve always known we had a strong relationship with our extended family, but the constant visits, the miles traveled, the phone calls, all to support my mother and spend a last few minutes with my dad; it’s really been unbelievable. One might think my father was a head of state instead of a humble family man.

My father almost never gave me direct advice. Although he often showed me, he rarely told me how to do things. However, I’ll tell you the two bits of wisdom he did share with me. Just before getting married, we were talking, and he told me: “Never say anything bad about your wife. It doesn’t solve any problems.” I’ve been married now for seven years, almost eight, and I’ve got to say that’s pretty good advice.

The only other bit of advice my father ever directly gave me came pretty close to the end. I bent over his bed to give him a hug. We shared “I-love-yous,” and he told me, “Take care of your family.”

Finally, my father was a man of faith. No, he didn’t go to church every Sunday, and he didn’t read the Bible regularly; but he lived as God wanted: peacefully caring for others. He never preached with words, only through example.

For years, my father carried a cross in his pocket. He never spoke about it, and until this week I’d forgotten that he carried it. The cross was a simple reminder that he belongs to God, and now God has reclaimed my father, taken him home. Death doesn’t seem so distant or frightening, knowing that my father will be there when God claims me.

These stories and thoughts about my dad remind me how lucky I am to have had THIS man as my father. I am proud to look like him, to have his name, and to have given his name to my son. This is how I’ll remember him, how he’s a part of me, and why he’s my hero.