My Sweetie's Funeral - Talk by Drama Queen

 This past week since hearing the news that dad had passed, I’ve been reminded that one of my best emotional coping skills is to sort things. Doesn’t really matter what: office supplies, toys, books, junk drawers: I find it soothing to help things find their place. There’s this hope that if I can just settle the world around me, then it will settle the world inside me too. So I’m gonna ask that you sort some things out with me today as I try to do justice in telling you about my dad.

My dad was an electrical engineer and his desk was always a mess. But I always thought it a bit of a beautiful mess. Once I got rid of the cherry Pepsi cans and dirty dishes and lost screwdrivers there were always the strangest little treasures that showed what dad was like: there was always at least one half built pine wood derby car because Dad loved working with the scouts. There would be pages of notes scribbled in the margins around power point slides - because whether it was a presentation at work or a talk for church, Dad was always spaced his thoughts out, knowing that the right words would come.

On dad’s desk would usually be a camera or two with memory cards stuffed full of pictures of us and the occasional slew of nature shots. I don’t think he ever won that photo contest at work, but I liked the random drives we’d all take up the mountains or down to the great salt lake to see if he could get a good shot. Pretty sure it was on one of those drives that we invented screaming at the bottom of our lungs when he looped around on the highway three times for us to go through the tunnels by Vivian park. The whole big van full of kids giggling and growling “uhhhhhhh” over and over and over while the biggest kid of us all was in the drivers seat.

On dad’s desk were books about programming and math and lasers. Between cleanings, new books would appear because Dad liked learning and being curious. Id sort them tallest to shortest and dust carefully around the modem while gathering up spilled seed packets. I am not a fan of bugs or dirt or even being outside so though I never wanted to take over the garden duties I was always impressed by how much my dad knew. He’d make plans in the winter: sketching how to rotate the crops around making sure he could grow enough tomatoes and green beans this year and more corn the next. My dad would spend hours and hours nurturing that garden growing somethings just to make one of us happy: like blue corn for Nates corn maze and Kohlrabi for me and rainbow chard for mom.

Dusting the loose seeds from behind the monitor is usually when I would find and then re-hide one of the lost army men from uncle Mike. I liked hiding them along the tops of the books so they could spy on dad’s keyboard. It was a secret silly game but I loved when dad would let me help set up the next sabotage. I liked knowing that grownups could still play with their siblings too.

On the shelf Above dad’s desk was a tower of mystery boxes: half done projects and tools for the million and one things on his list. Some of the times I most appreciated with my dad was when he’d let me lurk around as he worked on a project and he’d teach me what he was doing: replacing a toilet, wiring a fan, installing tile. Sanding down the hardwood every few years and pouring the new finish all by himself. He’d help anywhere and everywhere: driving down to grandmas just to mow her lawn. Helping Kira rebuild her bathroom. Building an apartment for Nate, completely redesigning the crazy pink house for me. And still at home his own work was never done. I don’t think there is a single thing in my parent’s house he hasn’t had to fix at least twice. I guess twelve kids can break a lot of stuff..

Which is probably why under dad’s desk was a never ending box of extra cords and busted headphones. But if I am at the point of contemplating going through dad’s cord box then that means there really isn’t anything left to sort. Dad was a problem solver. If he couldn’t figure it out: he’d think about it and research and come back to it with something new to try. And if the way I feel is still all tangled up, then I probably need to follow his example and just let it wait until the thoughts come.

My dad was an electrical engineer and his desk was always a mess, but there is one more thing on it that tells you about who my dad was. It’s a computer board. It’s been there for almost as long as me, and it’s one he worked on and helped design. I remember taking it to show and tell as a kid and explaining how my dad was not only as smart as a computer but smart enough to build them too. I used to run my fingers along the chips and solder points and marvel that all those tiny things could make something so good and so important.

And that’s what my dad was: a million tiny things: a million tiny ways that he showed his love to us. To me. He was so good and so important. He was truly a great man because of all the small and simple things. I love you dad. I miss you. Be safe.