The winds beneath my wings have stilled.  Paul has and will forever be my morning star, my mid-day sun and my evening moon. We laughed together, played together, traveled together, debated together, golfed together and loved together as few couples truly achieve. The catalyst for this beautiful relationship was his caring, tender, humorous, and loving manner.  Oh how he loved to laugh. Paul’s great love and fierce pride for our children showed in his conversations with everyone.  And the tales of his tremendous love and unbelievable enjoyment of our two grandsons are legion.  He would dance with them and chase with them and watch their DVD’s while holding them on his lap.  One of his favorite ones was what Paul called ‘baby goat’, which is really Vincent Van Goat, a very colorful learning DVD.  With his grandbabies, as he had with his children, Paul was always subtly teaching them things in his ‘you don’t know this is a lesson’ way.  Lord but he had a knack for that.  Last year he put in a little garden so the grandsons could watch watermelon and cantaloupe grow. The watermelons were quite the success with 6 or 7 growing to 40 to 50 pounds.  The boys would sit on them like a horse.  Oh how that thrilled gwampa. 

My precious hubby always tried to make everyone think he was a major pessimist and would often say ‘if it weren’t for the pessimist in the world the optimist would have nothing to be optimistic about’.  But underneath that exterior he was the optimist as he continually planned and created.  He loved to plan vacations and would sometimes think the planning was more fun than the actual trip.  I could spend pages relating our trips to Nova Scotia, the ATV trails in Utah, and New York City.  Wow, did he love that place.  We celebrated our 47th wedding anniversary in NYC after months of reviewing which Broadway play to see, would we go to the Metropolitan Opera or NIT basketball tourney at Madison Square Garden.  He chose the Met saying he had been to MSG  before and since we did not know what teams would be playing he preferred a different experience.  After attending the Met he made the comment that he’d done that and wouldn’t have to do it again.   Our son Steve plays for the Dallas Opera and we had attended a few operas in Dallas.  So the Met was something he really wanted to do but I in reality I think it was for me.  He researched the restaurants where we could eat and then we decided which ones we would go to.  I think his favorite was Sean George, as it was so different and outrageously expensive.  I know he loved all of this and reality was making an eventful trip all for me.  While dining at Sean George he told our server that we were celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary.  Then he said ‘it’s really our 47th but we don’t know if we would make it to 50’.  Isn’t that ironic?    That became his banner and he used it a number of times in this past year.  God, but that’s surreal.  We really were planning on making it to 50 and way beyond.   Oh, how I love that man.

My brilliant husband never considered himself to be the wise, intelligent and remarkable man that he was.  His constant thirst for knowledge is legend and he always was anxious and willing to discuss and debate and share all that he had learned.  One of his greatest interests was researching the financial world.  He was an avid fan of Scott Burns and would tell me each morning what Scott had written in the paper that day.  The internet was the most amazing source of enjoyment for Paul and I am so happy that he had the years of retirement in which to use it.  The places he would find and the information he would absorb and share with me was overwhelming.

Paul had become the cook in the family the past 8 or 10 years and was quite remarkable.  He constantly searched the internet for new recipes and became quite the chef.  Yet he never considered that his cooking was good or his ability to make a dish an outstanding achievement.  He always said ‘if you can read, you can cook’.  But he had many success and few miscues.  But he & I enjoyed his efforts and his cooking.

 I am missing his gentle caress, his taking my hand as we walk into the grocery, the laughing and moaning on the golf course, the groans of creeping aches and pains in the morning, the laughter in his eyes when he is talking to me, his cooking, his plumbing trips to Home Depot, our talks over cocktails, the gentle touch across the table at a restaurant, the joy of the grandbabies,  his grilling the salmon while sipping martinis, our sharing the yard work then sitting on the porch to cool down, the laughter, the surfing of the t.v. channels as he did not want to see what was on, he wanted to see what else was on, his laughter, his love, his presence and a million moments.. 

I love you my darling. I shall always hear your laughter.  I shall always feel your arms around me. You are always with me. I love you forever.

Your Barbie Doll

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Dad was living his life the way we all should; like he was going to live forever.  In walking through my parent’s house on Monday afternoon, my Dad’s presence was still unmistakable.  There was the computer web site that was open where he was looking to make travel arrangements to visit his sister in Florida at the end of February.  Then, there was his golf equipment laid out for the golf outing he and mom were planning for Monday afternoon.  There, on the kitchen table was the coupon attached to a grocery list he had recently started.  Also, there were plans for a September trip to Indiana for a race at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, a few rounds of golf, and Notre Dame Football game.  He was not one to sit back and let life go by.  Rather, he was living life to the best of his abilities.  Always making plans for some adventure.  In fact, planning was often his favorite part of the process.  While taking an assessment of my Dad’s life over these past few days, I have gained a new admiration for his zest for living.  I hope that outlook is one of the things I apply in my own life going forward. 

Dad just lit up whenever his grandsons would come to visit.  Ryan and Liam had a way to elevate Dad to a new level of energy and enthusiasm.  One of the favorite activities Ryan enjoyed with Dad was to watch for the garbage man every Tuesday and Friday morning.  Ryan and Dad would sit by the front door with anxious anticipation of the garbage men who magically made the trash disappear.  Ryan also enjoyed riding on the DART train, and Dad and Ryan went on many train tours.  As much as I will miss my Dad, I grieve knowing that Ryan and Liam will no longer get to play with their “gwampa”.  All three of them will surely miss that time together.  I already miss watching that interaction. 

It was not just his kids and grandkids that he enjoyed.  His love for kids extended to the kids in the neighborhood, as well as the children he and Mom tended to at “The Network of Community Ministries” based in Richardson.  Even until this past Monday, the 5 year old next door neighbor would come over to see if Dad could come out to play.  “Joe” as he was known to Dad, was often seen on the front porch sitting with Dad. 

Mom and Dad had taken up golf over the past year and it delighted me to see them find a common passion at this stage in life.  They were really enjoying this time together and were looking forward to broadening the golf adventures.   

It is a surreal scene; one in which there is activities of two lives living in harmony in process.  It appears that one of the actors has momentarily left the stage.   

The crowd is anxiously waiting for the absent actor to return to his stage……

The fondest memories of my Dad have to do with the time we spent fishing.  That was time for real bonding with my brothers and our Dad.  The outings that most stand out in my memories are the early morning trips we spent bank fishing at Lake Lavon.  My brothers and I would protest the “tortuous” methods my Dad would use to wake us up.  But, once we got on the road we were all happy to be there (well, that is how I remember it anyway).  We definitely liked it once we got to the fishing hole.  To be honest, I don’t recall the fishing being all that great at our favorite spot.  However, I do recall the camaraderie was unbeatable.  We never wanted to be the guy who got skunked.  More often than not, I remember being the skunk.  I would always argue that I was fishing for quality not quantity, and that carp, gar and catfish were second class citizens compared to the bass I was fishing for.  That argument rarely worked, and I was deemed the skunk of the day.  On the way home we would keep each other awake by keeping an eye on one another.  “NO Z’s!!” was the cry that went out to make sure none of us was sneaking in some shut eye.  Since Dad could not sleep (after all, he was the only one of driving age), none of us could sleep.  We always made it home safely.  I am sure my dad already had plans and was looking forward to the day that he got to take his grandsons fishing. 

If we were not out fishing, the other favorite weekend past time was driving around Fannin County, looking for a farm.  Looking back on those outings now, I tend to believe that this was another example of the journey being the purpose, not the destination.  I am not sure Dad really wanted to find that “perfect” plot of land.  I think he liked the time in the truck with his sons.  Favorite sayings on these outings include, “No Z’s”; “That tank is more than full, must have had a lot of rain up here”; “That place was fenced and cross-fenced”. 

One of the things I like to think I am capable of is being handy around the house.  This is a skill I learned from Dad.  The way I like to remember it is that whenever he had something that needed fixing around the house I eagerly volunteered to help.  It may have been that I was the only one around at the time and was therefore the “lucky” one.  Regardless, I learned a lot of skills that have come in handy once I became a homeowner. 

I am saddened that it took my Dad’s death for me to sit down and slow down and recall all of the great times we had together; and, to realize everything he had taught me.  Not just about fishing, or, how to take a leisurely drive in the country, or how to fix a toilet.  He also taught me the important stuff, like how to be a man.  How to be a responsible to and for your family.  How to fulfill your commitments.  How to be prepared for a rainy day.  How to treat people.  How to laugh.  How to have fun.  How to plan a trip (even if you never take it).  How to enjoy time spent with family and friends. 

Pa’, I’ll miss you more than you will ever know. 

Jeff

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Dad had a unique way of teaching his young kids and grandkids important lessons. He believed in repetition and apparently embarrassment as strong learning tools. My most memorable example of this was the importance of safely crossing the street. ”Look both ways before crossing the street” he would shout from the yard. “Look both ways!” But when this failed to yield the desired result he would make us cross the street 50 times and each time stop at the curb and look left, and then right and say “I promise to look both ways before crossing the street”.  This act in itself wasn’t too bad but when your brothers and other neighborhood spectators began to gather and stare!?!...This is when the ‘tool’ became it’s most affective!  Our brother Jeff was honored with the legendary refrigerator door lesson. “Refrigerator, I am sorry I did not close your drawer and your door”…Refrigerator, I am sorry I did close your drawer and your door”. I can tell you it was certainly more amusing as a spectator!  

Learning to ride a bike with Dad also had a unique flavor.  During his lessons I learned not only how to ride a bike but also learned to conceptualize the power of suggestion. He loved to tinker with this concept with anyone he felt may be susceptible to it. And I certainly was one of those people. As I sat on the bike in our backyard with Dad’s hand on my back and the other on the handlebars steadying me he would give a big shove toward the yard and off pedaling I would go.  As I wobbled on the pavement toward the grass there was only one obstacle, the basketball pole.  There wasn’t anything else that could possibly get in the way, just one single 4 inch thick metal basketball pole to the left and about 50 feet of open yard to the right.   Here is where the mind games began. After each shove off he would holler, “watch out for the pole” and “don’t run into the basketball pole”. Unbelievably no matter how hard I worked at avoiding the pole I simply could not.  My arms were locked into auto pilot and the pole was my destination. There was no other choice I simply had to hit the basketball pole every time. Of course upon his suggestion I was so focused on not hitting the pole that it inevitably drew me to it like a magnet. To this day I wonder if he didn’t have an electromagnet placed in that pole. 

Indy car racing was a large part of Dad’s life. Many years dad was at the race in person with Larry and Bill but the years he couldn’t make it translated to an annual tradition at the Brown’s house.   Each Memorial Day weekend Dad would gear up for the day starting with his black and white checkered flag attire including socks, boxers, shoes, shirt and tie.  During the month of May the Indianapolis news paper arrived to give in-depth race news otherwise unavailable from local Texas media. Prior to the race the starting grid would be pulled from the paper for tracking each driver and their race positions during the race.  During the race the radio would be blaring of course to experience the deafening neeeoow sound of each lap. The tradition will surely continue. The clothes however may be enshrined. 

Having a great father eventually translates to experiencing a greater loss.  Anyone so lucky to have such wonderful parents certainly know this fundamental truth.   “You will be sorry when I’m dead and gone” dad would say on occasion as part of his standard joke when any of his kids would rib him. We of course knew how terribly true this would be someday. Who could have known it would be like this, zapped away in an instant. He always gladly took the brunt of the light-hearted jokes or abuse we would send his way but would we could be certain a better reply was waiting.  Our Dad was and endless source of love, knowledge and humor. His love for his family and friends was inherent, always there and always felt. His love was simply a given. No doubt, no hesitation…just simply there.  He always had valuable advice on any subject. He read the paper every morning of his life.  He had insight into any subject you might care to invoke and would passionately share his thoughts with anyone who did.  He was always a source to trust without question.  That’s not to say people wouldn’t give him a good debate.  That was undoubtedly his desire, to have a spirited discussion with you to gain your opinion to test his belief. But for me, my bet was always on Pop!  

Father knows best and I certainly believed that.  

Bob