Many of my friends today didn’t know my Dad. Didn’t know what a wonderfully talented, amazing and caring person he was. There aren’t enough adjectives to describe how awesome my Dad was, nor how I felt about him. But perhaps this video which was put together by a dear family friend, Kate Booth, can show you just a hint of the love he had of life, and the love that those around him felt for him.

If you’re still around after that, I will share with you the eulogy I prepared for my Dad’s memorial service. It’s long but if you’ve made it through the video, you can read my parting words to my Dad below.

A tribute to my Dad

As a child I was a true Daddy’s girl and that continued into adulthood.  How could I not be?  He was a kind, loving, caring man who truly loved life, his family and friends.  I thought long and hard about what I could share with you today about my Dad.  How could I express what he meant to my brother and I, as well as the rest of our family?  But the more I thought about it the more I realize that there are just certain things you can’t put into words.  So I thought I’d share with you a few stories I remember about him in hopes that they will bring smiles, tears and perhaps make you remember a story about him that was buried in your sub-conscious that you can hold on to during this time of remembrance.

My first memories of my Dad were ones of adoration.  But also of doing anything I could to NOT disappoint him.  I remember when I was about 4 years old and in a hardware supply store with my Mom.  I believe my Mom was having a key made.  I stood by a stand that had padlocks on it and for some reason I wanted one…I imagined it sitting on my dresser with all my other knick knacks. Who knows what I would do with it.  I just wanted it.   And so being a silly child, I took it off the rack and put it in my pocket.  Well, of course my Mom noticed it and made me put it back and apologize to the person who worked at the store.  But the worst part about it all was as we were driving home she told me that I had to tell my Dad what I had done.  I knew how disappointed he would be in me.  As I walked into our house, sobbing and falling to the floor (yes, some of you may have experienced my dramatic flair…) I told him what I had done.  While I knew he was disappointed, my Dad was able to forgive me.  He had forgiveness.

A few years later around age 8 or 9 I recall a Saturday morning where I was dusting.  It was one of my weekly chores to dust the living room and as I was dusting, the television was on and I was watching a Lassie movie.  I got so enthralled with it I stopped my dusting to watch it.  I recall Lassie going into a burning building to save the people who were stuck inside and Lassie not getting out.  I was so upset not knowing if she had been able to escape the fire or if she had died.  My Dad silently walked up behind me, grabbed the dusting cloth and wiped the tears from my eyes and said, ‘don’t worry, it’s just a movie.’  My Dad had compassion.

My Dad was also a character.  He loved jokes and he loved to make people laugh.  Usually whenever he’d tell a joke it was one that made me roll my eyes, but always smile at the end.  I recall getting several emails when I was away at college with funny stories and jokes.  They were always very dry and slap-shticky, but that was my Dad.  For those of you who knew him in the musical theatre capacity, you remember his fun vocal exercises of “rubber-baby-buggy-bumpers” and “she-sells-sea-shells-by-the-sea-shore”.  My Dad always tried to make everything he did fun.  My Dad had joy.

My Dad loved music.  From a young age it was no doubt apparent that he was going to be a great singer.  He sang in USO shows in Okinawa, he did professional musical theatre here in the bay area and he sang in various choirs and men’s groups.  My Dad had a great sensitivity to music and he loved sharing it with people.  Whether it was singing at your wedding, or having the patience to work with you to get you to sing a song in a show, he wanted to be a part of that. I’ve heard from many people that he sang The Lord’s Prayer better than anyone. I’ve also heard from people who have worked with my Dad over the years who speak of what an influence he was in their musical lives…whether it was in setting them on the path to music or giving them the courage to get up in front of a group to sing, my Dad was a teacher in the greatest sense.  His soul was filled with music.

My Dad had a strong faith in God.  He was a member of this church for 20+ years; involved in the choir, volunteering with the church at the Garlic Festival as well as being a part of the men’s group.  His faith was quiet but strong.  When he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in the mid-90′s I believe he put a lot of trust in God.  He had the love and support not only from his family and friends, but from his church.  My Dad had faith.

We last saw my Dad in August of last year.  Our family was having a large reunion with people coming from as far away as Sweden.  My Aunts, brother and I knew it was something my Dad had to attend and so we flew him out as a birthday surprise.  Although the Parkinson’s had begun to severely affect his body, he was still able to walk out and sit amongst his cousins, sisters, kids, nieces and nephews, and feel the love we had for him.  Everyone came up to him to talk with him as you saw in some of the pictures in the video.  He was loved by everyone.  As we all were sitting there I decided I wanted to sing for him.  Most of you know my Dad passed on his gift of music to me and it’s something that has been a huge part of my life.  I don’t know what made me decide to sing that day. As much as I love to sing, I’m not one to “break into song” without being prepared.  But something told me that I should sing for him.  A lot of the family gathered around and I sang a song by Stephen Schwartz called The Meadowlark from the musical, The Baker’s Wife.  It’s a song I’ve never performed but always loved.  As I finished singing, I looked over at my Dad and there were tears in his eyes.  I could see the love there and how proud he was of me.  That is an image that will stick with me forever.  That was the last time he heard me sing.

Through the last years of his life I got into the habit of playing a little game with him where I’d say, “Daddy, guess what?”  He’d ask what and I’d say, “I love you”.  He quickly caught on and so whenever I’d say, “Daddy, guess what?” he’d reply back, “I love you”.  And so I started saying, yes, that’s right. While my Dad’s life was short, it was very full.  I can only imagine that he is looking down on us now from heaven with the rest of his family and friends who are there and basking in the love that is resonating from this church today.  My Dad knew how much he was loved.  And while he is physically gone from us, he is not truly gone.  I was at a memorial service for a friend a few weekends ago who was sadly taken from us too soon.  He was a part of my choir and his best friend (and our director) made a good point to remind us that every time we sing, he is a part of the light and resonance that exists around us.  That is how I feel about my Dad.  Every time I sing I will feel his presence around me and I endeavor you to feel the same way.  He loved all his family and friends dearly and that love will be a part of us for the rest of our lives.

So I end with sharing a poem that gives me hope and faith through all of this and I hope you will take solace in it as well.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.

Okay, if you’ve made it this far, bless you. I realize this is a long post. And I’ll end with this:

Three years gone and I still miss you, Dad. I pass by your picture every day and I wonder if you would be proud of the woman I’ve become. I imagine you cheering my successes, and comforting me in my sadness. Every time I harmonize with the radio, I think of you. When I make a corny joke, it is inspired in some way by you. I’d like to think you are proud of me Dad because you see, so much of who I am is a reflection of you. I love you.

Quick background: I’ve been performing in musical since the age of 4. Growing up in a musical household (Dad was a music director, Mom a choreographer) it was hard to NOT be a part of musicals, but I loved it from the get-go.

I remember when RENT hit broadway. My voice teacher at the time had come back from New York and had told me about this new “rock musical” that was sweeping Broadway. A modern day version of La Boheme, it had its own tragic story. The composer tragically died of a brain aneurysm the night of the final dress rehearsal. The musical then went on to be an international success, really embodying the message sung throughout the musical, “No day but today”.

Most people know or know of RENT, but it had been a while since I’d heard it. I put it on last night in the car and even after almost 10 years, the words still speak to me, the story still moves me to want to live my life to the fullest while recognizing the frailness of humanity and the joys of being yourself.

Your Eyes is a song sung by Roger toward the end of the musical. A song that “took all year” to write for Mimi.

And the iconic Seasons Of Love. This is the anthem of RENT.

The point is I love music, perhaps more than anything else in life. It is the universal language that can transcend cultures, conflict, pain, happiness, sorrow, joy. I’ve had the unique experience of speaking music with people of many different cultures and backgrounds and am consistently amazed at how common ground is found with something so simply complex. If I had one true love in life, it would be music.

So perhaps this will be my forum for sharing the music I love; the music that moves and touches my life. I’ve written about so many different things here, it seems music is something that never fades, my passion for it remaining resolute.

The Indigo Girls are a band that have been around for about 30 years, most of my life. I didn’t really become of fan of them until I went off to college, but as soon as I heard them, I was in love. Their ability to write lyrics that touch the soul may perhaps be unmatched (in my humble opinion). They also have two voices made for each other, their harmonies perfection. They move as one and are unified in their vision to speak the truth through song.

This is perhaps one of my favorite songs about how Emily upon reading Virginia Woolf’s diary, was changed by what Ms. Woolf had to say.

Subsequently, the title of this post is from another Indigo Girls song called Strange Fire, in case you care to look it up.

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1. Take school more seriously – I wasn’t a horrible student by any means, but I wish I would’ve developed better habits of studying when I was younger, as well as taken my classes in high school a bit more seriously.

2. Don’t settle for less than you deserve/desire – This is one I’ve struggled with my whole life. And while I think most humans tend to do this in some way, shape or form at some point in life, I think it bears constant reminding. It ties in nicely with my next one which is,

3. Set high expectations - I often hear people say they set their expectations low so as not to be disappointed. But why do we do this? To protect ourselves from disappointment? What exactly is wrong with being disappointed? We use that word and feeling in such a negative sense, like we should be ashamed of it. At the end of the day, protecting yourself is not always the best thing. It’s a short term fix instead of a solution.

4. Spend more time with your parents - having lost my Dad at a relatively young age, I will forever live with the guilt of not spending as much time as I could with him. And while I know many people might scoff at the idea of spending more time with their parents, I only can say that I had a great Dad. And I wish I would’ve been able to learn more about him and from him while he was here.

5. Don’t be ashamed of your feelings – As most of my friends and family know, I have always been emotive. My Dad used to call me his “little Sarah Bernhardt. “Express, not repress” has always been a go to statement of mine. I wear my heart on my sleeve and it’s hard for me to hide my feelings, be it good or bad. But there have been many occasions where I’ve been made to feel guilty or ashamed of how I feel. And at the end of the day, it’s rarely served me well to not let my emotions and feelings have their say. I know many would disagree with this, but I stand firm in my belief that you should allow yourself to feel…these things are natural and true.

6. Don’t doubt your capabilities – Straight forward. I think I’d be in quite a different place right now if I had worried less about failing at something, rather than just doing and/or trying it out.

7. Eat better, exercise more – This one may sound a bit like a joke, but it’s so true. I think of what a struggle it is now to try to stick with a healthy diet and work out regularly. If I had learned better habits in my youth, I think it would be much easier now.

8. Be wiser with your money – Something that I think parents really should instill in children is the value of a dollar. I think my parents failed a bit here with me. I wish someone would’ve taught me better saving habits so I could have started at a younger age to be smarter with my money.

9. Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero- “Seize the Day, putting as little trust as possible in the future”….Horace had it right. So many things I’ve talked about are on the serious side, but at the end of the day, life is fleeting. There’s a quote I love from the play, Steel Magnolias: “I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special“. It’s a balance you should really strive for, but there are moments that will pass you by if you don’t take them. Take more of those moments.

And lastly,

10. Be okay with being you – I would say this not only to my 17-year old self, but to my 21-year old self, my 25-year old self, my 30-year old self and even my 34-year old self. In this day and age we are in constant awareness of the things that people are saying, doing, being, creating, etc. It is easy to get wrapped up in what you think you “should” be and what you think you “should” be doing. But where does that get you? Never really knowing yourself and learning about who you are. This, more than anything, would I tell 17-year old Melanie: You are unique, you are worthy and you are amazing because you are you. Do not try to be something you are not for this will only set you further back. Be you and bask in the pure beauty of knowing who you are and what you want, standing tall and proud, knowing your truth.

Photo from http://www.rajasthanhotelspackages.com/

I wake up before the sun rises, laying in bed contemplating when my alarm will go off, dreading the bee-bee-bee-beeep bee-bee-bee-beep, the sound of reality reaching out through a banged up twenty-two year old piece of plastic, run on a AA Battery, slamming the snooze button down hard enough to shut it off, but not shut off life, roll out of bed to the sound of cracks in my not so young  body, rubbing the crusty sleep out of my eyes, walking blindly toward the bathroom to perform my daily ablutions, the routine of it all not lost on me, this monotonous journey of reality, not the anticipated reality of my youth, traveling through the hot, sandy Sahara desert on camel back, turban wrapped around my head like the Maharaja that I surely would become, nor the white sandy beach, warmed by the touch of a tropical sun, watching the sun set over a clear, calm sea.

I drive down bumpy roads, marred by the plethora of trucks, cars and bikes that make there way through this concrete jungle, past the old barber shop with the red and white candy cane striped pole, well past it’s expiration date, the red more burnt orange now, next to the polished, sleek and gentrified NOPA, the contrast so completely different, you’d expect them to be in two different towns, let alone next door, passing by the mural wall that changes from week to week, laser eyed cats to stark white paint — a reminder of what a diverse and crazy city this is, on to the motorway with all the zombie automaton-like humans, doing their routine, blindly, with little to no passion as they drink their bitter, hot coffee from one of 50 Starbucks in a 7×7 radius.

Sometimes my mind gets pulled from the automation of it all, in the direction of adventure, of freedom, of bliss – I hear laughter and passionate cries of a life well lived…..like bubbles.

I sit, I stand, I stare, I piss, I lecture, and listen and talk, in various order for 9 to 10 hours of the day, heading back on the motorway, the mid-day sun that promised life as I stared out past my buzzing computer monitor, now setting behind the hill, a fraction of its warmth left on my steering wheel, a reminder of what has come and gone once again, zoning to the sound of the radio news anchors – Egypt, Libya, Syria, Japan, an annoying jingle for 1-877-CarsForKids that gets stuck in my head, yet I’m too numb to switch it off, battling past the same people in their metal cages, slowing, stopping, breaking, cursing as we put-put our way to our homes.

Climbing back under the same covers I left this morning, slightly less fresh, my head crashes to the pillow in exhaustion, in defeat, knowing the routine will start again tomorrow, looking forward to escape, I yearn for my real life, the life of my dreams, my hidden reality that will one day expose itself – just not tomorrow.

This was a writing assignment for the current class I’m taking, written without stopping for 10 minutes. The assignment: try to mimic the form/style of Ellery Aker’s piece, What I Do.