A son remembers a life well lived

 

I want to begin with something I shared at Mom's service: "we picked the best parents".

My earliest memory is from the Presbyterian Church in Manhattan, Kansas. Dad was the pastor of the congregation. One of his parishioners asked if I was going to be a minister like my dad when I grew up? Without hesitation, I answered no. I guess the pressure of being a PK was felt even at the tender age of three. Ironically, I later become a convinced Friend and discover that among Quakers we didn’t get rid of the clergy… we eliminated the laity. We’re all ministers. In some ways, that felt like coming full circle, I did grow up to be like my dad. As children we might not have understood how true that was. But as the years went by — and especially as I became a parent myself — I came to appreciate just how extraordinarily blessed we were.

Dad transitioned from church ministry to campus ministry. I remember the college students singing Peter, Paul & Mary or Pete Seeger ("If I had a hammer") and debating and asking big questions. Justice and faith were not abstractions in our home — they were lived commitments. Dad and Mom dedicated much of their lives to understanding and standing with people across divides. Dad taught us justice. He taught us peace. He taught us commitment. And he taught us what people like to call the Protestant work ethic — though in our house it was less a slogan and more a way of being. If you started something, you finished it. And not just finished it — you put the tools away. “If I Had a Hammer” and didn't put it away, oh-boy would I hear about it!

There were camping trips and holidays. Skiing at Tahoe — including the legendary bent ski pole incident. Dad and I decided to take one of the black slopes at Homewood resort. I survived and made it to the bottom unscathed, if not elegantly. Dad was not so lucky. He came flailing down the hill, poles going every which way. Then I saw a ball of coats, boots and gloves rolling to the bottom. When I reached him, one of his poles was bent in half and his front teeth were loose. He bent it back and forever more skied with an s-curve in the pole. I think I saw an Olympic slalom skier with a similar pole a few years later. Maybe my dad was a trend setter.

Another way I walked in Dad’s footsteps was the Boy Scouts. With his help and guidance, I also achieved Eagle Scout and Brotherhood member in the Order of the Arrow. I remember fondly his stories around the campfire. When I was working on the bicycling merit badge, it required a 100 mile bike ride. Dad joined me on a ride to Point Lobo. It felt epic at the time. I have a memory of Dad spread eagle with exhaustion in middle of Monterey city park. But we made it to Point Lobos to be rescued by Grandma & Grandpa Yeaney.

These weren’t extravagant adventures. They were something better: intentional time together.

As I became a father, I gained a new respect for him. I used to hear the story about my concussion from falling off a swing set in Emporia as just that — a story, untethered from reality. Then years later, when my own son fell from a hammock in Puerto Rico and suffered a similar injury, the fear became real. In that moment, I understood something about what Dad must have felt. Parenthood deepened my gratitude for his steady presence.

In 2009, I had the privilege of joining Mom & Dad on one of their many trips to the Holy Land. It was a hopeful time — just after the election of Barack Obama and his Cairo speech. There was a sense that something new might be possible. I felt honored to share that journey with them — meeting Palestinians and Israelis, Christians, Muslims, and Jews. We learned so much and made connections with people that endure today. It was part of a lifelong commitment they carried. One of the Palestinian American women I recruited commented, "I can't keep up with your parents and I'm half their age!!" Their energy and purpose were unremitting.

Dad was always driven. We all inherited that, for better or worse. Helping me building a shed in the backyard in his 80s; or hiking uphill in the Santa Cruz mountains until he was exhausted in his 90s. Once he set his mind to something, it was going to get done.

His intellectual curiosity also never wavered. I had the joy of being invited to join his book club, and he in mine — well into his 90s. Ideas mattered. Learning mattered. Conversation mattered.

His compassion never ceased. His dedication to justice endured throughout his life. And so did his devotion to Mom — caring for her tenderly to her dying breath. That kind of commitment teaches more than any sermon ever could.

His “last hurrah” was our family trip down the Rhine. It felt celebratory. Multigenerational. Full circle.

In his final days in the hospital in Amsterdam, our focus was simple: get him “fit to fly” home to Virginia, to recover and meet his three great-grandchildren for the first time.

That didn’t happen.

But what did happen was this: he lived fully. He loved deeply. He worked for justice. He kept learning. He finished the job — and he put the tools away.

We really did pick the best parents.

Dad, thank you.

I can't give up the podium without mentioning a couple of people.

First, my son David — thank you for being his cruise roommate and companion in adventure. You cared for him professionally and as a grandson in his final days. I can't tell you how much he appreciated that. I hope it was more than a chore and provided you rewards and blessings as well.

Monica — your wonderful caregiving meant more than we can say. We are so blessed to have found you and made you a part of our family.

Jenny — there are not enough words. Daily nurse, driver, banker, grocery shopper, event planner, guide, medical consultant — and daughter. You did it all and then some, for years and years for both Dad and Mom. We are in awe and so, so grateful. I could only dream of having such a phenomenal caregiver in my final days. I hope there were enough rewards in that long journey of love.

And to the friends and family; students and colleagues; nurses and staff (many of whom Dad invited on that Rhine cruise!), the Trinity and broader community: Thank you for surrounding Dad with love and care.