Funeral Speech
I realized today I never posted the speech I gave at my grandfather's service so...here it is.
It was given last, after mom's speech about his life and my cousin's as well. It's a bit less...specifics about his life and more giving meaning to it but I'm really pleased with how it turned out and everyone else seemed to love it too which made me happy so. Yes.
Posting it here so I won't lose it.
My earliest memories of my grandfather involve sitting on the couch in that family room he loved so much, getting fit with a new pair of Hush Puppies saddle shoes. I remember how he used to bring the five of us cousins a million of the little stuffed basset hounds, and how I'd hold them while looking down at a brand new pair of black and white shoes. I remember how exciting it was every time Grandpa felt it was time to bring out the Brannock device to measure my feet, and I remember the one time that Mom and Dad drove us up to Oakland where Grandpa's store was. What stayed with me about these experiences, however, was how much care Grandpa took each and every time. When we were young, he tied our shoes for us and focused on how they fit. He'd have us stand and pinch the toe of our shoes. And ask us how they felt, and when he was ready he'd have us take that final test and walk around in them for a while to make sure they were comfortable. He taught us to not accept a pair of shoes simply because they were the right size.
It will come as no surprise to many of you that my grandfather was an excellent driving instructor. While I learned to drive when I was sixteen, I was never confident enough to take the driving test. I let permit after permit expire, and it wasn't until I moved back home from college I couldn't put it off anymore. Grandpa immediately offered to help get me prepare, and got me back behind the wheel. When we went out, he never yelled and never panicked if I did something wrong. He never tried to drive the car for me either. He would just calmly tell me what I needed to do and how to do it right. And so many times, he'd just look over at me and tell me that the key to driving was simple. That all I had to do was concentrate. It was like a magic word, and I swear, he was right. The moment he said it, everything would just fall into place.
Of course, life with Grandpa wasn't all lessons. One of the most exciting days we had together was the day we all packed into cars and headed up to Candlestick Park to go to a Giant-Dodgers game. My mother, father, sister and I joined all five of the Fraboni's and Grandma and Grandpa. Together, we froze in the lower stands while cheering on our favorite team. While I don't remember who won that game, I do remember all of us huddled as a group, enjoying ballpark food as we clutched worn-in baseball mitts.
They say that hindsight is twenty-twenty, and that sometimes we just never truly appreciate a person until they're gone. Over the last few years I've come to realize that these experiences with Grandpa weren't simply good memories or lessons I learned. They're the ways that he showed us that he loved us.
There's a phrase I heard this year: that a good pair of shoes will take you good places. It's all I can think of now, that every time he put a pair of shoes on our feet, it was because he wanted us to go good places. He cared for our feet because he wanted us to be able to stand strong on them as they took us out into the world. And when he taught us to drive, I realize now that he wasn't just giving us a means to get from Point A to Point B. He was teaching us the importance of concentrating on the task at hand, and to have patience not only with others, but with ourselves. Every time we had a family dinner, every time he barbequed for us or took us to a ball game, or smiled and let us stick a million bows and ribbons on him at Christmas, he was showing us that life isn't doing what we have to do to survive. Life is to be lived and enjoyed, from all of the big moments to the small, silly ones.
My grandfather was an incredible man, but I know today that we didn't lose him. That he's passed on doesn't mean he's gone, because he lives on not only in the warm memories in our hearts, but also in everything he taught us through speech and action. Things that we in turn draw on in our daily lives. He's there every time we reach out to one another, every time we get behind the wheel or work on important tasks, and to me, he will always be there every day I put on my shoes and go out into the world.
It was given last, after mom's speech about his life and my cousin's as well. It's a bit less...specifics about his life and more giving meaning to it but I'm really pleased with how it turned out and everyone else seemed to love it too which made me happy so. Yes.
Posting it here so I won't lose it.
My earliest memories of my grandfather involve sitting on the couch in that family room he loved so much, getting fit with a new pair of Hush Puppies saddle shoes. I remember how he used to bring the five of us cousins a million of the little stuffed basset hounds, and how I'd hold them while looking down at a brand new pair of black and white shoes. I remember how exciting it was every time Grandpa felt it was time to bring out the Brannock device to measure my feet, and I remember the one time that Mom and Dad drove us up to Oakland where Grandpa's store was. What stayed with me about these experiences, however, was how much care Grandpa took each and every time. When we were young, he tied our shoes for us and focused on how they fit. He'd have us stand and pinch the toe of our shoes. And ask us how they felt, and when he was ready he'd have us take that final test and walk around in them for a while to make sure they were comfortable. He taught us to not accept a pair of shoes simply because they were the right size.
It will come as no surprise to many of you that my grandfather was an excellent driving instructor. While I learned to drive when I was sixteen, I was never confident enough to take the driving test. I let permit after permit expire, and it wasn't until I moved back home from college I couldn't put it off anymore. Grandpa immediately offered to help get me prepare, and got me back behind the wheel. When we went out, he never yelled and never panicked if I did something wrong. He never tried to drive the car for me either. He would just calmly tell me what I needed to do and how to do it right. And so many times, he'd just look over at me and tell me that the key to driving was simple. That all I had to do was concentrate. It was like a magic word, and I swear, he was right. The moment he said it, everything would just fall into place.
Of course, life with Grandpa wasn't all lessons. One of the most exciting days we had together was the day we all packed into cars and headed up to Candlestick Park to go to a Giant-Dodgers game. My mother, father, sister and I joined all five of the Fraboni's and Grandma and Grandpa. Together, we froze in the lower stands while cheering on our favorite team. While I don't remember who won that game, I do remember all of us huddled as a group, enjoying ballpark food as we clutched worn-in baseball mitts.
They say that hindsight is twenty-twenty, and that sometimes we just never truly appreciate a person until they're gone. Over the last few years I've come to realize that these experiences with Grandpa weren't simply good memories or lessons I learned. They're the ways that he showed us that he loved us.
There's a phrase I heard this year: that a good pair of shoes will take you good places. It's all I can think of now, that every time he put a pair of shoes on our feet, it was because he wanted us to go good places. He cared for our feet because he wanted us to be able to stand strong on them as they took us out into the world. And when he taught us to drive, I realize now that he wasn't just giving us a means to get from Point A to Point B. He was teaching us the importance of concentrating on the task at hand, and to have patience not only with others, but with ourselves. Every time we had a family dinner, every time he barbequed for us or took us to a ball game, or smiled and let us stick a million bows and ribbons on him at Christmas, he was showing us that life isn't doing what we have to do to survive. Life is to be lived and enjoyed, from all of the big moments to the small, silly ones.
My grandfather was an incredible man, but I know today that we didn't lose him. That he's passed on doesn't mean he's gone, because he lives on not only in the warm memories in our hearts, but also in everything he taught us through speech and action. Things that we in turn draw on in our daily lives. He's there every time we reach out to one another, every time we get behind the wheel or work on important tasks, and to me, he will always be there every day I put on my shoes and go out into the world.