Speech for my father's service

I've been flat out since the service last Tuesday. I got hit with the flu the day after and just started feeling normal yesterday. I wanted to share this speech for some of my friends who didn't get to see it. The service at Rosecrans was a good one. It was a beautiful day and the gazeebo that overlooks the bay is stunning. We were pleased with the entire day with one exception, Rosecrans was extremely tight with their time. The service was only 30 minutes with the clock ticking from the moment we left the office. We didn't realize there would be a flag folding ceremony, and it ended up taking quite a long time. The poor newbies did a lovely job, but they must've not liked how the flag was turning out because they tucked and tucked it to no end. It took it all out of me not to rip it out of their hands as I sat in front of them looking at Michelle's watch. I knew we were running out of time, but I was on best behavior and didn't.

My cousin Michelle and Jason gave heartfelt accounts of their time with my dad and what it meant to them. There was a bugler who played taps and a bag piper who played tear-jerking rendition of Amazing Grace. All beneath a blue sky and overlooking the San Diego Bay. It was gorgeous. With just a few minutes left I made some crack about how I never give short speeches and invited our friends to come back to the reception at my Aunt Val and Uncle Jon's where I shared these words....

Thank you for taking time away from work and family to be with us today. We feel blessed to have such wonderful friends. Please know that you being herey is comforting. I think my dad is watching over us, and he's surprised and touched that you are here. He's probably saying, "No way, all these people came!"

Garry Leo was a private man. Many of you might have felt like you didn't know him that well, and that's ok. To the outside world, even friends and co-workers, he was reserved. He'd share a smile and handshake, even a joke, and definitely a chat involving sports scores—but he kept most people at a distance.

With his family, he was the exact opposite. He talked a lot, and held little back. He joked and teased us, voiced rage over highway idiots, and even asked my husband if he was sure he wanted to marry me – "she's a handful," he warned.

With us, he was genuine. Nothing less.

I called my dad Bah, short for Bah Bah, which is Cantonese for father. But everyone called him something different. His brothers and sisters called him Garry, Jason called him Pops and Jason's friends called him Chief, our cousins called him Uncle—and his mom, called him by a Chinese nickname—A Doung.

When he was 17 he left home to join the Navy and worked on a submarine called the Sea Fox as a radio man during Vietnam. He loved it. On shore leave he met our mom Susan at a party while she was going to school at San Diego State. They were married when she was 20, my dad was 23 and they had me three years later. Jason came 18 months after that in 1972 and in 1974 our dad became both a widower and a single parent at the age of 28.

Jason and I didn't get to hear that much about our mom when we were growing up, it was too painful for my dad to talk about. There were no pictures of her on our walls, and we strained to recall any living memories. Instead, my dad gave us everything he had. He worked at the telephone company for nearly all of our growing years. He didn't like it—dare I say he hated it towards the end—but it was steady and it made him a provider which was his priority. The three of us had dinner together every night and I can still remember him tucking Jason and I in at bedtime, or waking us up on weekends telling us he'd cook pancakes.

What you don't know about my dad was that he was a dreamer. When we were growing up he had a subscription to Architectural Digest. It reminded him of his job as a draftsman where he worked for a man named Jerome and even worked on the San Diego Hotel, the Islandia. I remember times when he would talk to me about getting some land and putting a log cabin on it. It was a simple dream, for a simple man. And whenever he told me about his dreams, they became my dreams too. That's how I got to USC, from a single conversation during a car ride when I was in Jr. High. He spoke so highly of the school, using his dream talk voice – that it became my goal too. The week I was leaving for college was the only time I ever saw him cry.

Bah Bah lived on his own terms. There was no telling him anything, whether we wanted him to change jobs, paint his living room or even ask him to do something with us on a Sunday, especially if there was football on. He did what he wanted to do. Sometimes it was infuriating, but as I got older I could shrug it off because I'm the same way. I've been living on my own terms my whole life, and recognizing that a part of me came from him, was a comfort.

My dad also gave me stability. He was always there for me, without fail, on call at any hour of the day. We talked a lot on the phone, always once a week and even more if I was lonely or sad. I could call him crying in the middle of the night with a broken heart. As daddies do for their little girls, he made everything better . It didn't matter if I was 16 or 32, taking a drive in his blue Honda or just calling on the phone. Sometimes I called because I wanted to know what he was having for dinner and other times we called each other to talk about our favorite radio show. As a single father you'd assume that he needed to fill two roles, mother and father. But he never tried to be anything he wasn't — instead of trying to teach me anything feminine, he played the extra role by being my friend.

Other things some of  our friends might not know about Garry was that he loved American history –  the Civil War in particular. He'd read book after book until his floors were stacked with paperbacks. I also know that he had read the Bible, at least once, cover to cover. Bah was an excellent cook – pork chops, pot roast and spaghetti were his specialties. In years to come I'm sure we will laugh that we can now get out of a restaurant on time — my dad was the slowest eater around.

Even in his death he is giving to Jason and me and he doesn't even know it — or maybe he does. We've found bags of family photos of the four of us together, pictures of our parents as a couple before we were ever born. Their elopement was always a mystery to us – in finding these photos Jason and I have even been able to see them kiss. Recently we've also opened letters from our mother to her parents and found how absolutely in love with our dad she was. How proud to be a mother she was. And how much she loved Jason and me.

Still the provider, Bah Bah's last gift is the best gift, the one we've wanted our whole lives – the memory of our mother — a  sense of family we didn't fully have as kids.

I take comfort in knowing that he's in a better place now, hopefully with our mom who adored him. And I like to think that when he passed – in his sleep — he was dreaming big.

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Comments

[Pauly]

Thanks for sharing.

[Susan Brady]

What a wonderful speech. Great thoughts, great insight, and a great last line. You done good.

[Tea]

You've done him proud, Jen. What a beautiful tribute to one so dear.

[Sean Keener]

Beautiful Jen. Thanks for sharing this.

[Barb Shw]

Jen,Catching up with you via the blog. Congrats on your marriage, which may seem ages ago now. I know you are with your true love and it brings me joy.

Read your touching words about your dad. So sorry he is no longer with you. And you have a brother, and now many photos of family. Wonderful.

Joe just finished a book and I'm working on one to be titled Local Pleasures, simple sensational seasonal eating from the Maritime Northwest harvest, learning lots about food.

[jess]

I am sitting here with tears streaming down my face. Amazing speech and I think you really captured the essence of loving and embracing someone for who they are. You and your father are blessed to have had each other. What a great gift to have the pictures and memories. Take care. Jess

[Amy]

I cried. Love.

[lisa]

jen--i was just checking in on you via your blog and i'm so sorry to read that your father passed on. thank you for sharing your speech--it was a beautiful, loving tribute. know you are in my thoughts...

[Allie]

My father just passed away too. Your speech is just too sweet, thank you so much for sharing it.

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