We Seldom Heard You Sing
A Eulogy for my Father
William Edward Fitzpatrick
We seldom heard you sing;
Salesman,
Self-taught Pianist.
though on those rare occasions
your voice soulfully rang out
“The Green, Green Grass of
Home”,
as tears came to your eyes.
I remember weekend
afternoons;
Mechanic, Tinkerer,
As we listened to Irish music
on WROL
with the hood up
and your hands dirtied to the elbows
as you kept a long parade of cars running,
but just barely.
We were very young;
Disc Jockey, Carpenter,
as we sat
in a house you were always repairing
and
listened to your voice on the gigantic radio
that was
always placed so high out of reach
in our
kitchen.
I
was much older;
Fisherman,
Indiscriminate Collector,
when I
realized
you were
only human after all,
and not
the Super-Hero
I
had always thought you to be.
I
was older still;
Best
Man, Chocolate Addict,
when I
realized
I
admired you anyway
and asked
you to stand with me
as I wed
my beautiful wife.
Later
still;
Dollhouse
Architect, Maker of Funny Voices,
you
acquired a new group of fans:
your childrens’ children,
calling
you Grandpa as you built miniature Masterpieces,
and
talked like Donald Duck
to their
(and our) delight.
I
can’t yet believe;
Innkeeper,
Fixer of Broken Things, Launderer Extraordinaire,
that I
won’t hear your voice on the phone
or see
you folding towels
in your
workroom
surrounded
by the clutter of your hobbies.
But
you live still in us;
in your Youngest’s Artistic Talent,
in your Oldest’s Tenacity (and love of Chocolate),
and in my
love of Humor,
and
Making Funny Voices.
And
as we say Goodbye,
for now,
tears
come to our eyes,
as we lie
you ‘neath the Green, Green Grass of Home.