Tribute to my Dad

My dad died October 8, 1988. I wasn't quite yet 40. I have this image of him sidling up to Jesus a few days later and saying, "My son would really be happy if Eckersley would hang a backdoor slider to Gibson right now." Baseball fans would know what I mean. He had been ill for almost 10 years, and one of the reasons I retired early and spend money now, is that he never really had the chance to do either, working in fruit packing houses into his 70s. My sister and I both wrote eulogies, which were read by the pastor conducting the service. He must have liked mine, because Mom got a phone call some time later from someone who said they had heard my eulogy read over the radio at some station in Minnesota. So I thought I would publish what I wrote, having read it over and realizing that after almost 21 years, not a word needs to be changed. Here goes.

"On Friday morning, Arnold Falk died. On Friday night his son went to a football game. More importantly, on Sunday morning his son was in church. In both instances, the son was emulating the father. Oh, Dad wasn't a football fan, but he believed in honoring his commitments, and I was committed to working at the football game. And Dad was committed to his God and his church. So we went to church on Sunday because it was the right thing to do. We were the type of family who went to Sunday School and church when we were out of town on vacation because Sunday was the Lord's day and the Lord's people were in His house. And if there's ever a time when you need to be in the Lord's house, it's after the loss of a loved one. Many people in the church know of Dad's faithfulness. The thing they perhaps most remember is the way he took seriously his job as head usher, and the fastidious way he cleaned up discarded paper and bulletins among the pews on Sunday morning when church was over.
Those who worked with him in the packing sheds knew the joy he brought to those around him. Depending on the place and the fruit season, his nicknames included "Happy," "Jolly," and "Smiley.
But there are special memories between a father and son, and they, too, give insight as to the kind of man my father was. My earliest memories of Dad were his nightly Bible reading. He often fell asleep with his Bible in his lap, and Mom would have to wake him up to go to bed. He left most of my formal Christian education to Mom and my Sunday School teachers, but he always stressed to me the importance of tithing, and I think of Dad nearly every time I drop my envelope in the plate.
When I was in college, having already moved 200 miles away, I'd still come home once or twice a month. Before I left to go back to school, Dad would always find a time to be alone with me, ask me if I needed anything, and slip me a $20 bill from some private reserve he probably had set aside for that purpose.
His devotion to his son was never more evident than the way he handled my infatuation with the game of baseball. Dad never liked baseball, probably because it consumed too much time, and he never had that kind of time, trying to put two kids through college. But baseball consumed me a minimum of 12 hours a day during the summer. Summer also meant 12-14 hour workdays for Dad in the packing sheds. He would get home late, dead tired, greeted by the words, "Dad, take me to the game in Fresno?" Most of the time he would, often going without dinner so we wouldn't miss the first pitch. Once at the game (we usually took at least one of my friends) I would go running off around the ballpark, leaving Dad to sit alone for 3 hours watching a game in which he had no interest. At game's end I would usually sleep all the way home while he drove the 35 miles, probably anticipating having to go through the same thing the next night. Today, when my 11-year-old son asks me to take him someplace I don't want to go (he inherited his grandfather's "love" for sports) I try to remember the example my father set. I doubt that Dad felt like much of a martyr at the time. He was doing what he believed dads ought to do, and no sacrifice was too great for his son. I believe it when psychologists tell us it is impossible to overestimate the impact of a father who is willing to give his children his time, not just "things".
Dad hasn't really been himself the last few years, so I asked my kids if they were old enough to remember Grandpa before he got sick. They both thought of Saturday morning cartoons. The five grandkids would get up and Grandpa would get up with them, admonishing them not to laugh so loud or they would, "wake up the birdies." Usually it was Dad's laughter that would wake up the rest of the house. My 15-year-old, Jennifer, perhaps put it best: "Grandpa was the reason we looked forward to going to Grandma's house."
So, Arnold Falk left a legacy of love, laughter and unselfishness that all of us remember. But, best of all, he took me to a church where I was taught these words: "Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here. He is risen. Come see the place where they have laid him."
I am just beginning to realize that Dad is gone, and I will not hear his belly-laugh again as long as I live. But I know the final resting place of the dust that was my father is as empty as the tomb that held my Lord.
On the night when my sister called and informed me of Dad's stroke, sleep would not come. As Dad would have done, I turned to God's word for comfort. He led me to Isaiah 43:1, and it seemed as if the Lord was telling me this was Dad's verse. "Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are mine." The word "redeemed" translated literally means, "released from bondage", and though his death would not come until 8 days later, my Dad was being released from the bondage of this earthly body. Someday we will all be released, hopefully to the same reward that Dad has begun to enjoy. His death only deepens my resolve to lot anything in my life jeopardize my chances of seeing him again someday. I love my father (present tense), will love him all my life, and will someday get to tell him again--face to face."

I composed a few final sentences after finishing copying that down, erased them all and decided they stand on their own pretty well.