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What can I say about my parents?
(They're both gone now, I can say anything I want, ha
ha)
They were wonderful.
Dad was strong, and The Mom was tender.
They were high school sweethearts (really!)
and they belonged together.
When Dad wasn't working his job,
he worked around the
house.
He built things.
He built a garage, and a
patio,
he built a new kitchen
and he built five kids
who do their best
at everything they do,
because
that's what Dad would do.
The Mom managed things.
She wrote two-week menus
and shopped for hours twice a
month
and always fed seven people breakfast, lunch and
dinner.
She managed the money and always had enough.
When Dad was in the hospital for six months
Mom managed everything,
and still managed to see him every day.
She managed five kids with school and lessons
and taught
us that what's inside a person
matters more than what's
on the outside.
Dad always said Mom was a brick.
They were strong and tender together.
They were the parents
every parent should strive to
be.
They're both sorely missed
and their kids will never
forget them.
We love you Mom and
Dad!
I love her with a love as still
As a broad river's peaceful might,
Which by high tower and lowly mill,
Goes wandering at its own will,
And yet does ever flow aright.
James Russell Lowell
When Dad died, there among his papers was his old address
book (happy birthday Bill, 1943). Inside the back cover he had written this poem; I've heard it often, for Dad could
(and would) recite it from memory, especially to his
kids.
Dad and Mom lived their lives by this:
DON'T QUIT
When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit--
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out.
Don't give up, though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed with another blow.
Often the goal is nearer than
It seems to a faint and faltering man;
Often the struggler had given up
When he might have captured the victor's cup
And he learned too late, when the night slipped down
How close he was to the golden crown.
Success is failure turned inside out,
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit--
It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit.
Anonymous
His life was so gentle, and the elements
So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world, "This was a man!"
William Shakespeare
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