Eric woke up with a song stuck in his head.
And as we were getting ready this morning and I was brushing my teeth, he was putting gel in his hair singing, “And if you want to live high, live high, and if you want to live low, live low…”
“I’ve never heard that song,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sure you have. It’s an old Cat Stevens’ song.”
“Really? I don’t think I’ve heard it.”
“Your mom would know it. Rog would definitely think he knew it.”
And we both burst out laughing.
Because that is my dad to a tee. I’m thankful that he is alive and well, but I had a terribly morbid thought and said, “This will be a great story as a part of his eulogy at his funeral.” Because Eric’s words were so true and captured my dad.
He loves to sing (loud and off-key, most of the time), but he is always mixing up the words to songs and band names. I remember being so embarrassed by him when I was a teenager.
Although his inability to remember the words to songs is something I expect my brothers and my husband will laugh about for years after he’s gone, his legacy is more than just that.
Because I also expect that we’ll laugh about and remember more.
We’ll laugh about his propensity for Speedo- and short short-wearing, his ability to make us laugh without a single word, and his strange love for his bright red Christmas sweater.
We’ll remember his heart for other people and his ability to move from listening to lecturing in a nanosecond.
We’ll quote his pull-string sayings to our kids and grandkids, “Never let the teacher get in the way of your learning”, “One thumb”, and “Pals forever”.
We’ll follow our dreams because of his sacrifices so we could.
We’ll cherish our relationships with our families because of his example.
I’ll seek God deeply in his word because my dad taught me what that looked like in the recent years.
But more than anything, I sincerely hope our greatest testimony to our dad would be that our lives would reflect the unconditional love and support that we received from him, that his legacy would be the way we live our lives.