Day 8: "I'm your only son!"

January 17: Twenty-eight days left!

First and foremost -- I need to buy some of that nipple cream. If anyone knows where I can pick it up (other than Walmart and the like) then please leave a comment or send me an email.

If you're just joining us on our quest, the reason I need nipple cream is because I ran my 10-miler today! I wasn't sure how it would go -- since this was twice as long as any run I'd done since March 2007 -- so I started off the first mile a little tentative. After that, I realized I was feeling good and decided to pick it up.

Overall, my pace was somewhere around 7 minute and 50 second per mile. Not as fast as my Virginia Beach marathon 7 minute and 11 second split, but not bad for my eighth day of training. :-)

During the run, I obviously had some time to think about what I wanted to write today. I was running straight from work, so I had three things in my hand: 1) my house key; 2) my cell phone; and 3) The "mourning pin" that used to be attached to a ribbon from my Dad's funeral. I carry the third item around everywhere, and -- although I'm not in the least bit superstitious -- it feels good to have with me.

As most of you know by now, I decided to run this marathon so I could make a donation ($1000) to the students of Akili Academy of New Orleans (an elementary charter school) on behalf of my Dad for -- what would have been -- his 60th Birthday. During the run, I decided I wanted this entry to be about him.

I can't think of a better way to explain to you how I feel about him than to post the eulogy I presented at his funeral. It doesn't have to be a sad reading. I can't help but celebrate how fortunate I was to have someone like him play such an influential part of my life for 27 years.

Before we get to that, though, thanks so much to Maria Grupinski, Holly Mandell, Mark Metrinko and Kathleen Warner for their donations today!

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(Please excuse the unconventional punctuation: it was used as a way to pace the way I delivered the eulogy)

Unprepared Remarks:
Before I begin I want to take a few more moments than I had originally planned to thank you all for coming. First – thank you so much to my neighbors. I’ve had the good fortune of living in a lot of different places, but none of them has had even a fraction of the community that you have created for yourselves and for your children. I am so lucky to have grown up where I did, and my family has been so fortunate to have your love… during this last week in particular. I feel especially lucky to know that my Mom will be the best of hands when I have to go back home.

To Kathy and Billy – I am so happy that, if it couldn’t be me or my family, that it was you two with my Dad during what might have been his last conscious moments on this planet. I am so thankful that you were there to comfort him, and I will never be able to tell you that enough.

To my Dad’s family – my extended family. My Dad smiled the most when he was around you. And I always loved going with him to visit you, because when we went to see you, I got to see my Dad as happy as a little kid.

There was a moment during the "1st Annual Jack Haines Memorial Clam and Coors Light Festival" :-) when I walked into the kitchen and could see my two grandmas (which is cool in and of itself) laughing with each other. Then I looked through the window into the backyard and saw several of you laughing. And I looked into the living room and my mom was there laughing with a few more of you. I thought it was such a great moment and so I kind of snuck around to see what everyone was talking about.

Each of you were telling a Jack Haines story and having a really great time of it. I know he would have loved nothing more than to be a part of the festivities…and, if it turns out he was watching, then I know it would have really warmed his heart to see.

Finally – thank you to everyone from Home Depot, and all of the other individuals here that I have not had the pleasure of meeting earlier. This is MY Dad. I love him and I think the world of him. But he was a quiet man. And when we talked, my conversations with him tended to be about our relationship.

But meeting you all in the hospital has introduced me to a part of my Dad that I never got a chance to know. And hearing about how loved and respected my Dad was by so many people – people I never knew existed – for so many of the same reasons that I loved and respected him…that is an incredible and proud and special thing for a son to realize. Thank you so much for allowing me that realization.


Prepared Remarks:
So thank you all for coming…not just today, but since the day my dad arrived at the hospital. For a son to lose his father…or a friend to lose his best friend…or a child to lose a mentor…or a young man to lose his hero, has to be among the worst moments life can throw at a person. I was so fortunate to see all these things in my father…but with that fortune has come the inevitable misfortunate of losing all these pillars of support at once.

But because of you all…I don’t think I’m going to remember this among the worst weeks of my life. I think I’m going to remember this as the week I saw how my father touched the lives of so many…how so many leaned on my father for support…and how my dad – a quiet man, with a history of bizarre, yet apparently stylish facial hair – was loved by people I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting earlier.

Father…best friend…mentor…hero. I think every boy wants to believe that their father is a hero – and I was no different. My earliest memory was of my dad taking me to work and me watching all of these workers through his upstairs office window while he was the manager of our local Rickels: Home Center. My dad, the boss. It was easy for his young son to think of him as a hero.

When I think of my early memories of my dad (really of all my memories of my dad), I immediately think of how, regardless of the situation, he knew exactly what he needed to do or to say to make me feel great. Nobody could give a hug like my dad and, if I ever crush anyone when I hug them – it’s ‘cause I learned it from him. He used to say while in mid hug – “You are my FAVORITE son.” That was always my cue to respond, “Dadddd, I’m you’re ONLY son!”

This wasn’t just when I was a little kid though! There was this one time in college we were talking on the phone when he gave the cue…”You’re my FAVORITE son you know?” he said. Me, being the too-cool-for-school kid we all tried to be at one point or another said, “Love you too dad.” On the other side of the phone there was silence for a few moments…then “eh hem…You’re my FAVORITE son, Matt.” I gave in, “Dad – I’m you’re only son.” But it always felt good…and I never missed the cue again. :-)

My dad was my hero as a kid…but as I started to grow up, the heroics of upstairs offices were replaced by stories of professional football players, musicians and presidents. My dad was always a loving dad to me – but he wasn’t throwing SuperBowl-winning touchdowns to Jerry Rice with 12 seconds left to play. He was great, but was he really a hero? I wasn’t sure.

My dad always had a talent of making me feel special…but on a trip home within the last year, special was an understatement. He was asking me a lot of questions about myself and my thoughts on leadership. As I’m sure most of you know, this is not so normal for him…so I eventually asked why. He told me that he had to give a presentation to his coworkers at Home Depot about his hero…and that his hero was me. I don’t think there is anything that anyone on this planet could say to me that would make me more proud than he made me feel at that moment.

But I never threw a SuperBowl-winning touchdown to Jerry Rice with 12 seconds left to play…I wasn’t a transformative artist…or a world leader. What makes a hero? And more specifically…is my father a hero? This is what I’ve spent much of the last five days thinking about.

But we’ll come back to this talk of heroism in a few minutes. There’s something else I’ve spent time thinking about during the last several days. My dad wasn’t one to say, “Now son…here is lesson number 1” and then to teach me something valuable.” I do, however, think there are two big lessons I can learn by emulating his actions.

First – the attitude that failure is just a part of life, but that giving up doesn’t have to be. As I bragged earlier, my Dad used to be the store manager of a local Rickels. This is actually where my parents met. Not only was he store manager…but he was store manager when he was 25 years old! Unfortunately, through no fault of his own, Rickels as a corporation went under, my dad’s store closed, and he was out of a job. As far as his work life goes, the next several years were really rough on my dad. After a stint selling tools, my dad was stuck selling potato chips, then vacuum cleaners, and then pretzels. He wasn’t satisfied with the work, and the hours were awful.

The economy was bad and work was tough to come by. I imagine he was frustrated and left to wonder how things went from so good to so bad. But he had a family to take care of and, he did the best he could to make sure that, despite his distaste for the work he was doing, he kept working to make sure we had what we needed. But not only did he keep working…he kept looking for something that would be more satisfying for him.

And when, nearly 20 years ago, he got a job at Home Depot, he finally found work again that felt dignified, that felt secure, that he loved to do…and that he knew he could be good at! Over the next almost 20 years, he received promotions, raises and great reviews. But 30 years earlier he was a store manager at Rickles and he was not done trying to rise as far as he could.

Recently an assistant store manager position become available and he applied. We shared his excitement for him when he got into the final round of interviews, and we shared his disappointment when he didn’t get the job. But this is where the real lesson is: I remember calling my dad to see the results. He gave the bad news and I asked him what he was going to do next. “Well,” he said, “I’m sure another assistant store manager position will open up sometime soon. I’ll just apply for that one too…and the one after that”

By watching my dad I’ve learned that, if you set your goals high, you are sometimes going to meet failure. But, if you don’t give up, you are also going to end up with achievements that were difficult to reach and that are satisfying to look back on. My dad never gave up…and this is a lesson that I can’t wait to one day share with my own kids. In this way, a piece of my dad will live on forever.

I have also learned the power of unconditional love from my dad. Time and time again he would do things for me, big and small, that – despite being a huge pain in the butt to him – would help his son. He stayed up until awful, late hours to help me finish homework assignments I procrastinated on. He faced unnamable wraths to make sure I could realize my dream of marching drum corps. And he was always a shoulder to cry on.

I remember once, at 22 years old, being dumped by my girlfriend at the time. I was 22 years old…but I was at an irrational level of upset! I was home for a holiday and my dad and I started talking about it. I started sobbing uncontrollably on the couch and I was so embarrassed because here I was, a young adult, crying over an ex-girlfriend.

Without missing a beat or saying a word, my dad wrapped me up in one of his incredible hugs and didn’t let go until I was done crying. Not only did his hug help me stop crying, but he – without opening his mouth – sent me from feeling ashamed, to reminding me that there was nothing I could possibly do to lose his love or pride. I hope that one day, when the time comes, I can show my children the same kind of unconditional love he showed me. And when I do, a piece of my dad will have lived on.

I feel fortunate that my dad and I left very little unsaid. There is no doubt in my mind that he knew I loved him…and I know he was proud of me. The one thing I wish I had the chance to say, though, was that everything he was proud of me for…everything he talked about in the Hero Presentation at Home Depot…these things are only possible because of what he and my mother did for me as parents. I wouldn’t be me without them…and, because of them, my sisters and I will do things that will make them proud for as long as we live…and will ensure their hard work and success as parents is never forgotten.

Is my dad a hero? I couldn’t help but look at some definitions online last night while I was writing this.

1 a mythological or legendary figure often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability
b : an illustrious warrior c: one that shows great courage
2 a : the principal male character in a literary or dramatic work

And then the very last definition offered was the following:

: an object of extreme admiration

I don’t know if the things that my dad has done for me are the things that every dad does for his children. It might be…and if it isn’t, then it should be. But my dad is an object of my admiration. And my dad is my hero.

And when his future grandson or granddaughter, with a first or middle name of Jack or Jacqueline is old enough to start wondering about the origin of their name…I can’t wait to tell them about the quality of the man they were named after. It was my honor to talk about him today and it will be my honor to talk about him for as long as I live.

I love you my FAVORITE dad.