Some people asked for the eulogy I delivered for Dad at his memorial yesterday. Here it is for those who asked. Thank you all who were able to make it there. I know Dad would have smiled from ear-to-ear to see so many friends and family come together.
EULOGY FOR MARC SCHMELTZER
No one is perfect, and no one lives the perfect life, and my dad was no different. I know, one heck of a way to kick off a eulogy.
If you asked, Dad would have said he had a few regrets in life. Namely, he never really built much of a career for himself. He never put together much of a savings, or even made enough money, at all. He had friends but never really felt that he had to jump from social event to social event. Maybe he would have been happier if he did.
But, here’s the thing.
When my grandfather, his dad, lay dying, he told my dad this: “I always loved you, but I never could be the father that you are. You never put anything above your kids. Business never comes before your kids. Money never comes before your kids. Your kids are always first, with you, and I’ve been envious of the kind of father you are.”
My grandfather, Poppy, wasn’t a bad guy at all. In fact, with me, as a grandfather, I think he tried to make up for mistakes he made as a father.
He just grew up in a different time, when men were chiefly concerned with financial wellbeing of the family, and left the sensitive stuff to the woman of the household. I loved Poppy with everything I had, and I still do. Until Dad’s illness and passing, I always planned on naming my first son after Poppy.
But, Dad had a singular goal in life, and that was to be the kind of supportive father that his dad hadn’t been for him. And it is in that sense that I can say my dad achieved what he wanted to achieve in this world.
I knew people in school who seemingly got a lot from their parents – a car, the most stylish clothes, and other material things. A lot of them were provided with huge, expensive homes, stocked with the latest technology and fun things.
What so many of them didn’t get was the support of their parents, developmentally and emotionally. Material stuff was used in the place of real involvement and caring.
My dad was there with me, and my sister, every step of the way of our development, being wholly and completely supportive and enthusiastic of our interests. He was always encouraging us, as we tried to find ourselves – even when that meant he couldn’t focus on himself and his own personal success.
It’s for that reason that, unlike so many of our peers, Jill and I never went off into a “lost” phase, years of self-destruction that would have inhibited our true growth into adulthood.
As Dad lay in the hospital, I wrote him a letter that recalled all of my memories with him, which were burned into my head. I could remember every single detail of those events, like they were yesterday. One story, I think, demonstrates perfectly the kind of father that my dad was.
In my freshman year of high school, I got it into my head that I wanted to play football. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I have zero athletic skills.
I think that was pretty evident from a young age. When I was a toddler, dad and I were playing a spirited game of “run and catch me.” I would run after him, he would move, and then I’d have to stop and run and try to catch him again.
This went on and on until he moved while I was running, not recognizing there was a brick wall right behind him. I certainly recognized that brick wall, when I ran face first into it.
According to my mom, as my face swelled and they took me to the hospital, they thought I’d be deformed for life. So, yeah, athletics was never really going to be my calling card.
Back to High School, though.
Dad took me to the Willow Grove Mall to find the same kind of black cleats that the Philadelphia Eagles were wearing at the time.
He knew I’d never last in football, but he never said it. He encouraged me, and stood by me, knowing I’d find it out for myself. That was extremely important to me, letting me find my own way in the most awkward stage of any boy’s life.
There wasn’t a pursuit in life I wanted to try that he didn’t become extremely passionate about. The same went for the kind of dad he was to my sister, Jill.
I remember my cousin Scott became convinced that Jill was destined to be a pop star. Jill, above all, loved being on stage and loved singing. She idolized the pop stars of the time, and I think if you asked her, she would have told you, back then, that it was her dream to join their ranks. Maybe she still would say that.
At any rate, Dad became deeply enthusiastic, taking Jill to recording sessions, and indulging Scott with all of his big plans. I would venture to guess that my dad knew this was a long-shot – some maybe would have even called it a waste of time.
But, then, he happily wasted his time, because the encouragement meant so much to Jill.
And don’t get me started about him taking Jill to appear on “Dance Party USA,” and exuberantly promoting Jill’s dance skills to all of the teens on the show.
Later in his life, how did he spend his days? Watching the news, and browsing the web, calling me about happenings in politics, suggesting potential ads I could make to help my career, and linking me up with connections he had to people who knew people in the field. Or, calling Jill with potential business leads to help her make more in commission. His days were spent, literally, working for us. Trying to further us.
And so, you see, so many of his own shortcomings in life were because his energies were focused on me and my sister – always standing by us, always encouraging us, and always being involved in our lives. I think, in many ways, his goal in life was to make sure that we went out into the world, as adults, on better footing than he did.
My dad used to say that when he hit a triple in Little League baseball, his dad would go on about how he should have gotten a home run.
Dad, when it comes to me and Jill, and being the kind of parent you wanted to be, the kind we needed, and sending us off into the world on solid footing, you hit that home run.
Who we are, who we have and will become, and how we parent our kids based on your example, means that you’ll always live on, not just through us, but our kids, and their kids, and their kids. That’s the greatest mark of success that anyone could ever wish for on this earth.
And you got there, Pop.
For that, we will love you forever and ever.
