George Carlin once said “I’m always relieved when someone is delivering a eulogy and I realize I’m listening to it.” I guess that principle also applies when you yourself are delivering a eulogy, so the good news is we’ve all got that going for us.
Bill was my father-in-law. I first met Bill and Patti 37 years ago when, as a 16-year old dressed up in a lovely light blue tux with a ruffled beige shirt and a huge blue velvet bow tie, I showed up at their house to pick up their pretty 16-year old daughter for a high school formal.
As I’ve reflected these past days on what it is I wanted to share with you here today, my mind just kept coming back to one theme: Bill was a really unique dude. And he was a fantastic father-in-law.
I’m certain I’ve never met, nor will I ever meet again, a guy like Bill. To some extent, I have to admit this must be due, in part at least, to the fact Bill took on what will be a once-in-a-lifetime role in the screenplay of my life: that of the father-in-law. But Bill was not just any father-in-law; he was the old-fashioned kind of father-in-law that I actually met when I myself was still a child. That dynamic, of course, used to be the norm in our society, but it’s much more rare these days. This is something I’ve never really thought about until this week, but I now realize just how lucky I have been to have had the benefit of four people in my life who have influenced me as parents.
Bill and Patti (and the entire Wickline brood, for that matter) introduced completely new perspectives and ideas into my life:
- different nuances on right and wrong,
- unique twists on work ethic and stoicism,
- particular (and sometimes peculiar) senses and sensibilities,
- distinctive takes on creativity and personal expression (often verrrry distinctive),
- a whole new set of one-of-a-kind family dynamics,
- new viewpoints on one’s relationship to nature and how to nurture the magic that exists in the world, and
- well, let’s face it, incomparable personality disor..., um, traits (most undiagnosed),
all of which coalesced with the lessons from my own family and the experiences from my life to shape me into the person I am today.
At the end of the day, Bill was his own man, a man with many facets.
He was both an open book and a man who was hard to get to know.
He was a simple man, but incredibly complex.
He came across as subdued, but he also had an impish sense of humor and did not back away from instigating a little tension every now and then.
He was introverted, yet unabashed.
He was incredibly generous, but at the same time about as, let's say, frugal as they come.
He was inherently conservative and yet liberal in the truest sense of the word, strongly standing for liberty and equality, as he understood it.
He was unpredictably creative, creating endlessly, yet he was painstakingly methodical.
He was a hopeless romantic, which may surprise a few, but he also was exceedingly pragmatic, which will surprise no one.
He, somehow, mastered being both remarkably dapper and insipidly dowdy at the same time.
He, truly, was one-of-a-kind and, yet, an identical twin.
But, let’s face it, this confluence of dichotomies probably describes each and every one of us. We are all walking dialectics, each our own unique individual. Understanding and accepting this about someone is what it means to know that person, to love that person and to learn from that person. The one thing that I will mostly remember about Bill, however, was his gentleness. In 37 years, I never once saw him angry. On this point, I could find no potentially conflicting trait.
So, let me close with a short poem from John Updike:
“And another regrettable thing about death is the ceasing of your own brand of magic, which took a whole life to develop and market --
the quips, the witticisms, the slant adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched
in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears, their tears confused with their diamond earrings,
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat, their response and your performance twinned.
The jokes over the phone. The memories packed in the rapid-access file. The whole act.
Who will do it again? That's it: no one; imitators and descendants aren't the same.”