Eulogy for Dad

Dad was born in 1932, over 86 years ago, into a large family.  He was the 6^th of eleven children. Based on his many stories about farm life and his brothers, sisters, and extended family, he enjoyed his youth, but you could also sense that times were much harder then, in a way we don’t comprehend today. 

Dad never enjoyed early advantages in life, but I can honestly say there hasn’t been a day when I haven’t been proud of him.  He probably never appreciated how he made life better for the rest of us.

What kind of man was Carl Rennier?  He loved working in the yard, looking at tractors and animals, eating at cheap buffets, listening to country-and-western music, tinkering in the shed, and attending any and all family events.

But I’m getting ahead of myself ... 

You can never hope to understand him unless you accept a simple fact.  My father was what you might call a “character”. 

He was a man of contrast.  For example …

·        He was deathly afraid of heights, but joined the Air Force, serving the country during the Korean conflict.

·        He liked to boss Mom around, but she made the bulk of the decisions.  They were married for 63 years this month.

·        He thought himself poorly educated, but was really smart.  He could glance at Greg and I and – just like Sherlock Holmes – he could detect everything we had done wrong for the previous 24 hours!  … He knew where we had been, who had been with us, and what we had done.  It was uncanny.  We never underestimated the man.

Dad was a steady provider, but sometimes bent the rules …

·        He often brought home ice cream from the dairy where he worked, telling us it was free because the flavor inside did not match the packaging. 

·        “How’s that happen?” we once asked. 

·        “Because the machine operator wasn’t paying attention and messed up.” 

·        “Wow.  Who was running the machine, Dad?” we would ask.

·        “Me.”

 He was usually ready with a quip, and wasn’t afraid to repeat his favorites [over and over and over again] …

·        If you didn’t do something right: “Where were you born?  In a barn?”

·        If you really messed up, he strengthened it:  “Where were you born?  Arkansas?”  (He had a low regard for our neighbor to the south)

·        If you hesitated at a traffic light: “That light’s not going to get any greener if you water it”

·        When rounding a sharp curve: “That’s a C-O-D curve: Come Over, Darlin’!”
·        When he would come up with a good idea: “… not bad for a guy with a 6^th-grade education!”  (which wasn’t true)

·        And whenever he could: “That’s Nacho Cheese!  Get it?  That’s not your cheese!”

His courtship of Mom was immortalized a few years ago in a short film the boys made.  It dramatized how he ruined Mom’s date with another guy by throwing beer cans under the guy’s car in a clever ploy to attract her attention.  It’s an odd way for a 23-year old man to woo a 17-year old girl, but strangely, it worked. 

Don’t try that one at home, though.

Dad often accompanied us on vacations …

·        At Trout Lodge, he fell off the dock boarding a paddle boat.

·        In Colorado, he held on for dear life as Kim navigated mountainous roads, leaning strongly to the uphill side, and convincing my boys to do the same.

·        In Chattanooga, he rose at 5 every morning and rattled the various grocery bags he was using at that time as his luggage.

·        In Charleston, he spent all his time in the horse stables.

He went to a lot of places, and made an impression at all of them.

I could tell many more stories about how Dad was such a character; I’m sure folks here could add their own.  Here’s another one …

When Greg and I were very small, Dad snuck onto the back porch of our house on Petroleum Street and strapped on a pair of real six-shooters he had borrowed.  His plan was to perform a gunfight impression for us like we saw on Gunsmoke.  When practicing his quick draw, he pulled the trigger and blew a hole through the back door.  He didn’t know the guns were loaded and he was as shocked as anyone.  I’m glad he had decided to practice first!  Needless to say, Mom cancelled the show immediately.  We all survived.

These are memorable things, for sure, but they only scratch the surface.  There was a lot more to the man than his antics. 

He had a green thumb, and could make anything grow.  His plantings were very organized, and though he gave his approach little advance thought, his work always looked as if he had been planning it for hours on end.  He had a gift for making things look neat and in good order.  He always worked hard.  Dad had a knack for improvising, re-purposing everyday discarded items into something new and often very dangerous.

He was a top-notch provider, never lacking for work.  Dad was nothing if not steady and reliable.  You could count on him.  He was uncomplicated, simply wanting to leave things better than he had found them.

His main focus was the family.  He loved Mom, and spending time with grandkids, great-grandkids, and our far-flung network of relatives, with whom he would share endless stories and jokes.  Being a family man was his primary hobby, ranking even higher than his yard projects.  He enjoyed the success of others as if it was his own. 

There was a time when I felt I was nothing at all like my father … Greg and I liked loud music; he preferred the Grand Ol’ Opry.  We liked sports; he did not.  He was blue-collar union; I was white-collar management.  He was country; I was suburbia.  He avoided technology; I was addicted to it.   

No, in my mind, we were not alike at all. 

That thinking changed recently.  A few weeks ago, I was standing outside on some property we have in the country.  It was a scene Dad would have loved.  As I surveyed my various projects – how the place was organized, the trees and mowed fields, the stubborn push to constantly improve – I realized I had approached things exactly as Dad would have done.  It dawned on me that he would be with me as long as I lived, even when I was unaware of it. 

The same is true of all of the descendants of Carl Rennier; his influence will always be with us, indelibly, irreversibly stamped into our DNA.  It’s true for those here today and for generations to come.  He made his mark - not in buildings, professional deeds, or material things - but in us.

One last story, but it’s an important one …

Dad had a near-fatal heart attack when he was in his 60s.  In the hospital, I was alone with him at one point, and realized he was under the influence of drugs which had the effect of behaving almost like a truth serum.  No matter what I asked him, he supplied an immediate and unvarnished answer.   

So I asked him an extremely personal question: “Dad, do you believe God is real, that He loves you, and He has a place for you in heaven?”

He looked back at me intently as if I had asked if the sky was blue or if buffets were a good dining option … 

“Of course I do!  Don’t you?” 

The security and hope of an eternal life in heaven was very real to him.

I think about that story now, and even on a day like this, it makes me happy.

2/26/2019