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Before I begin I would like to thank all of you here on behalf of my mother, my brother and myself, for your efforts large and small to be here today, to help us mark my fathers passing. I am honoured to be here. I am honoured to be here to speak to you all. I am honoured to be here to speak to you about my father. Each of you here had your own relationship with my Dad, each of you has your own set of memories and your own word picture that describes this man. I don’t presume to know the man that you knew. But I hope that, in this eulogy that I offer, you will recognise some part of the man that we all knew, the man that is no longer amongst us, the man who will never be gone until all of us here have passed. My father was raised in the in-between generation, born in the years immediately before the end of World War Two, what they call the “silent generation”. A generation with one foot firmly planted in the 1940′s with the other placed unsteadily in the 1960′s. He was blessed, or some would say cursed, with an independent wife, one with the expectation of working and not content to be kept at home. His children were raised in the sixties and seventies, challenging times for parents with the traps of drug use and pre-marital sex, neither of which I believe Dad had been prepared for in the lesson plan his father had given him. At times my Dad would be presented with the need to cope with a behaviour from my brother or I that he didn’t have an pre-made answer for, one that he would just have to cope with on the spot. When my Dad was in this situation he always fell back on the core values that he had learned and tried to impress on us boys the importance of doing the right thing. My Dad didn’t read books about child-rearing, he relied on common sense values. My Dad didn’t know who Dr Spock was and would have thought he was an ass if he did. One school vacation I recall my father pulling me out of bed early one morning after I had been at a party at my brother’s flat at Okareka. He asked me if I had been drinking and driving.
One of my earliest memories of Grandpa begins with us driving to the Monmouth Park Racetrack. We sure did love to go to the track and root for Julie Krone or one of our other favorite jockeys. He loved challenges, and he especially loved the challenge of picking the ponies. He would read the race programs in the Asbury Park Press and usually pre-pick most of the day's favorite horses before ever leaving the house. Still, on arrival, we always bought the program and maybe a race sheet or two before entering the track grandstand. After picking up a couple of seats right around the finish line or maybe a little past it, back to figuring he'd go. As he went, grandpa would always point out the horses that had won recently or looked like they were due. "I have a feeling about this one" he'd say.
On behalf of my entire family, I want to thank all of you for your compassion and for being present here today. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Mauri-Lynne, and I'm Lionel's daughter. Dad was devoted to every one of you. We all hope that you'll share your memories of him with us, if not today then in the weeks and months to come.
Once upon a time, a 18 year old named Juan was going to work in his father’s vegetable market. Juan always goes to help out his father no matter what. Him and his dad moved to Jerusalem from a village in Jordan. His mother had passed away from a wound infection. His father didn’t have enough money for medicine, so that’s why she died. They moved so they wouldn’t struggle anymore, and so they can live a different life. Juan is a very helpful, nice, intelligent, and had a very prodigious heart . Everyone in Juan’s village liked him, but his bullies, John and Josh, just hated him. They always bullied Juan on a daily basis just because they were jealous of how Juan was loved by everyone. While Juan was helping out his dad, Juan and Josh went to his dad’s store and Josh started to say that he and Juan’s girlfriend Emily were in love and that Emily didn’t love Juan anymore. He was just ignoring them because he knew that it wasn’t true, so he continued on working.
When Ezra was eight years old, he had a psychologist report done that asked a set of questions not only to him but also to myself about my parenting style. I scored high in the top 15 percentiles in not only warmth and affection but also discipline and control. Being high in all four aspects of parenting styles puts me into the authoritative style (Bee & Boyd, 2012). In The Developing Child, the authors describe the parents with this parenting style as those that are “setting clear limits, expecting and reinforcing socially mature behavior, and at the same time responding to the child’s individual needs (Bee & Boyd, 2012, p. 326).” As I reflect on certain situations, I can tell that this style guided my parenting. For example, when Ezra was 6 he frequently cheated at games if he knew he could get away with it. My response, with accordance to my authoritative parenting style, was to beginning teaching him right and wrong, not getting upset, but to bring up the cheating and tell him to play by the rules despite him not having a “strong sense of mortality (Manis, 2008).” I decided to use that option because I wanted Ezra to learn from the experience but continue to play the game and have
“Fortunately, children do not need “perfect” parents. They do need mothers and fathers who will think on their feet and who will be thoughtful about what they have done. They do need parents who can be flexible, and who can use a variety of approaches to discipline.” - James L. Hymes, Jr. this quote, I can say, is physically very true. If it wasn’t my father who was rigorous to...
Eulogy for Son The Death of a Child. Not many people realize that the death of a child is NOT in accordance with God’s NORMAL scheme of things. It is not a natural. God did not mean for a child to go first. A child buries the parent.
...ous my father takes it when it comes to teaching his kids what’s important in life. He
For some reason, out of all my siblings I felt responsible for taking care of my dad. I constantly felt pressure to try and stop the fighting between my father and other family member as much as I could. To do this I would always hover around my father trying to make sure he was not experiencing difficulty executing a task. If I saw any sign of him struggling I would get involved, pretending as if I want to help with the chore but in reality, I merely did not want him to get mad. A prime example of this is whenever he cooked dinner, he would always struggle to bend over to reach the pots or pans, I would always be in the next room half-heartedly working on homework while the other part of me was panicking. I remember my heart would always start to race and I would not be able to focus anymore on my homework because of the fear of him becoming aggravated. At the first sign of trouble I would hop up from my living room seat, hoping I could stop him from fighting with anyone in my family. I would run into the kitchen pretending to be an overly excited child asking if he wanted help cooking, know the assistance was not a want but a need. My dad always accepted and I quickly took over the responsibility of cooking even though I hated it. He would always try to praise me after saying what a good, helpful daughter I was. Instead of the excitement that most children expressed after receiving praise I would get angry thinking I should not have to help him with these simple
Today, the most difficult day in my family’s life, we gather to say farewell to our son, brother, fiancé and friend. To those of you here and elsewhere who know Dylan you already are aware of the type of person he was and these words you will hear are already in your memory. To those who were not as fortunate, these words will give you a sense of the type of man he was and as an ideal for which we should strive. My son has been often described as a gentle soul. He was pure of heart and had great sensitivity for the world around him. He had a way with people that made them feel comfortable around him and infected others to gravitate toward him. Dylan exuded kindness and pulled generosity and altruism out from everyone he touched. He was everyone's best friend.
My mother was a complex, multi-faceted person. Many of you here today knew my mother personally, and many of you knew my mother indirectly through one of her family members. You may have known her as a coworker, a friend, or a support person. Of course, all of my mother’s family here today each knew a part of her, a “facet” of her--as a mother, a sister, an aunt, a grandmother, a cousin.
I can’t begin to express how hard it is for me to stand here before you and give my last respects to my loving mother - name here. From the biography that was handed out you can recall that during the her early years in the united states she studied and worked in New York where she met and married my dad, the love of her life. They spent the rest of their days loyal and in love with one another. Unfortunately, one day my father passed away with cancer at a young age. My dad was the one who suffered the most, but my mom suffered right along with him. She felt powerless, and for my mom- powerlessness turned in to guilt and grief, a painful distress she lived with on a daily basis for the next six years. When he died part of her died! Life for her was never the same again. I was not able to completely understand her loss- until now…
parents to think before they acted but because of the emotions at that moment then they could
My father passed away in 1991, two weeks before Christmas. I was 25 at the time but until then I had not grown up. I was still an ignorant youth that only cared about finding the next party. My role model was now gone, forcing me to reevaluate the direction my life was heading. I needed to reexamine some of the lessons he taught me through the years.
“Growing up, our relationship wasn't the best,” I told him. “It wasn't super bad or anything, but we didn't spend as much time together as we do now. How did that change?” He then focused on the ceiling, trying to this of his answer when he says, “I think I've read this before I said this, but… A parent’s relationship with the child goes through many stages. First, you are the protector and provider, which then the child sees you as such and treats you as such. Then, as the child starts to create their own personality, the father, in my case, becomes the enforcer. Don't run in the street, don't do dangerous things, for example. The child sees it as fun., but the parents see the negative part of the child running too free without rules and regulations. In that stage in life, the child and the parent almost become enemies. Hating them for not letting them do things, and having their heart be pulled out from the memories of them being a bab. But the third stage is the child seeing the emotional hardship the parents has gone through to protect the child, and sees the difficulty, which then comes the appreciation from the child, and they see the other side of parenthood. So the just of it is, it's love, love, love, and then the word “don't” comes in. I tried to stay away from the words “no” and “don't,” but instead telling you the consequences of what could happen. Not “don't eat the candy,”
My parents followed moderately different parenting styles. My mother’s parenting style was strict and extraordinarily Authoritarian, while my dad practiced a mix of Neglectful and Authoritarian parenting. My Father was a workaholic and was not around much. During early childhood, I would be in bed by the time he arrived home from work, so I would rarely see him. He did not get involved with my schoolwork and would rarely show up to piano recitals or swim meets. The few times he did show up, he would ridicule me and tell me I should have done better. Since my