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| Dad at 17. A gunner in WWII. |
My part of the eulogy for my father, Carroll Stanley.
He just decided he'd had enough and it was time to go home. As usual, he took matters into his own hands. It was a tragic and unexpected end to his 89 years here.
Posting this on my Reasons to Dance blog because it was ultimately my father who taught me to dance, not the steps, but the reasons underneath the steps.
Thank you all for coming today to say goodbye to our Dad. I know we
all appreciate greatly the ease and the sweetness you brought to his life.
I don't know what my father dreamed of becoming, or what he was afraid of. I know what he hated and what he liked.
He liked pretty
girls, and dancing with pretty girls, and playing softball, and Hogan’s Heroes, he laughed every time he watched Baloo in The Jungle Book sing The Bare
Necessities. We went out for cheese
burgers and fries, with a root beer for me and a cup of weak, black coffee for
him. The Jungle Book and Cheeseburgers were our
tradition.
He loved to laugh. The
hardest he may have ever laughed was during the Blazing Saddles campfire fart
scene…He and my brother Mark laughed so hard they literally fell off their chairs. And cried. Every single time. His was a sophisticated
humor.
He loved chocolate covered
cherries and peanut brittle. He liked me to tell him jokes. And when I was 5, he
had me sing King of the Road by Roger Miller for his friends. More than 32
times. He laughed every time I sang “I smoke old stogies I have found.”
He had
a great laugh.
When I was writing his
obituary I found out he went back and finished high school after he finished
fighting in WWII. Jeff Morse told me this on Facebook. Jeff’s father, Bud, said
all of the high school boys were in awe of my Dad, a World War II, decorated hero coming back to get his high school diploma. It was the first I’d heard
of it.
My Dad taught me that
stopping to slide down a ski slope or speed across the top of a lake in a boat
that may or may not quit running in the middle of the lake, is a worthy
pursuit.
That reading the same book,
Cleo, every night to your daughter for years is not just something to be
endured but a source of bemused wonder.
That inviting your daughter to
play catch on a Wednesday afternoon in the backyard, or letting her dance on your
feet to her favorite song Winchester Cathedral, and then to tirelessly throw her
high in the air so she could touch the sky, is the best way to stop time.
From my Dad I learned that
stopping to play makes life an adventure, something to be learned and survived.
It may be because my father taught me
that fun is the best thing to have, that I have made my “living” out of
playing. And through his earnest pursuit of a thrill or a laugh, he left a
legacy of joy that will live on.
Working only existed for my
father to interrupt the constant renovation and near finishing of a boat or a
motorcycle, or an antique car, or four. He retired to "fish” and to race
motorcycles until he was 82, and to coach girls how to pitch a no-hitter - and to make several violins for a granddaughter
in the hope of making her a perfectly working, beautiful instrument.
Nothing ever worked easily
for our family. Most transportation or modern conveniences had to be kicked,
pushed or sworn at vehemently in an encouragement to start. But that violin is
exceptional.
He always talked to and listened to kids. He liked to
hang out with us, to play games and to dance and was quick to hand over money
for pinball so everyone could play as long as they wanted.
When it was time for me to
stop dancing and playing catch and skiing and failing at pitching, hunting and
fishing, I left and went to college. When I was having too much fun in college,
he up and sent me off to Europe. With a nun-to-be. He thought I needed
direction.
Which I did, in fact, find in
London. I saw the musical “A Chorus Line” and knew instantly I wanted to be a
dancer and play for the rest of my life. And that is exactly what I did. This
is not the direction he was hoping for.
Dancing is a trivial life on the surface. But, I've learned that it’s the trivial things that make us
glad to be alive. It’s in these tiny trivial pursuits that we end up having a mostly
unintentional effect on the lives that end up around us.
I believe my Dad started the fun in me and because of
that, this is what he leaves thru me:
My daughter Hannah is a
dancer.
She wants to be an
occupational therapist: which means she wants to work and play with special
needs kids. She listens to kids. She is a fun, kind soul.
Talia, my youngest, stands
up on a stage with her Dad and makes people laugh…and laugh just as hard as at the campfire
fart scene in Blazing Saddles.
She has a violin made for her
by her grandfather. She no longer plays the violin, choosing Uncle Mark’s
guitar instead, but she has the honor of knowing her grandfather spent hundreds
of hours carefully crafting a beautiful instrument just for her.
My Dad heard that Talia
wanted to play the violin and with generous determination gave Talia more than
an instrument, he gave her desires value. Talia in turn, has also become a tender,
generous soul.
I have now taught hundreds of
people across the world to dance, to pretend, and to believe that fun is the
best thing to have.
My husband and I went to Haiti to
teach volunteers new games to play and how to make puppets and to get up and
dance with the littlest earthquake survivors.
Those games and puppets then
went to the Philippines to play with the typhoon victims allowing for fun amongst the
ruin.
One man, through one person…and
that’s just me.
What about the high school
boys who admired his dedication to return to high school? Where did that
inspiration lead? And the girls he coached in these last years? How will his
passion be translated thru them?
He didn’t know how far he
reached.
Well, I danced with my Dad on
my wedding day to Winchester Cathedral. I did not stand on his feet. We had
fun.
“There is a time for everything,
And a season for every activity under the heavens:
A time to be born and a time to die,
A time to weep and a time to laugh,
A time to mourn and a time dance…”
(Ephesians)
For this time, rest in peace Dad. We’ll catch up later when
I get there over cheeseburgers and The Jungle Book.
My Dad. I don't know what he dreamed of. I know what he hated and what he liked. He liked me.
“I could have missed the pain, but I’d have had to miss the
dance.”
