Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Farewell to Father

I'd like to open by thanking everyone for coming out and sharing this experience with us.

Seeing such a large gathering of extended family members at once is heartwarming; I'm certain Dad would have been extremely touched to see everyone assembled together for this final chapter of his life's book.  In fact, I would almost wager Dad would be almost embarrassed by our "making such a fuss" over his final bon voyage.

As I contemplated what I would say at this evening's event, I found myself struggling to match the portrait that I wanted to present with the reality of the man that I knew.  At first I thought I would write about his love of Go and the machine he invented which would automatically record the moves of a Go game.   This was back in the early 70's, way before the age of "Oh, there's an app for that."  I remember thinking that this would not only be in great demand for the half a dozen  Go tournaments held in Ohio (yes, that's sarcasm) but that tech could easily be modifed for chess... which was the rage back then thanks to the Fisher Spassky tournament.  We would be rich! I thought.  But Dad had no such inclination.  His high tech device would remain unknown to the rest of the world, sitting in the basement of our Ohio home.  Fame and fortune would remain distant dreams. 

Dad invented a device that eliminated the static electricity build up that often short circuited early LED watches.  Ahhh, I thought to myself.  Now we're talking.  EVERYONE was loving the new, high tech LED watches (which today we would totally laugh at their display.)  But, while I think he did get a patent, he never did anything with it.  I think HE used it on HIS watches, but again, no huge fanfare... no glory, riches or fame.  But he saved a fortune on not needing replacement watches, I'm sure. 

At one point, Dad had applied for a job as a game designer at Mattel, or Hasbro, or one of the huge game companies of the early 70's.  I don't know if Patty & Victor remember that, but we were SO excited.  In fact, we went through a brief phase in which we would design our own board games... pieces of papeer with things like "Go back 3 spaces" and "miss a turn" randomly sprinkled along some twisted path of rainbow colored tiles.   For sure we would get to play test whatever games he came up with... and when he came up with the next great version of Monopoly or Life not only would we be able to say "My Dad invented that!" but we would be rich!  Sadly, he never got hired for this dream job.   Another lost opportunity at being written into the annuls of history.

As I went through draft after draft, it slowly dawned on me that Dad's goals and aspirations were vastly different than mine, and I eventually had a heartbreaking moment when I realized I was judging my Dad and his life based on the fact that his dreams and aspirations didn't line up with mine.  For that reason alone I had been foolishly underestimating their value and ignoring their lessons.  It was a lesson that came late for me.  I'm glad I finally had this epiphany, but I'm saddened it took so long for wisdom to come my way.

With this newfound perspective, I thought back on the lessons that Dad had quietly and subtlely tried to impart.  Some were easy to remember because he would repeat them a lot...  Good health is the greatest treasure.  Love is scarce and should be treasured.  Brush and floss after every meal.  But the one that really struck a chord with me was one that he never actually presented as a lesson, but rather, through repetition of action, has had an enormous influence on many of my life choices (though I really didn't even realize it at the time.)

Many times, after announcing a huge life decision or making a grand announcement, Dad would respond with "Does that make you happy?"  Dad was perfectly happy with whatever choice I made with my life as long as it made me happy.  Whenever we would have a phone conversation, or we would come and visit, usually after the conversations had subsided and the energetic recounting of recent successes had died down, Dad would quietly ask "So... are you happy?" 

In his own, quiet way, Dad was trying to say that fame and fortune, glory and adulation, power and influence were meaningless if you weren't happy as you achieved them.  Dad actually didn't want any of these things-- he knew exactly what he wanted and what would make him happy, and he certainly wanted everyone else to share in that quest for internal peace and serenity.

Dad took a very hands off approach to his parenting style.  He never pushed me to follow any particular career path, although he did succeed in dissuading me from joining the military.  Dad served in the Korean conflict and was a bit disturbed by my glorification of war-- I do remember him sharing tales of the conflict and telling me how horrible war was.  As a result, when I finally changed my mind and announced to him that I was not going to join the armed forces, I think he was quietly relieved, but his primary concern with my new decision was whether or not it made me happy.  Even though I chose a career path that had absolutely no guarantee of success he never spoke out against it and never mocked or ridiculed that choice.  He again simply asked "Does it make you happy?"  Happiness with one's choices was of great importance to him.  He set no expectations, made no demands, insisted on nothing except that I find my own happiness. 

It's no secret that there were some very turbulent years in our family history, but definitely the later chapters of Dad's life were peaceful and happy.  He married Yung and lived a very peaceful and happy life with her.  I took comfort in the observation that the years spent in Seattle with Yung were the serene, peaceful years that I think he sorely wanted; finally he had found the happiness which he had earnestly wished for everyone else. 

I like to think that as we gather here together to bid Yang Hwi farewell he would be happy to see everyone gathered together; he would be happy to know that everyone is healthy, and loved, and that most everyone exhibits good dental hygiene.  But most of all, I think he would want us all to be happy for him-- and though we will miss him, we will always remember him, love him, and when we think of him, we will be happy.