About Dad, One Last Time

Over the years, I have had the pleasure of sharing some stories about my Father with you, both in print and here on this blog. In fact, the two stories I wrote about his love of hockey ("Father Daughter Dance" and "Any Dream Will Do") remain among the most popular I've ever written. For the past few days, I have debated sharing this remembrance with you, because they are the words I wrote and read at his funeral last Friday. My father, Fred Kopf died suddenly while on a family vacation with us, 11 hours short of his 77th birthday and one day shy of his 53rd wedding anniversary. I decided to share it because a lot of people were kind enough to tell me it really captures who he was. Thank you for indulging me.

Words of Remembrance for Frederick Kopf (1933-2010)

Good morning. On behalf of my family, we thank you for being here today. It might have surprised my father that so many people cared about him because he was probably the least self-important person I know. He never sought to be the center of attention, and never expected anything to be about him. He was always the quiet force in the background. And, except for a weakness for really smart neckties, he had no vanity about himself.

So, in looking for how to describe who my father was and what his walk on earth meant to us, it became clear to me that there is only one way to do this right [puts on New York Rangers hat]. I hope Dad would have liked that.

What should I tell you about to explain my Dad? Should we talk about the things you might not know? Like how he majored in journalism in college and used to write beautiful stories before the press of married life and family led him to a more conventional career? Or about how he had the greatest sense of humor you could imagine? You might not have gotten to see it too much because he was so quiet, but I think it’s one of the most bountiful gifts he gave Patti, Freddie and me. Or how he was so electrically-challenged that every outdoor extension cord he ever used had tape all over it because he had cut through it in at least three places with the electric hedge clippers? And we won’t even talk about what happened when you put an unfamiliar TV remote in his hand?. Or how my sister says the only time we ever saw him cry (and they were tears of happiness) was when my brother was born?

Or, should I tell you how he was a deeply religious man whose faith came shining through his actions? Dad became Catholic right before he and Mom married so his family would be united in one faith. And the strong faith of both our parents was the other great gift we children and his grandchildren have received.

Or should I tell you about the time when I was twelve and he and I were home alone that he cut right through his hand (using those same dreaded hedge clippers, by the way) and he calmly told me to get in the car, and that he was going to drive to the hospital, but that if he happened to pass out, I should grab the wheel and aim for the curb and someone would probably show up to help us pretty quickly after that? Or how he recently told my mother he had four great days in his life—the days each of his children were born and their fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration that some of you were at three years ago? Or what delight he would always get in playing games with his great nieces and nephews or talking sports with his godsons? And how he treasured any time he had with his son and grandson? I can’t tell you how big a kick he had watching the NHL draft last summer with his grandson, Kevin—even if all the fanfare was about some Islander, of all things, named Tavares.

And we won’t even talk about things like the Carvel Fudgie the Whale cake, my Dad’s way to make anything better, or the infamous Cindy-Lou-Who bush or how sometimes he would just grab Mom and waltz her around the kitchen?

There are thousands of stories and a million examples of what made Dad Dad. He won everyone over without ever trying to. See, we have so many beautiful memories and examples that explain my father because he was solid. He was consistent. He had a set of rules, a strong faith, and he lived by them. And he was humble and without pretense.

I will give you just one story. When we were young, my Mom always made sure we had something different to do on the weekends, even if it was just taking a long ride out to the end of Long Island. This particular weekend, she and Dad decided to rent a tandem bike, a bicycle built for two, so we kids could ride around on it. Well, this was one of those seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time things, because it was a bit of a challenge to get the bike home, but we did. Then Dad got on to test it out. Why he decided to ride a bicycle built for two by himself, you would have to ask him. I don’t even know how he did it, but he managed to go about five feet and then to crash down in front us and land flat on his back sprawled out on the pavement, with the force hitting right on the back of his head—and this happened in the days before people wore helmets. It was a hard whack and I could tell he was seeing stars. We kids were screaming “Daddy, daddy, are you all right?” as he was trying to remember things like his name and who the president was. I am not sure if he heard us, but I know he never answered us. He just got up, steadied himself, rubbed his head, and got back on the bicycle again. This time he rode a big circle in the road all by himself perfectly and came back and stopped in front of us and said, “Okay, get on, we only have a three-hour rental.”

I mention this story because, in life, you meet a lot of people who tell you how to live. They tell to pick yourself up and get right back on there, but, as in everything my father did, he just showed you how to live by example.

So if I can leave you with one thing from my Dad, it would be his motto. It’s just three simple words, but he’s said them to us over and over again since the day we were old enough to understand them. Do Your Best. Do Your Best. You have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to ever apologize for, if you do your own best in any and everything you do. And, even if your best isn’t good enough, it doesn’t matter because you have done the best you could do.

My sister, brother and I would like thank you for coming today and for letting us share some more of our Father with you. We would also like to thank our Mom for being the amazing woman that she is and for all the loving, tenacious care she took of dad, giving him way more years with us than we would have otherwise had.

Frederick Martin Kopf Jr. was a wonderful, shining light who lived by example. If you could have seen him on his vacation last week, you would have seen him glowing in these last few days. It gives me comfort to think he was glowing because knew he was ready, in his heart, soul and body for his last trip to the best destination of all. Thank you.