Jibble's WeBlog
Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes. - Walt Whitman
The internet sets music over nearly every scene or highlight. Here's the definitive ranking
1. Thor: Ragnarok - Bridge Fight Scene with "Holding Out for a Hero"
2. Rey & Kylo Ren Throne Room - Mr Blue Sky
.......
575 Million. Every Soccer Highlight with that same shitty Electronica song ......... 1 Billion. - Sports Highlights with "My Heart Will Go on"
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Thought I might start a small blog again. Here's my Dad's Eulogy from March of '19...Minor Edits to keep anonymity As I have been thinking on and off about my dad over the last month or so, I stumbled across an essay that Oliver Sacks, one of my favorite scientist and thinkers wrote when he learned he was facing the end of his life after cancer. If you’re unfamiliar with Sacks’ work, he was a doctor and neuroscientist who wrote about the brain’s quirks. His books are really good, but his interviews and essays are where, I find, his personality really shines through. One of the characteristics that really makes Sacks stand out, in my mind, was what science journalist Robert Krulewich called “The Generosity of his Curiosity”. And I thought that was such a wonderful way to sum up Sacks’ personality. Sacks was insatiably curious, and that made him a great scientist, but his curiosity led to more than just science. He had a true interest in people. That curiosity led him deeper into knowledge that would help define his brilliant career. But that curiosity also lead to a deep, vibrant humanity that reminded me of the best of people. And as I re-read Sacks’ essay on facing the end of his life, and thought about my appreciation for him, I realized I’m so drawn to Sacks’ works and thoughts, because my dad also had the “the generosity of curiosity,” and that gift lead my dad to a vibrant humanity, and it was a gift to us all . My dad was insatiably curious. It drove him in his engineering career, where he loved solving a problems with no clear answers. It drove him to travel to isolated towns across the American West to squirm his way up narrow pipes and in noisy generator rooms to figure out why a pump or generator wasn’t working properly. That curiosity also drove him to tinker. It drove him to take apart and put back together nearly every part of his beloved ’55 Willy’s Blue Jeep. And, because of how much time he spent trying to satisfy his curiosity, he learned how to fix almost anything. He was the first person I called when I needed help with anything, and he always came with more tools than could possibly be necessary. Like many years ago when he grabbed a spare alternator and drove 2 hours to outside Fairplay because my Jeep wouldn’t start back up on a camping trip with [Wife]. (It was not the alternator, but it could have been). He was the consummate engineer, who was always happy taking things apart and looking inside of them to see what made them work. That curiosity wasn’t just about Jeeps and pipes and generators and alternators. That curiosity extended to people too, and that’s where his generosity really shined. He was an immensely interesting person to talk to and that, too, stemmed from his insatiable curiosity. He was genuinely interested in people, how they were doing and in what they had to say. And because of it, people opened up to him. He travelled to far away lands and remote villages that put him in situations that people only dreamed, like when he was frighteningly stopped by potentially corrupt Brazilian police in a remote part of Brazil or when he went scuba diving in the Colorado River looking for a lost thousand dollars. Those experiences didn’t make him interesting, though. He was interesting because he gave you his ear, and he was genuinely curious in your thoughts and what you had to say. He was such a great conversationalist because he was such an extraordinary listener and was curious about whomever he was talking to. That’s another thing I learned from my dad, and Oliver Sacks I guess; That the key to being an interesting person is to take a deep, personal interest in others. And that gift, that generosity of curiosity, was why he treated people with so much dignity and respect. One way this respect and dignity shown through was in the way he talked to children, from toddlers to teens. I think many children get frustrated at the way the world can ignore them, and write off their feelings. My dad never did that. My dad talked to children as individuals whom deserved his undivided attention. He would very often get down on one knee so that he could look a child, every child, My sister, a player on his soccer team, me, he’d look them in the eye and listen to them in the same way he listened to everyone, with an immersive curiosity. Even the punishment he dealt was wrapped around this concept. As a child the worst punishment he could give my sister and I: The dreaded 20-minute lecture. “Can you please just spank us instead” we’d say, usually about 4 minutes in. But he never did. Even that punishment taught us how to resolve conflict with dignity, respect and it taught us how to treat people. The same way my dad was incredibly interesting because he showed interest in others; he was well respected because he showed respect to others. Simone Weil wrote that “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity” And, in this day of perpetual distraction, he was gracious with his time and attention. He travelled a lot for work, which was a form of being gracious with his time, but when he was home, he had gave his undivided attention to us. And he gave his time to others, whether coaching soccer or helping work on projects of some sort or just lending a receptive ear and open heart. His kindness and generosity shown through in the way he gave his attention freely and graciously to anyone who needed it. And he did so in a way that didn’t show pity, but dignity and respect. “The generosity of curiosity”. That was my dad’s gift to all of us. When we accepted his love, we took some of that gift with us and we passed it along to those we love. All of us, from those who were closest to him to those he talked to only sporadically, learned that generosity of curiosity. Maybe we learned a little bit about being a better listener or maybe we learned how to talk to someone a little more warmly. My dad gave this vibrant humanity with such humility that, I think, it felt so natural that maybe people didn’t realize it. He lived graciously, giving freely and feeling so much gratitude for everything he received. (Pause for breath) So now I’d like to return to some of Oliver Sacks words, because their beautiful. I’ve edited them to make them about my dad, but they were come from Oliver Sacks’ essay about dying titled “My Own Life”. I think they convey the vibrant humanity that he and Sacks both shared. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neural fate — of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death. My father’s predominant feeling about his life was one of gratitude. He was loved and had been loved; He was given much and he gave something in return; He read and traveled and thought. Above all, He was a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself was an enormous privilege and adventure. Death is sad, but death is an essential part of life. My dad has now completed his journey of life. We’re still grieving, and coming to terms with it. I find it hard to believe he’ll never call me Dale [my uncle’s name] again.
But I look at his life with amazement, too. I look at how his vibrant humanity took hold in all of the people he loved. I see that humanity blossom in myself, in the way I talk to my children and their friends. And I see it in how those who loved him freely and generously give that love to others. I see friends and family pass on the warmth and dignity that he gave to so many. His vibrant humanity flows through us all and will continue to flow as the lessons he passed to us are planted in younger generations. May we all live our entire lives with the fullness and graciousness of my father. I, too, am extraordinarily grateful. Because for 39 years on this beautiful planet I got to experience and be influenced by and witness his vibrant humanity and, as Sacks said, that in itself was an enormous privilege and adventure. I’m sure going to miss him though. Thank you, Dad. |
Jibbles - Denver-ish, COI used to write about the Avalanche. Now about whatever. All opinions are ill-informed Archives
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