Thank you for coming here to spend a little time celebrating and remembering our dad since we are sadly unable to do it in person. Although a virtual memorial certainly wouldn’t be our first choice for him under different circumstances, I’m sure he would be happy to see this, and he absolutely would not want to hear us whining about something we cannot change. Whining was not really in his vocabulary.
Our Dad was someone who always rose to the occasion. He got up and went to work and supported our family every day for years and years and we never once heard him complain about it being Monday, or even say he was tired for that matter. Although maybe he was just hopped up on Pepsi and truly wasn’t tired… But he must have been. He held it together all through our mom’s battle with cancer. He found himself with two teenage daughters, and we know for a fact that we are personally responsible for any hair he lost between 2000 and 2007. But he kept showing up. He showed up for concerts and recitals. He spent weekends when we were younger driving hours to soccer tournaments and piano competitions. As we got older, these parental obligations turned into doing things together that we actually mutually enjoyed, and we often joked that our Dad was way cooler than us.
And he was definitely in better shape. On Sunday mornings throughout our childhood for as far back as we remember, our mom would take us to church and he would go to “the Sunday ride.” If you live in South Jersey, you have most definitely passed him on the road in your car at some point. He has been a member of Summit Cycling Club for longer than I’ve been alive, and being on the bike was truly his place of joy and sanity.
He bought me a rode bike years ago and took me out on ride to make sure I knew all the rules and proper cycling etiquette, etc. I’ve of course ridden bikes since I was a kid, but this was a little different. Out on real roads, with real clip in cycling shoes. We were riding through Moorestown and came to a stop sign along a busy street. As I stopped I didn’t get my foot unclipped fast enough which of course resulted in me falling flat on my side. In true Dad fashion, there was no gasp or “oh my gosh are you ok?!” He just kind of laughed a little and said “Yeah that happens, you gotta get your foot out.” And I got back up and we kept riding. He shared with me a couple months ago that when he retired he wanted to do something to volunteer. Maybe in a hospital. Something meaningful to help people and give back. I feel sad that he didn’t get a chance to do that, but I hope he knew how much he had already given us. An example of resilience and commitment. The importance of taking time to enjoy small beautiful things in life. How to spend meaningful, quiet time together. He was always fully present in whatever he was doing.

That being said, he also knew how to not take things too seriously. There’s no diploma on the wall for his PhD in dry humor, but we’ve all been schooled by his ability to put a light, sarcastic twist on moments that otherwise could’ve just been filled with disheartening energy. Our dad left a lasting impression on most people he met, and we’re honored to have a dad who gave us so many fond memories to cherish.