On behalf of my mother, brothers, sister, and all of our family, I want to thank you all for coming today. I know without a doubt that Dad is watching over us and feeling three very different feelings. First and foremost, he would be so thrilled to have so many of his loved ones together, in one place. I'm sure he's also fairly furious that we've put up such a fuss for him. But, mostly I know he's very thankful. Thankful that we chose to have this service on a Saturday rather than a Sunday. He would have hated to miss out on this in favor of watching the Pat's game.
For days I've thought about what I could possibly say to bring honor to Dad in these moments. I could tell you endless information about him and his life. But I really wanted to share more than just information. I've searched and hoped for the right words. Eloquent and profound words, to express just what my dad meant to me. But all I could come up with was this..
I loved being Dad's daughter.
I really really loved being his daughter.
Growing up, when my siblings or I told someone our last name is Ferrie, it would often be met with, "oh are you Dennis' kid?" Here in Worcester, in Barre where we grew up, and down in Florida, Dad was always well known. When he and mom relocated to Englewood, he got a job at a convenience store, mostly to keep himself out of trouble. He, unintentionally, became a fixture of the small island that we live on. Every weekend he could be found behind the counter at Circle K, chatting with the locals and making the tourists feel welcome. Whenever I was in the store while he was working, I noticed that he would end every transaction with, 'thank you friend'. I constantly made fun of him for using such a cheesy line... But honestly, that was Dad. The ease with which he made friends was remarkable.
Some of the very first memories I have of Dad also involve Bob Barker. While Mom worked first shift and before Dad went to work, he would braid my hair in the morning, throw all the cushions from the couch onto the floor, and we would lay together and watch the Price is Right. He would always echo my juvenile excitement anytime they played plinko. I tell this story, not to share my family's mutual love for TV game shows, but to try to convey just how PRESENT Dad was for us growing up.
As many of you know, my brothers Bob and Brian spent their high school careers wrestling. Dad would spend every weekend dragging my sister and I all across New England for various tournaments and matches. Brian's senior year, he had a tournament on a Wednesday night. Dad chose to stay home so that Jenn and I, who were still elementary school aged, wouldn't be out so late on a school night. Brian called Dad probably around 8 at night to tell him he had won his previous matches and had one left to win the tournament. Dad hung up the phone, packed me and Jenn into the pick up truck, and started the two hour journey to the corner of Massachusetts. Brian had lost before we even got there. That didn't matter to Dad though. He was always there for us, literally win or lose.
Dad wasn't just a father to me and my siblings, but to all of our friends. Most weekend mornings he would wake up and venture out to the living room where 7 or 8 teenage girls would be sleeping, having taken up what seemed like permanent residence on his floor. In the evenings he could always be found around the small kitchen table with us, engrossed in a game of scat or aggravation. I remember several times when one of Jennifer's or my friends were having problems at home, Dad wouldn't blink an eye when she stayed with us for days or weeks at a time.
At the time, I just appreciated having such cool and tolerant parents. As an adult, I realize how lucky I was that he and mom had created a home and a family that was a safe haven for us and so many of our friends.
As much as Dad loved being a father to us, I would venture to say loved being a grandfather even more. He loved being a Pa to all of his grandchildren, including the one yet to make an appearance. He and my oldest, Jameson, had a special sort of bond though. The night Jamie was born, Dad arrived at the hospital right after they cleaned up the gore of the previous 12 hours. He sat in the rocking chair in my room, took the baby in his arms, looked into his little eyes, and said, 'hi Jameson. Are you Pa's little buddy?'
And that was it. Jamie spent the following three years worshiping the ground that his pa walked on. From the time Jameson could hold his head up, Dad asked at least once a week when Jamie would be able to go out on the bike with him. Dad gave Jamie his first solid food, vanilla pudding (at least it wasn't chocolate, right?). Whenever he heard a motorcycle pass by, Jameson would say, ' hey! That sounds like pa!' And run to the front door to eagerly jump into his arms. Most evenings, the two could be found snuggled in dad's huge recliner under Jamie's fuzzy zebra print blanket, watching old Donald Duck cartoons, both of them laughing like little kids.
In the past few weeks while we've been going through Dad's stuff, I've been searching for something to give to Jameson. A small trinket or something he can keep to remember his pa, but nothing seemed adequate.
It hit me, while watching my three children play on the floor, making one another erupt in those childish belly laughs that warm your very core. Dad has already given me the best gift I could ever give any of my children.
My father’s love is the blueprint by which I love.
If I can be half the parent to my babies, that dad was to each of us... Well, there's just no trinket that could replace that gift.
I couldn't possibly begin to tell you all the things that my siblings and I learned from dad. But even more important than the proper way to change the brakes on a Dodge Ram, or how to best mix a 7 and Seven, dad taught us about family. He taught us about love. Dad showed us that a thirty year marriage isn't just for fairy tales... That two people may not always be perfect, but the love for your spouse is. His was a life about relationships and not about things.
It's so very painful to imagine our family without him. He was a true patriarch. A loving and devoted husband, the best grandfather. A son, brother, uncle, and friend.
My dad.
I am confident, though, that dad's legacy will live on through his family and all that he has taught us. I love you dad, to the moon and back.
