Dad’s Dash
Several months ago a friend of mine at work sent me a poem, one that had been floating around the Internet. As I was thinking of the remarks I wanted to make today, that poem came to mind.
In this poem, it talks about the two dates on a headstone: one for the date of the person’s birth and one for the date the person passed away. Separating these dates is a dash, what appears to be a simple punctuation mark. But, as the poem says, that dash represents all the time spent here on earth, all the time we have to live and love. In fact, it’s that dash that matters most of all.
I’m here today to tell you some things about my Dad’s “dash”.
Over the years, my dad was many things to many people: son, brother (being the oldest of 4 boys), husband, father, step-father, father-in-law, grandfather, great-grandfather, uncle and friend.
Dad’s “dash” was filled with family. Dad was married to Ann for 33 years – I’ve heard her tell many people over the last few days that she lost her best friend when she lost Dad. He was father to Tripp, Chris and I, and step-father to Kathy, Linda and John. Six of us kids under one roof was challenging at times! There were times that growing up in Dad’s house was eventful. Often when a few of us get together, invariably the stories about dinnertimes from long ago come up. Back then, Dad was “old school” about manners and for cleaning your plate ‘no matter what’. There’s always the infamous 3-bean salad story of the 6 of us kids sitting around the dinner table for over an hour staring at this pickled 3-bean salad on our plates, forbidden to leave the table until it was gone. To this day I haven’t touched 3-bean salad again. And I still remember the process for dividing up the last piece of something good, whether it was a hamburger or hunk of cake – one kid did the cutting, the other got first choice. We still call it the “Bud Rule” at my house. Dad was also a stickler about haircuts – hair couldn’t touch the ears or your collar. Growing up in the 60s and 70s when everyone else had long hair like the Beatles, we were the only kids that looked more like G.I. Joe. Dad would be happy to see my latest haircut! I only asked for a light trim, but I think it was his hand on the clippers that made it this short. And then there’s the “leisure suit incident”, but that’s too painful to go into now.
Dad had 13 grandchildren who called him PopPop, ranging from 28 down to 4 years old, and who loved him and were loved by him. They will miss him very much. And just recently he became a great-grandfather to a little boy that unfortunately will never get to know PopPop.
Dad had many pets that filled his “dash” with love like only a canine can – dogs big and small had a place in his heart. And on his lap. And at the office. And in the car … anywhere that Dad went. Spooky and Buffy are lost at home without Dad.
So many people were in Dad’s “dash” for the myriad ways he was involved with the community, which he loved so much. Dad didn’t so much as join an organization and simply participate, but he immersed himself in it, getting involved in the leadership, helping to shape and form it:
He was member of the Fair Haven Fire Company for over 44 years, joining in 1962. He worked his way up the ranks to become chief, treasurer, president – is there anything he didn’t do? In 2004 he was inducted as a Life Member of the Fire Company, one of only 33 that had been bestowed that honor at the time.
Once he reached exempt member status with the Fire Company, he moved on to the Fire Police. Again, he was very active, serving as captain three times, and was on his way toward his fourth; he also attained the honor of being named a life member of the Fire Police. From what I’ve been told, there was nobody who could drive the Fire Police truck, or back it in, like Bud could. Looks like there’s an opening for a new driver.
When he wasn’t out dealing with fires, Dad served as a Little League and Pop Warner football coach for so many of the kids in Fair Haven. Like many dads, he started coaching when we were getting into the programs. But in the case of Pop Warner, he stayed on for many years after we were out. I remember coming back when I was in college and giving him a hand with the kids during the summer. Back then, coaching Pop Warner was an every weeknight event from the 1st of August through mid-November. That’s dedication.
And if that wasn’t enough, Dad served on the Fair Haven Board of Education for 27 years, long after all of us kids were out of school. As my brother Chris said the other day, there was no getting away with anything – there was a direct line between the superintendent and Dad! All day yesterday, I met teachers, fellow Board members and administrators who all said the same thing – Dad was fair, honest and dedicated, and was missed by all when he left the Board.
Dad was a local businessman, running Leons Carpet Cleaners for over 35 years, first in Red Bank and for the last several years here in Fair Haven. The guys working for Dad didn’t just see him as the boss – they saw him as a friend and mentor. He was there when they needed a hand, maybe an advance on their pay, or to borrow a truck if their car had problems, or simply to talk or get advice. Many of the guys stayed on with Leons long-term, because of the loyalty they felt for Dad.
I learned my first things about earning money by working for Dad at Leons over weekends and summer vacations. You couldn’t just “borrow” money from Dad – it always had to be “worked off” down at the shop on Saturday. It gave me a good perspective on the value of money – was the $20 I wanted really worth the time and effort it would take to “earn” it?
And what would a person’s “dash” be like without his friends – so many of you here today that Dad loved so much and spoke of so often. Those of you who knew Dad so well know what that little line between the dates represented – the good times on the softball field, or the bowling alley, or at the Fireman’s Fair, or on a cruise, or around the neighborhood. The friends that he would wave to from the front porch as the town of Fair Haven went by on River Road. The outpouring of love and support by all who knew and were touched by Dad was certainly a true testament to the many people who filled Dad’s dash.
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I thought I’d end my remarks with the last stanza of the poem. It goes like this:
“So, when your eulogy’s being read
With your life’s actions to rehash,
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?”
I’m here to say, Dad, you should be very proud of the things that I’m saying – and others have been saying – about your dash.
We only wish your dash could have been longer.
Jeff Dupree
Eulogy for Bud Dupree
May 25, 2006