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My dad, my best friend

My dad died of Alzheimer's in 2004.

I gave a reflection at his memorial service; please let me share some of that with you here:

My Dad was my best friend. I know that many sons might not be able to say that. But I can. My Dad was my best friend.

When I was growing up, my dad was always there for me. We moved many places, and I didn't always have a lot of friends. But I could always count on my dad.

He was always interested in everything I did. My dad was never too busy to stop and admire my latest plastic model ship or car, though they were mostly gluey blobs. He even put on a good face about the frogs and toads that were my obsession when I was ten. He insisted, however, that I keep them in the garage.

My Dad was truly a warm, caring, loving man, and he was never afraid to let it show. He deeply loved my mother to his last breath. He loved my sister, Janet, and was proud of everything she's accomplished. He adored his grandson, Trevor. He loved his family. He loved all of you.

He loved California. He was born in Oakland and grew up a few miles from here, in Avon (north of San Francisco Bay) on an oil refinery. Or, as he put it in an autography he wrote for his family, he spent his childhood at 38 degree 2 minutes North latitude, and 122 degrees 4 minutes West longitude. That was so my dad.

My Dad loved the sea and he loved sailing. He owned his first sailboat before he could drive a car; his dad bought it for him for $50. My father sailed out of the Alameda Estuary and watched the building of the Golden Gate Bridge and Treasure Island. He walked across the Golden Gate Bridge the day it was built.

If you want to know something about his outlook on life, you need to know about his love of sailing and the sea. I commend to you a book called "Learning to Sail," published in 1935. It is the only book my dad mentions in his autobiography (that should tell you something) and the first chapter is entitled "What It's All About." (see below)

My dad gave his love of sailing to me when I was a child. Nearly every Saturday we were out on the Bay challenging ourselves against the wind and waves. I quite literally grew up on a sailboat with my father at the helm. And my dad bought me my first sailboat before I could drive a car, and coached me as I took up sailboat racing. We even won a few races.

My dad loved to work, and he worked very hard to support his family. He also had a great sense of fun and adventure. His favorite phrase was "Let's get going!" and we were always going somewhere.

That was my dad -- always looking for an adventure he could share with us. When we lived on the East Coast we toured more Revolutionary War and Civil War battlefields than I can count. And I can't tell you how many Navy ships he got us tours aboard, everything from submarines to huge aircraft carriers.

My dad loved the Navy and he loved this country. My dad was a true patriot. That may sound corny nowadays, but he really was a patriot. He loved flying the flag. He believed this country is worth defending, but he also told me many, many times that true patriotism is more than about the flag and military might. True patriots, in my dad's estimation, serve their community, live honest lives, and fully participate as citizens by paying taxes and voting.

As I grew older, my dad never stopped being my dad. In my 20s, he and I explored the Mojave Desert where he had spent his 20s. He was always saying “Let’s get going!” We continued to sail together, and I count it a great honor in my life to have sailed with him the last time he went sailing on San Francisco Bay.

My father had Alzheimer’s disease, and the last few years were very difficult for him and my mother and all of our family. My mother took care of him through all of it, and to her we all owe so much. Her strength is towering.

Even as my dad slipped further and further into the haze of Alzheimer’s, he knew how much love all of you gave him. He never lost his warmth, or the sparkle in his eye, or his incredible smile, yet he really hated living this way.

I think we have felt like the people in a biblical lesson from the Acts of the Apostles; we have been kneeling on the beach, and saying farewell to him, but not wanting him to go. But like the apostle Paul, my dad was ready to get in the boat and go, ready for the next adventure beyond this shore. Indeed, my father’s last words on this earth, said a few days before he died: “Let’s get going!”

What it's all About

Here, on shore, life is a hurly-burly.

Out there on the water is escape.

Here, “the world is too much with us.” Out there we are alone. A mile from shore, and we are in a world of our own. And what a world! A world of water and wind and sky. A world of ever-changing, inexhaustible beauty. A world, moody and capricious, perhaps; but always fair and square. Sometimes soothing and benign, sometimes boisterous and gay, sometimes lowering, threatening, mad, and dangerous; but always giving fair warning, always playing the game with all the cards on the table if we but know them when we see them.

From Learning to Sail, by H.A. Calahan
Copyright 1935

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