I often wonder: when I pass from this Earth, “How will I be remembered?”
Three years ago, in the early morning, on a Wednesday, my father passed, and it was very apparent how he was remembered. His funeral was literally standing room only and it lasted more than four hours. Person after person took the podium and extolled his virtues, each with an individual perspective of who my father was to them.
In my childhood, my father was someone who could only be described as “tough.” In our lives there was no room for back-talk or bad manners or even warmth. Music didn’t grace our home. Jokes and humor were dismissed as frivolous. Discipline was constant, and religion and educational studies were paramount.
