I can't believe it's been nearly seven years since my father passed. Although I
get to celebrate this special day with my kids, Father's Day has seemed a bit
hollow for me since I lost my dad, my hero, and my friend.
Below is a
reposting of the eulogy I wrote for him. You can find the original posting
here.
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We
are gathered here today to mourn the passing of my father, John Robert Gonzalez.
I like to think that we are not only here to grieve, but also to celebrate the
life of a man many people knew simply as Johnny. From his brothers and sisters
in Mexico and present here today, to Pascuale Cafiero, his dear friend and
fellow Longshoreman in Brooklyn, to the members of Corpus Christi Parish, Johnny
was always larger than life in his own way. And even though the sickness to
which he eventually succumbed physically left him a shadow of his former self,
nothing can ever reduce the man that was Johnny.
Johnny was by no means
perfect, his many flaws a product of the old-school, blue-collar world in which
he grew up. Yet despite his flaws, Johnny was loved by all who knew him. As a
worker, Johnny redefined the concept of work ethic and was not happy unless he
was doing something. He realized that corners were made for placing your drink
and not for the cutting. As a friend, he was known for his selflessness. The
first to offer a helping hand, Johnny was the last person to ever ask for
assistance. As a military veteran, he served his country in order to support his
family back in Mexico. As a loving husband, he would be the first to tell you
that my mother was the best thing to ever happen to him. As a father he worked
tirelessly to ensure we had a roof over our heads, food on our table and most
importantly, an education for our future success. He taught us to trust
implicitly, allowing us to jump from the second story of my grandmother’s
apartment building. I knew full well he would always catch me, and like so many
other situations in my life, he never let me fall.
Johnny was loved
despite his flaws. His confidence in his ability to do a job was surpassed only
by his own personal insecurity. What some people saw as a perfectionist was many
times his overwhelming sense of self doubt. How could someone like him ever make
a mark in this world? How could he ever leave a legacy for others to see? I
believe it is clear to me that his legacy is visible in the faces of everyone
here today. It is clear that Johnny’s legacy is found in the unadulterated love
for his grandchildren. There is a saying that the Catholic dictionary defines
justice as your children having children, and his legacy – my children Natalie
and Daniel and my nephews Leo and Luis – will bear down this justice on my
brother and me for many years to come. Johnny’s legacy is not in what he had in
his bank account or in financial assets in some investment portfolio. It is not
found in the cars he drove or the house in which he lived. Johnny’s legacy is in
the outpouring of love you all have shown him, both in his passing and in his
time on Earth. His legacy lives in all of us and in the wonderful memories we
created and shared with him. His legacy did not end when his spirit left his
body to ascend to Heaven. Rather, it is merely beginning and will forever shine
in how we celebrate the life of the man we all knew as Johnny. The Book of Luke
teaches us, “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who
humbles himself will be exalted.” And it fills my heart with joy to see everyone
here to exalt my father.
Dad, I pray to God that you are with Him in
Heaven, finally enjoying the peace and rest you so well deserve. I also pray
that I can be the type of worker you were for the vast majority of your life,
the type of friend you were to everyone you knew, and the type of provider you
were for your family. I pray that I can be half the father to my children that
you were to me. I hope I can be a hero to someone in the way you were always a
hero to me. Thank you for always making me feel loved, and please know that we
all love you, Johnny. Please know that I will always love you, Dad.