Remembering Dad

This is the eulogy I gave at the end of Dad's funeral mass yesterday (30.July, 2014). I kept praying all morning that God would help me get through without breaking down in tears (I have a long track record... must be the Irish sentimentality in my genes!) and He was faithful to my request; My voice quivered in the last paragraph, and the tears came as I stepped down from the pulpit and into a warm embrace from Mom.

An Extraordinary Life - Harry O’Sullivan

Mark Twain has been quoted as saying that at age 17 he could hardly stand to be with his father for his ignorance; at 20 he noticed that now and then his father said a sensible thing; but at 25 he was simply amazed to discover how much the old man had learned in the previous 8 years.

Dad and I always got along well, but I can remember at times telling myself that I did not want to be like him when I grew up. Funny how time — and DNA — catches up to all of us! As I’ve grown older I’ve come to realize just how much I am like my Dad. We’re both first born sons. We both became fathers in our 25th year and have 3 children. We both built our careers on information systems. We both love going to concerts, and wearing t-shirts supporting our favorite bands. We were both active in our children’s activities as coaches and Scout leaders. 

My brother-in-law, Eric, was the first person I remember noting a certain physical resemblance I share with Dad… Back then he wasn’t my brother-in-law. Mel & I hadn’t started dating yet, but Eric & I had been good friends all through high school, and we’d often get together to jam to Def Leppard on our guitars, or go hiking, go to concerts, or just hang out, and… oh, sorry! Just like Dad, I often take listeners on the “scenic route” when telling a story!   ANYWAY, Eric had dropped by the house one day while Pat & I were working out in the basement, bare-chested so we could better see if our weight-lifting was having any effect on our spindly physiques. Suddenly Eric busted out laughing: “Man, you’re your Dad all over…” That was 25 years & 70 pounds ago… I don’t think I need to say any more about that!

Dad’s long illness gave me a lot of time to reflect on things he taught us. Dad wasn’t one to lecture; he was a soundbite man before “soundbites” were in! But he loved to teach us by doing: how to throw a curve ball, how to change the oil in our cars, or how to load line into a trimmer. And in a lot of cases, he taught us when he didn’t realize it.

When Chris, Pat & I were little boys, I remember Dad often telling us “Life isn’t fair”. With 3 boys close in age you better believe we had many disagreements to settle. There were also desserts to share, and at-bats while Dad pitched to us in the backyard, and time shared on the then-hi-tech Atari 2600. Dad is one of the fairest men I’ve known; I dare say he was fairer with most people than they deserved. And yet he was right to teach us that the world didn’t owe us a thing. He always was one of the hardest working and dependable men I’ve known, and he passed that work ethic on to us.

If you look around the house, you’re bound to find Dad’s initials and a date written on many things - workbenches he built, oil filters, boxes of cereal… My brothers & I used to joke that we each have a tattoo on our rear end, signed HTO’S with our birth dates! Sometimes Dad would also leave a short note along with his date stamp. I remember after we finished building a deck on my first house in Columbia, he added his usual HTO’S along with “Chicago” to remind us that we went to see the band play at Merriwether Post the night before. I often wondered what some future archaeologist would think upon discovering all Dad’s little notes & dates. As I helped pull together photos for the viewing I encountered many notes on the back of old photos - “Andy took this photo”; “100 degrees heat when Pat pitched this game”; etc. I’m not sure what the archaeologist would think, but I’ll simply say: Thanks, Dad, for being our historian and reminding us of little details we otherwise would have forgotten!

Dad often took us up to the ballfields at Bedford Elementary for batting practice. One time I accidentally left his Stan Musial glove at the field, so he drove back to look for it. He saw some kids had found it, but he didn’t have the heart to take back what was rightfully his. From that point on he sprayed a bit of orange paint on all our gloves and bats, so that if we left them in the grass they’d be easy to spot. I think he already had some orange spray paint at home because he liked how Rick Dempsey sprayed a nice orange target on his catchers mitt, and he thought that would be a good way to help Pat develop accuracy in his pitching. Before long, the whole garage took on a soft orange glow, as yard tools, garbage cans, really just about anything that wasn’t nailed down got the O’Sullivan orange treatment.

Speaking of catchers, I remember Dad telling us he always liked to be the catcher when he played ball, and he taught the position to Chris. He reasoned that there are only two players on the field who are involved in every pitch. Since he wasn’t a great pitcher, he’d learn to catch. Isn’t that just like Dad - wanting to be involved in every play, and also stepping aside to let the better player take center stage.

Dad spent A LOT of time teaching us the mechanics of baseball. He loved the game, he loved his sons, and he loved all of our friends, and would spend countless hours throwing us high-flies, pitching batting practice, and helping us fine-tune our swing. He often told us to keep your eye on the ball. I think this later developed into swing the bat at Sykesville. Both pieces of advice are solid, and not just on the diamond. We can play it safe in life, or stand at the plate, knees shaking, and hope for a walk, but we won’t find true success for our dreams if we don’t swing the bat. And in order to get that base hit, you have to keep your eye on the ball, staying focused on what’s important now in order to make contact. Years later I can remember working with Dad on home improvements and yard work, and him telling me to put some more “rear-end” into it. In other words, don’t hold back, if you’re committed to do something, throw all of your weight into the effort. Maybe you’ll strike out, but every now & then, you’ll knock it out of the park.

Dad often told me that he wished he had gotten the music gene from his father like I did. He used to joke that the only thing he could play was the radio, but I must say he had excellent taste in music… I’ll give him a pass on the disco era! The soundtrack of my earliest years is one continuous loop of the early Chicago albums. And I treasured Dad taking me to see them in concert, sharing the band he loved with me. Our first concert together was in the summer of 1977 when I was not quite 9 years old. Over the years we saw Chicago over a dozen times. Dad also took my brothers & our friends to see bands we enjoyed before we were old enough to drive ourselves. He took me to see Asia, my favorite band in the summer of 1983. 25 years later I had the privilege of taking Dad to see Asia along with my kids. Just as his favorite band became one of mine, Dad became a big Asia fan, and really loved one of their newer songs called An Extraordinary Life. The chorus lyrics are:

Go, seize the day, Wake up and say: This is an EXTRAORDINARY LIFE

Enjoy today, Come what may: This is an EXTRAORDINARY LIFE

This carpe-diem attitude became Dad’s 21st-century adaptation of keep your eye on the ball and swing the bat. I’m grateful Dad was encouraged by Father Lacey and others in his last year to likewise take the good stuff, and to enjoy his many blessings.

I can remember Dad telling me that “it’s not always what you know, but who you know that’s most important.” That was one where I really wanted to prove him wrong. As I prepared to graduate from college, I naïvely thought that prospective employers would take one look at my impressive GPA and hire me on the spot. I also thought that I should be hired on my own merit, not because of some personal connection; that smelled too much like politics or cronyism. But once again, Dad was right. I got the groundskeeping job at Springfield Cemetery because of a friend Dad knew at work. I’m sure that Bruce hired me at Pap-Pap’s in spite of my then-long-hair because Dad was a good neighbor. I got my first career position with the help of UMBC’s cooperative education program. Early on in my career I replied to several want-ads in the newspaper; none of them even landed me an interview. Every job I’ve gotten since that first break came about because of a personal connection. Dad was right. I was just too young and stubbornly 

idealistic to understand. And as time passed I came to realize that those connections matter because of personal trust, not corrupt politics.

Well, Dad, you were right, and now I know you are in the best place of all, at peace with God in heaven. Not because of your resume of achievements here on earth — impressive as they are —but because you know Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.

In John 14, Jesus told his disciples that He was going ahead to prepare a place for those who believe in Him, and that there are many mansions in His Father’s house. I wonder if Dad’s mansion looks like the Ravens Castle… or Memorial Stadium… or Neale Ct. I hope there’s a lawn to tend to and a bright orange tractor for him. I’m sure the view is beautiful.

I remember Dad telling us that while he & Mom were dating, he was very shy and Mom was usually the one who wanted to go out and socialize, but after they married Dad came out of his shell; one might say with a vengeance! Dad loved to talk with people — even those he just bumped into in the check-out line. Sometimes we’d joke that he could start up a conversation with a brick wall. At times I can remember feeling annoyed or embarrassed; come on, Dad, we have stuff to do, let’s get going. Saying goodbye took forever; there was always one more thing he wanted to say. Once again I’m amazed at the parallel to my own life. As I find myself midway into my 40s I find that I simply enjoy other people more. Maybe it’s a quality that comes with age and experience, finding joy in connecting with others. Maybe it’s a gift from God waiting for all of us, if we would only slow down, look into the eyes of those around us, and find empathy with our fellow sojourners in life. All that time I thought Dad was just dawdling, in reality he was like a missionary in his own home town, showing kindness to others with his characteristic smile and simple conversation, reflecting the love and compassion God has for us to everyone he met.

Pat describes Dad as the real-life George Bailey; “the richest man in town”, not because of material wealth, but because he connected with so many through his simple acts of kindness.  About six months ago Dad told me he was awestruck at the kindness showed to him by friends and neighbors as he battled his illness. I told him that he had touched a lot of lives. He thought about that and said “I guess I did”. Yeah, Dad. You sure did. We’ll miss you as long as we tarry here on earth, but your memory will live on in our hearts. Your life was both Wonderful and Extraordinary. And I’m glad that in so many ways I’ve turned out just like you.

Dad, his sons, and Coach Harbaugh - Apr 14, 2014

Dad and all of his grandchildren, Dec 21, 2013