Dad's Eulogy

 I had the huge honor of representing my mom, my siblings, their spouses, and my nices, nephews, great nieces and nephews, aunts, uncles, and cousins, by delivering dad's eulogy yesterday at his memorial service. 

For those who were not able to attend, and for my own future memories, I will share it here.

I know that a typical eulogy includes a lot of numbers and dates, but we believe our dad just wasn’t typical and I am not good with numbers and dates. So instead, I’d like to tell you the story of my daddy.

Gary was born on December 20^th, 1937, on his family’s farm in Durham, Kansas.

He is the son of Henry and Anna Kaiser and little brother by a lot to Marvin and Virgil.

After high school graduation, daddy served in the U.S. Army and then Army Reserves from 1958-1962. I don’t remember him talking a lot about this part of his life. No particular reason. He didn’t serve during war time or anything like that. But, it was just like him not to talk a lot about himself. However, last year as part of one of Moses’ homework assignments he interviewed my dad about his past, and he opened up a lot about those four years. He talked about the adventure of leaving that farm in Durham and seeing parts of the world he’d only heard about. But, he also talked about how homesick he was during that time. Family was everything to dad. People were always his favorite.

While attending business school, he met and fell in love with my mom, Sandy Caruthers, who he married on April 14^th, 1962, in Salina, Kansas. They just celebrate their 60^th anniversary this year and we had a lot of good laughs over their dating stories. Sometime, when we are not in church, I will tell you some of the best ones. Gary and Sandy moved to Arizona in 1962, where they had three children, Darla, Scott, and then, 15 years later, me.

Gary owned and operated Texaco service stations. Over the years he also sold car parts and rented out Ryder moving trucks. In Mesa, he owned a gas station on the corner of Power and Main, and then the one I remember best, on Gilbert and Main, where the light rail park and ride now sits. It was a sad time for our family when they finally tore down that building and replaced it with a parking lot.

Dad always had an impeccable work ethic. He came home smelling like sweat mixed with gasoline and it is to this day one of the most oddly comforting scents in the world. He passed on his car-guy talent to my brother and my nephew, Chris.

At home he kept our cars running, everything imaginable greased with WD40. Once he even fixed my foot with it…it was miraculous. When he retired, he drove mom and I so crazy during straightening and fixing everything, that we sent him back to work delivering parts for NAPA.

One time I asked him over to help clean before one of Daniel’s birthday parties, and with just 30 minutes before guests would arrive, I was starting to panic about getting tables set up in the backyard and he was wanting to pull out the refrigerator because he couldn’t reach the dust bunnies he could see in the gap between the refrigerator and the wall. I told him to just stick the step ladder there and no one would even see it. He started laughing. He seriously thought I was making a joke!

But, as hardworking as he was, THIS wasn’t what my daddy was best known for.

 There were many things in life that dad liked. He seized the day and enjoyed it well.

Many of these hobbies revolved around outdoor adventures with his family, fishing, camping, and exploring.

In a guided journal my niece gave him a few years ago, he had written that one of his favorite childhood memories was a trip that he took with his family to a lakefront cottage in Wisconsin, where he remembers boating and fishing with his parents and brothers. Perhaps that was what got him hooked.

One summer in young adulthood he was even a fishing guide in Yellowstone. I WENT to Yellowstone with this guy and didn’t know this. But, once again, Dad just didn’t talk that much about himself.

In the years before me, he would take my mom and Scott and Darla water skiing at least once a week throughout the summer. I hear he was an adrenaline junkie…always wanting to go faster. In my childhood, I remember going fishing and hiking. Many of all our favorite memories included tent trailers and highways.

But the list of places he’d traveled and things he’d experienced also wasn’t what my daddy was best known for.

 Dad had a green thumb. He grew carrots, and flowers, and took care of peach and grapefruit trees. My boys have said that picking peaches with Papa in his back yard was one of their favorite memories. He may have relocated to the desert, but he was always a Kansas farm boy at heart. He passed on this talent to my brother who keeps us all supplied with squash and spinach each year, and to my nephew, Austin, who coordinates a community garden in Tucson.

 (He did not pass this green thumb onto me...what big brothers are for)

Dad enjoyed music more than almost anyone I know. Every road trip had a soundtrack. Some trips were for Marty Robbins and John Denver. Others were for laughing at Ray Stevens songs. He took me to my first concert…a Beach Boys’ Concert sponsored by Texaco. And he is partly responsible for my great love of Johnny Cash. As dad got older, more of his favorites were the gospel songs of artists like the Gaither’s, the Statler Brothers, and Bradley Walker…songs about going home.

He also liked watching all the sports. He rarely missed a Diamondbacks or Suns game, even if he had to record and re-watch the parts of the game that he accidently slept through. Superbowl Sunday was his favorite holiday…we’re not sure if it was more about the game, the family, or that on this very special day we would let him eat all the wings and 7-layer dip he wanted.

Daddy liked good food. A lot. By “good,” I don’t mean “fine food” or even “healthy food.” I mean like something you could buy at a QT or Circle K. He was a connoisseur of every kind of road-trip food from Twinkies and ding dongs to Polar Pops to sunflower seeds.

Mom usually cooked, but when Dad did the cooking, he started with a base of fried potatoes and onions, and then topped it with anything left in the fridge-SpaghettiOs’s, hot dogs…he was an amazing chef.

My sister, Darla, actually is a fantastic cook, but he loved teasing her. The year after she got married and settled into her first home, she was scheduled to host her first Thanksgiving dinner for the family. Dad asked mom to stop at the store because he had to go in and grab something. He emerged with a Stouffer’s turkey tv dinner…just in case!

We all loved to cook for dad because he appreciated it all so much. His mama’s bierock and peppernuts recipe every birthday and Christmas. And, the last week that dad was still eating, God gifted Daniel one last Papa memory of making him the biscuits and gravy he’d been consistently asking for since going into the hospital last May.

But music, gardening, food, sports…these aren’t really what my daddy was known for either.

All these things paled in comparison to his gigantic love for God and the people He made.

Dad loved mom the best. He had her memorized. His favorite people were also his three kids and their spouses, his ten grandkids, and ten great grandkids, the youngest of which was born the day before he died. He lit up whenever one of us walked in a room. But he had so much love that it spilled over onto everyone he met. It was a steady, unwavering, unconditional kind of love that helped us understand the love of our heavenly father.

He recognized and honored the image of God in the kid bagging his groceries, the people in line at Costco, or the unhoused man that he always referred to by name as his friend.

In his younger days he expressed his love through acts of service-keeping our cars running or our windows clean. As that became physically impossible, it was through kisses on foreheads and his tight grip on our hands.

But more than anyone or anything, Daddy loved God. He grew up with a heritage of faith. His mom LOVED Jesus. He was her best friend. And his daddy daily prayed aloud, often in German. And I too have memories of my dad praying every day. I would find him in the morning, with the big leather Bible open and his “Daily Bread” devotional by his side. He served the Lord doing what he did best…loving people, as an usher, a youth leader, and someone who gave selflessly and generously to those who had a need. He took the words of Jesus to love him in this way very seriously.

I will forever remember sitting next to him in church, listening to him join in the hymns with that deep, gentle grit in his voice. And I know that’s exactly what he’s doing right now.