My father, Ernest W. Ormon, affectionately called Ernst by his golfing buddies, and known simply as Ernie by all his friends, was sent off in style on May 01, 2015.
We had a bagpiper, Owen Bonnar, looking so sharp in full regalia do Amazing Grace to begin the service, and I tell you, it gave me goose bumps! There was a terrific slide show that our family collaborated on, and it was funny, poignant, and informative.
David gave a very nice eulogy. Then I had a few words to say about my Dad. His granddaughter Amanda read a Biblical passage in his honor. Reverend Kevin spoke some comforting words to the family. Then our bagpiper, piped the family out of the service to the tune of Danny Boy, my Dad’s favorite song.
I’m going to put my speech up here, and I’m hoping David will let me post his eulogy as well.
For my Father,
Good afternoon everyone, thank you all for coming. My father would have been most gratified to see you all, though I think he might have wondered what all the fuss was about.
This gathering is meant to be a celebration of life, not being sad over what we have lost, but celebrating what we have shared, and experienced and gained. Gained – because that is how we give a man a legacy – not just by remembering his name – but by recognizing that a quirk, a manner of speech, an action – was his.
Sometimes when I’m wandering around our house, maybe a little bored, maybe just trying to avoid cutting the grass, or just plain because I feel like it, I’ll sing a little ditty:
well i mighta gone fishing,
but i got to thinking it over,
the road to the river
is a mighty long ways away
And that’s all Dad, on my shoulder, showing me all the wrong notes to hit, the extra words to add. It was his quirk to burst into a song – often this song – at random times. And now, much to wife Pam’s chagrin, it’s my quirk too.
Like David said, he did what a lot of Canadian dads did – slogging sons off to early morning hockey practices and I’m sure he took me to both of the baseball practices I went to… Every time he saw me play sports, he said, “Stay in school boy, stay in school” – it was a mantra we all heard growing up. Get an education.
He told us that if we wanted to live at home after finishing high school you had to either work or go to school – university, college, tech school – he didn’t care – get better, or get to work and contribute.
He helped me get summer jobs like digging ditches and carrying buckets of hot tar across hangar roofs – and he hoped it would teach me the value of hard work, and the value of money, instead it taught me that I really hated hard work, and in order to avoid it, I needed an education – so in a way – his advice – his mantra – go to school boy – paid off. And it certainly gave him a great sense of pride and satisfaction to see his children and grand children graduate – you saw all the pictures of his smiling, proud face at various graduation ceremonies.
I know David spoke of his passion for golf, and I look around and see a couple of his golf buddies. He was, how shall I put it, um, a bit of a stickler on the golf course.
We were playing at a city course, Dad and I with my wife Pam’s brother Peter…we come to one of the short par fours, and Dad hits a nice shot down the center, leaving an easy chip into the green. I probably hit mine outta bounds. And we wait for Peter. And we wait a bit more. The fellas in front of us are now on the green.
Finally Dad looks over at Peter and says, “If you hit one of those guys, I’ll run down there and apologize!”
So Peter shrugs his shoulders and drills the ball – it hits just before the green, and rolls between the hole and the person putting. He looks back at Peter, raises his arms in the air? What the?
BPeter turns to Dad and raise his arms in the air What the?
And Dad, says to Peter, “better get running.”
Peter says, “But you said…”
And Dad says – “I know what I said, and I didn’t see you HIT anyone! Now get running!”
ut if you really wanted to see his eyes light up, show him a curious or unusual coin you might have. We have a large carboy full of change, and when Dad arrived for a visit, he would joyfully spend hours sorting through it. He’d come over with a beat up penny and say “see this? It’s worth 38 cents!” Or he’d bring a nickel and say “look at this – its worth over a dollar, and someone threw it away in their change! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!” He loved the history of it, the variations, the beauty, – and he collected all his life. He loved to tell story of an Egyptian Bedouin who came into his office while he was stationed in Egypt and pulled from his robe a handful of ancient coins. You can imagine how excited he must have been!
Now, if you put an Irishman and two whiskeys in the same room, what do you get? Aside from the obvious answer of two empty glasses, along about half way through the second glass you’re likely to get his version of Danny Boy.
In our family, holiday celebrations meant a second glass of whiskey might get consumed, so Danny Boy was almost like a Christmas hymn for us. We have sung it as badly out of tune as humans can manage, but still, it’s our song… And over the years, where ever I have been, when ever I have heard it, I stop and think of Dad and our family gatherings.
So when you catch yourself saying or doing something Dad would do – and you recognize and remember that it was him that inspired you – you are honoring him – that is the part of his legacy that WE create – by his giving something to the next generation, however small, we can help him live on. So that one day these grandchildren and these young great grandchildren, might one day say “I heard that my Great Granddad did that, said that, or loved that.”
Rest in Peace, Dad, rest in Peace.
