Douglas McCullum Paul

With the foolish optimism I once held dear, I happily thought that this day was not supposed to happen for another thirty years. But, here I find myself at the young, tender age of eighteen living in the daunting hour of this eulogy's deliverance. Here I find myself looking upon my widowed mother at the age of forty-five and my fatherless brother at age of twenty-five in the daunting hour of this eulogy's deliverance. Now, I grimly look at myself in the mirror with the insignificance of each hour passing. Today, I find the happiness that used to be was a meager desire to be ignorant of the true nature of the human existence.

Many think how I can stand up here with my weak heart and my timid soul. The strength my father taught me is one of many lessons he gave me although I wished none of those teachings. It is that strength and fortitude that allows me to stand here. Today, I consider myself to be deserving of ridicule for not listening to the lessons he offered, even when he reached out to me after picking me up from school and I barely did any reaching back.

The best example I can give of my destitute ignorance toward his teachings. When the Mets quickly faded off the map in the quest for a world title at the end of each of the last three years, he told me as I drove myself through the inferno of the passion he passed onto me for the men of the orange and blue. As I felt the gentleness of his hand providing me the comfort I now miss and give up anything for, he told me of the Mets' not-so-humble beginnings and how he had more to deal with in the scrutinizing light of being a Mets fan in those early years. I didn't want to hear him, but now, I hear him beyond the strength of the human capacity.

I was told long before this nightmare I'm tryin to wake up from began that he was trying to keep me his little boy. When I heard this, this idea was a very welcomed one to my heart. I was his little boy and I still am. He loved the Civil War. He passed it on to his little boy when he fed his boy to make his weeks-old belly happy and ran videos of old. He loved the Navy. He passed it on to his little boy when he turned on the Army-Navy game and when he introduced to his little boy the justifying crusades of Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, as well as his ideal of that old Marine cry, "semper fi". He loved the military and battles of long ago. He passed it on to his little boy when he showed him the serious yet healing jocularity of Army Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce. Everything he loved now lives on in his little boy.

It is this day I have always feared. I wonder if I will ever smile again, seeing myself in the same position of young boys who lost their dads in worlds faraway. That feeling dawned one Sunday. It was only me and him going to church. In the pew in front of us, there was a father holding his son not even ten years old in one arm and holding his daughter same age as her brother. I saw a love between them that I desperately wanted for me and him. I know he sensed it when I put my hand on his and he opened it for my hand to rest in his. Perhaps, I will smile again.

The heartbreak that lives in me and always will forces questions for me to ask God, with whom speaking terms are as weak as my heart. Why now? Why him? What gives you the right to force this pain upon my mom, my brother, and me? Why didn't you answer my prayer to bring him back safe at home? How will we deal with this for the rest of our lives? I look at the picture of me and him at Shea Stadium on my sixteenth birthday when the Mets rightfully took possession of the N.L. East crown. I stare at the photo and ask his likeness, hoping his angel would hear me, "How could you leave us?" I think he felt that I'm strong enough to continue on without him, but the scary truth is I'm not strong at all, especially through this. If he left to be with Jesus, maybe that's true and I am strong enough to continue on and pursue my dreams. Even now, he has given me the greatest possible motivation. Then, perhaps, with time, God and I will start speaking again.

I'm thinking of now what I must do to carry on and what responsibilities are born today. A beautiful song from the heart of Chuck Wicks called "Man of the House" answers some of that question. Wicks sings of a boy of only ten who does the chores his dad, fighting overseas, once did and can't be a kid because he's the man of the house now. In the song, it reads "He runs off, straight up to his room. Don’t want his momma to see him right now. He climbs in bed and says a silent prayer. Then he cries his little blue eyes out. Don’t wanna let her down." Neither David nor I can't let Mom down today. A part of the song. A message from Dad, "He says, 'I love you dad.' Daddy says it right back. "Wish I could...hug you...I’m so proud of you son.'"

In conclusion, I say to you, Dad, "I'll cheer twice as hard for the Mets when they win for the both of us and I'll yell twice as hard when they lose for the both of us! And when I get up there, you're getting one big Gibbs slap for the ages! As Edwin Stanton said unto Lincoln, 'He belongs to the ages.' And now, you indeed belong to the ages! I love and miss you, Dad!"

Now, I can continue on and pursue my dreams because of he who I confided in and who confided in me and who is forever my guiding spirit.