Miss You, Dad
September 26, 2010 was the day my father passed away. In the time since that event, I have been unexpectedly serene. Though I long feared facing the loss of a parent, something that is an almost universal rite of passage, the experience has proven to be a source of reassurance and comfort.
My father wasn't one to show his pain, and the cancer that eventually took his life progressed undetected as he stoically endured the initial discomfort. When I learned of his terminal condition, I knew immediately that it wouldn't be long before he passed on. As it turned out, we had two months in which to say goodbye. It was a tender mercy, as it turned out, allowing me to reach a place spiritually where I could be comfortable when God actually called Dad home.
During those first few days after his passing, I recalled a lifetime of memories as I composed his eulogy. The following words are from that tribute, which I gave at the funeral October 1.
Ronald Allen was to those who knew him a truly exceptional man, for many reasons. His love of family, his energy for life, his ever-active intellect and his special sense of humor all combined to make him more than just a husband, father, grandfather, or friend. He was, throughout his life, a powerful example of selflessness and a steady, constant source of inspiration.
My father was born in Murray, Utah, where he demonstrated at an early age his propensity for reaching people and communicating through a variety of means. One way was music. At a young age, he would ride the bus to Downtown Salt Lake City for his piano lessons. Years of practice paid off, and by the time he got to high school he was playing like a concert pianist. While that may seem quite an accomplishment, he was also a more than proficient saxophonist in the dance band, playing the concert circuit at different schools.
Dad’s early endeavors weren’t limited to music. He was also the quarterback for his Murray High School football team. And when he wasn’t on the playing field or in the dance hall, he was busy constructing shortwave radio stations on the weekends. There seemed to be no limit to his energy and enthusiasm for life and learning. And he somehow made it all look easy.
Dad’s father was the Murray City Judge and a Utah State Representative. While Dad’s academic talent stood on its own merits, it seemed that there were some courtesies extended to the judge’s son by a few of the teachers. Amid this background, Mom and Dad got to know each other in the junior high years. (Mom admits she first noticed Dad in the third grade, but wasn’t interested in him because he was already too popular with the other girls). In high school, Mom was the recipient of Dad’s tutelage in math and music. A stellar student she was not, but Dad somehow helped get her through the experience.
Dad and Mom dated throughout high school, and were married at 19. Dad attended the University of Utah, at the same time becoming the father of a growing young family. Still, he never lacked the energy or the time for Mom and the kids. Even while completing his Masters Degree at UCLA and later as he began his career, he still took the time to play with us and to guide us through our nightly prayers.
Dad and Mom were young parents – both in years and vitality. It was a blessing having a father who had so much energy for his children. When Kathy and I were very young, Dad would set up the model train, running it on a loop between the kitchen and the living room. While we waited in the living room, the train would magically bring snacks from the kitchen, where Dad sat at the controls. One day Dad brought home a device that kept us busy for hours at a time. He had constructed a box with dials and lights, electronic sirens and big, clicking power switches. We thought it was the greatest thing, and back then in the fifties, it was pretty amazing, considering he put it together in his free time just to entertain us kids. Later, in the seventies, Dad would put together (one tiny mirror piece at a time) a spinning disco ball, which was mounted on the ceiling in the recreation room. At night it filled the room with thousands of whirling flashes of light, again just something Dad put together to entertain the kids.
When it came to education, a Master’s Degree in Applied Physics wasn’t enough. Dad was a life-long learner. There was one time Dad became fascinated with hypnosis. He fashioned a rotating spiral disc which spun on the turntable of a record player. Dad would ask us kids to stare at the disc, then he would say something like “you are getting sleepy… sleepy.” I’m not sure if the trick worked or not. I do remember getting a little sleepy, though.
Dad once took an interest in microbiology, taking classes at night and entertaining the neighborhood kids with turns looking through the microscope at all the life forms growing in the backyard wading pool. He never tired of undertaking new projects. In the early fifties there was an animated “Season’s Greetings” sign that he built, using a rotating metal contact that would turn each light on in sequence until the whole message lit up.
At other times, I can remember watching him for hours while he experimented with his electronic equipment, building everything from oscilloscopes to state-of-the-art sound systems. In particular I remember his amateur radio hobby. He would sit at the telegraph key, patiently sending out call letters over the air, waiting for somebody out there to answer back. In an age before cell phones, satellite phones or the internet, it seemed magical to watch Dad actually communicating over the air with people in faraway places. Later, he would similarly master internet communication, and dabble in computer programming. At age 74, he wrote a program that solved a seemingly impossible puzzle that intrigued him. And as always, he made it look easy.
Dad wasn’t just a learner, he was a teacher. For his grandson Zack’s fifth grade science project on the subject of buoyancy, Dad contributed scholarly scientific details explaining the principles of density and displacement. For my Cub Scout project in 1961, Dad devised an analog computer based on a stick, a spool and a piece of yarn. I remember his patience as he sat and explained to me the way the pieces would work together to add and subtract numbers. At another time, he carefully explained the names and functions of the human body’s parts and organ systems as we worked together on an anatomy model. In New Mexico, Dad would take us to White Sands and we would launch water rockets. This was in the days of the Space Race, and having a rocket scientist for a dad was pretty cool. Dad and I would get up early in the morning when there was a space launch scheduled. We’d watch on grainy black-and-white TV as the countdown slowly progressed, and he would explain technical points about the launch process.
Dad’s job was very demanding of his time. It was the kind of work he couldn’t talk about. He frequently flew to Washington DC to brief and consult with Government and Military counterparts, so it was remarkable that he found so many ways to show the kids some special attention. One summer Dad put up a length of heavy cable that ran from the backyard telephone pole across the yard, descending until it stopped at the far end of the yard. He built a “pulley wheel,” a device I could hang on to and ride the cable down from the high point at the pole to the safe landing in the yard. The height wasn’t that great to an adult, maybe six feet at the most, but to an eight-year old kid the ride was a thrill.
There were other ways Dad would care for and comfort the kids and grandkids. When Zack was a baby, he had colic. Nightly, Zack would cry with pain. Called from home to come over and help, Dad would wrap the baby in a blanket, and gently rock him to sleep. It didn’t matter that it was late, and Dad had to get up for work at 5:00 the next morning. He still took the time for Zack, as he did for all of us. I was always amazed at the way he remembered each of the birthdays of all his children and grandchildren, never failing to send a specially created personalized message. Dad was sincerely and emphatically involved in the lives of all of us, going out of his way to show his love and concern. He was there for every opportunity, from ball games to baptisms, weddings, graduations and other special occasions.
Dad was famous for how he took care of Mom. He looked after every detail, from finances to food, from entertainment to auto care. But when illness struck, Mom in turn looked after Dad. She was always there at his side, day in and day out. She was a constant source of comfort and companionship, helping him with the details of living. At times she helped him with his meals. There was one occasion when Dad asked Mom if she would wipe his chin. When Mom pointed out there was nothing on his chin that needed wiping, he asked her to “wipe it anyway.” After all those years looking after Mom, Dad was clearly enjoying the return favor.
It’s no accident that, while we could spend time recounting Dad’s professional accomplishments and his successes in his working life, we prefer to remember his life at home and his influence within the family. For although Dad was certainly accomplished in his professional life, I think he would agree that the only work that really mattered was that which was done in the home.
So, how do you summarize a life like this? You simply can’t. The goodness of Dad’s heart, and his love of life, cannot be quantified. A life so caring cannot be silenced by the brevity of mortal existence. A thousand more words and a hundred more stories would still just scratch the surface. It may be best to simply state that Ronald Allen was a wonderful, loving and gentle man whose life was a blessing to all who knew him.
My father wasn't one to show his pain, and the cancer that eventually took his life progressed undetected as he stoically endured the initial discomfort. When I learned of his terminal condition, I knew immediately that it wouldn't be long before he passed on. As it turned out, we had two months in which to say goodbye. It was a tender mercy, as it turned out, allowing me to reach a place spiritually where I could be comfortable when God actually called Dad home.
During those first few days after his passing, I recalled a lifetime of memories as I composed his eulogy. The following words are from that tribute, which I gave at the funeral October 1.
Ronald Allen was to those who knew him a truly exceptional man, for many reasons. His love of family, his energy for life, his ever-active intellect and his special sense of humor all combined to make him more than just a husband, father, grandfather, or friend. He was, throughout his life, a powerful example of selflessness and a steady, constant source of inspiration.
My father was born in Murray, Utah, where he demonstrated at an early age his propensity for reaching people and communicating through a variety of means. One way was music. At a young age, he would ride the bus to Downtown Salt Lake City for his piano lessons. Years of practice paid off, and by the time he got to high school he was playing like a concert pianist. While that may seem quite an accomplishment, he was also a more than proficient saxophonist in the dance band, playing the concert circuit at different schools.
Dad’s early endeavors weren’t limited to music. He was also the quarterback for his Murray High School football team. And when he wasn’t on the playing field or in the dance hall, he was busy constructing shortwave radio stations on the weekends. There seemed to be no limit to his energy and enthusiasm for life and learning. And he somehow made it all look easy.
Dad’s father was the Murray City Judge and a Utah State Representative. While Dad’s academic talent stood on its own merits, it seemed that there were some courtesies extended to the judge’s son by a few of the teachers. Amid this background, Mom and Dad got to know each other in the junior high years. (Mom admits she first noticed Dad in the third grade, but wasn’t interested in him because he was already too popular with the other girls). In high school, Mom was the recipient of Dad’s tutelage in math and music. A stellar student she was not, but Dad somehow helped get her through the experience.
Dad and Mom dated throughout high school, and were married at 19. Dad attended the University of Utah, at the same time becoming the father of a growing young family. Still, he never lacked the energy or the time for Mom and the kids. Even while completing his Masters Degree at UCLA and later as he began his career, he still took the time to play with us and to guide us through our nightly prayers.
Dad and Mom were young parents – both in years and vitality. It was a blessing having a father who had so much energy for his children. When Kathy and I were very young, Dad would set up the model train, running it on a loop between the kitchen and the living room. While we waited in the living room, the train would magically bring snacks from the kitchen, where Dad sat at the controls. One day Dad brought home a device that kept us busy for hours at a time. He had constructed a box with dials and lights, electronic sirens and big, clicking power switches. We thought it was the greatest thing, and back then in the fifties, it was pretty amazing, considering he put it together in his free time just to entertain us kids. Later, in the seventies, Dad would put together (one tiny mirror piece at a time) a spinning disco ball, which was mounted on the ceiling in the recreation room. At night it filled the room with thousands of whirling flashes of light, again just something Dad put together to entertain the kids.
When it came to education, a Master’s Degree in Applied Physics wasn’t enough. Dad was a life-long learner. There was one time Dad became fascinated with hypnosis. He fashioned a rotating spiral disc which spun on the turntable of a record player. Dad would ask us kids to stare at the disc, then he would say something like “you are getting sleepy… sleepy.” I’m not sure if the trick worked or not. I do remember getting a little sleepy, though.
Dad once took an interest in microbiology, taking classes at night and entertaining the neighborhood kids with turns looking through the microscope at all the life forms growing in the backyard wading pool. He never tired of undertaking new projects. In the early fifties there was an animated “Season’s Greetings” sign that he built, using a rotating metal contact that would turn each light on in sequence until the whole message lit up.
At other times, I can remember watching him for hours while he experimented with his electronic equipment, building everything from oscilloscopes to state-of-the-art sound systems. In particular I remember his amateur radio hobby. He would sit at the telegraph key, patiently sending out call letters over the air, waiting for somebody out there to answer back. In an age before cell phones, satellite phones or the internet, it seemed magical to watch Dad actually communicating over the air with people in faraway places. Later, he would similarly master internet communication, and dabble in computer programming. At age 74, he wrote a program that solved a seemingly impossible puzzle that intrigued him. And as always, he made it look easy.
Dad wasn’t just a learner, he was a teacher. For his grandson Zack’s fifth grade science project on the subject of buoyancy, Dad contributed scholarly scientific details explaining the principles of density and displacement. For my Cub Scout project in 1961, Dad devised an analog computer based on a stick, a spool and a piece of yarn. I remember his patience as he sat and explained to me the way the pieces would work together to add and subtract numbers. At another time, he carefully explained the names and functions of the human body’s parts and organ systems as we worked together on an anatomy model. In New Mexico, Dad would take us to White Sands and we would launch water rockets. This was in the days of the Space Race, and having a rocket scientist for a dad was pretty cool. Dad and I would get up early in the morning when there was a space launch scheduled. We’d watch on grainy black-and-white TV as the countdown slowly progressed, and he would explain technical points about the launch process.
Dad’s job was very demanding of his time. It was the kind of work he couldn’t talk about. He frequently flew to Washington DC to brief and consult with Government and Military counterparts, so it was remarkable that he found so many ways to show the kids some special attention. One summer Dad put up a length of heavy cable that ran from the backyard telephone pole across the yard, descending until it stopped at the far end of the yard. He built a “pulley wheel,” a device I could hang on to and ride the cable down from the high point at the pole to the safe landing in the yard. The height wasn’t that great to an adult, maybe six feet at the most, but to an eight-year old kid the ride was a thrill.
There were other ways Dad would care for and comfort the kids and grandkids. When Zack was a baby, he had colic. Nightly, Zack would cry with pain. Called from home to come over and help, Dad would wrap the baby in a blanket, and gently rock him to sleep. It didn’t matter that it was late, and Dad had to get up for work at 5:00 the next morning. He still took the time for Zack, as he did for all of us. I was always amazed at the way he remembered each of the birthdays of all his children and grandchildren, never failing to send a specially created personalized message. Dad was sincerely and emphatically involved in the lives of all of us, going out of his way to show his love and concern. He was there for every opportunity, from ball games to baptisms, weddings, graduations and other special occasions.
Dad was famous for how he took care of Mom. He looked after every detail, from finances to food, from entertainment to auto care. But when illness struck, Mom in turn looked after Dad. She was always there at his side, day in and day out. She was a constant source of comfort and companionship, helping him with the details of living. At times she helped him with his meals. There was one occasion when Dad asked Mom if she would wipe his chin. When Mom pointed out there was nothing on his chin that needed wiping, he asked her to “wipe it anyway.” After all those years looking after Mom, Dad was clearly enjoying the return favor.
It’s no accident that, while we could spend time recounting Dad’s professional accomplishments and his successes in his working life, we prefer to remember his life at home and his influence within the family. For although Dad was certainly accomplished in his professional life, I think he would agree that the only work that really mattered was that which was done in the home.
So, how do you summarize a life like this? You simply can’t. The goodness of Dad’s heart, and his love of life, cannot be quantified. A life so caring cannot be silenced by the brevity of mortal existence. A thousand more words and a hundred more stories would still just scratch the surface. It may be best to simply state that Ronald Allen was a wonderful, loving and gentle man whose life was a blessing to all who knew him.
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