Family Tribute

 

A father has many occasions to be disappointed with their offspring, and many more occasions to be proud. Just ask my father - no wait, you can't anymore. He passed away recently. And on the occasion of his memorial, my own kids made me very proud. Of their ability to communicate and articulate, to share emotions in a meaningful way, and to connect with a now distant generation. Two of them presented a tribute during his "Celebration of Life" memorial worth documenting (in my humble opinion) as I do in this post. A third, who had carried the burden of performing the same role in his grandmothers memorial, chose to process his own emotions on this occasion, finding it difficult to put them into words, as I did.

With pride, and primarily for my own record and that of my family, I present these two tributes. The first is from my daughter, who had agreed to master these ceremonies:

For those that don’t know me, I’m Anne-Roeland’s favorite Granddaughter. I know what you’re thinking-I bet he said that to everyone! But no-he only said it to me. Because I was his only Granddaughter. 

Growing up we didn’t get to see my Opa very often, We were living overseas and he was a very busy guy in the summertime. But we did spend almost every Christmas together, and my favorite tradition was Opa reading us “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” Opa loved Dr Seuss, and we loved the Grinch because in all honesty-Opa was kind of the Grinch in real life. He had a bit of a grumpy side-and we learned some very questionable things from him while we were growing up. I played sports, and his favorite advice to give was “If you can’t win-you should cheat!” He also taught us how to swear in both Dutch AND English at very early ages. Also, he honestly didn’t like Christmas very much. He loved the family time and always enjoyed our traditions, but wasn’t a big fan of Christmas itself. When Oma would say a prayer before Christmas dinner he would roll his eyes, groan, and say things like “aren’t you done yet??” Then, when she would finish he would say “longest speech ever!”  Did I mention my Oma was the most patient person on the planet?

However he was also like the Grinch in that I really did see his heart grow three sizes over the years. The more time we spent together the more I saw his fun, softer side. 

For example, on a family trip in Switzerland we decided to rent paddle boats and take them out on a lake. It was really hot and being a teenager, all I wanted to do was jump off the boat and swim. After I jumped in, I turned my sights to my Dad and tried to convince him to jump in so I wouldn’t have to swim alone. As I’m trying to convince him, I heard a splash behind me and saw everybody’s eyes get HUGE. I turned around and remember seeing that old man laughing and floating in the water-pretty sure I heard some curse words too but I’ve blocked those out. Did he think about what he had in his pockets? Nope. Did he think about how he was going to get back in the boat? Sure didn’t! All he thought was that it was hot and he didn’t want his favorite granddaughter swimming alone. 

Another favorite memory of mine was after my college graduation in Florida, we decided to do a family trip to Disney World. I’m not sure how we convinced him, but Opa agreed to join us. It was Christmas time, and we had a pretty big group. Half of our group wanted to go look at a Christmas light display, and the other half were going to go on a ride called the Tower of Terror. For those that don’t know-it’s a ride where you go up in a fake elevator and it drops you 13 stories. When we started walking toward the ride, Opa said “screw the lights” and decided to join us. He said “anything for my favorite Granddaughter!” He had zero idea what he was signing up for, but I still have the picture of my then 80 year old Opa on the tower of terror.

I could go on and on-I have many cherished memories with my Opa. So many laughs-there was nothing I loved more than making him really laugh. That’s a sound I will never forget. Looking back now, it really does feel like his heart grew three sizes-just like the Grinch. His heart grew so much that this last Christmas, he-he himself, my Grinchy Opa, said the prayer for our feast.

Nope-that did not happen. That was a Grinch joke. I had to do it knowing that if he is watching, he’s laughing as hard as we are at the thought of him saying a Christmas prayer.

And then another, from his eldest grandchild, Eric:

Roeland Reyers lived many lives through his 92 years. One as a boy facing the unimaginable in Southeast Asia. Another as an immigrant, building a young family in Minnesota. And finally, to my generation of Reyers, as the curmiundgeonly-but-loving grandfather… Opa. This is the Roeland I will, selfishly, focus on today.

In thinking back over his life, as it was lived through my eyes at least, my memories seem to play out as VHS home movies on a tube-television in my mind. Some edits may have occurred through time. These small vignettes are not a strict retelling of the events as they happened. They instead invoke the general feeling of how I viewed Opa as I grew up.

I remember as a child falling asleep on the carpeted floor of his house after a Thanksgiving meal. The recliners and couch taken up by the adults. A fire burning in the fireplace, the old man lounging in his chair, the smell of pipe tobacco. Oma shuffling in and out of the kitchen, preparing her special Dutch coffee. Though this memory is specifically of Thanksgiving, it blends with another holiday, the VHS tape in my mind jump-cutting to Christmas, and the yearly tradition of our Grinch reading “The Grinch”, his gruff voice and dutch accent bringing the green villain, and eventual hero, of whoville to life in a cartoonish way.. as his heart grew three sizes that day.

For a man living life in a second language, Opa had a creative and colorful way with words, many of them four-lettered. We’ll generously use, and stretch, the word “candor” to its fullest extent here. Opa’s “candor” bore itself out through exclamations of animal excrement - be it bovine or equine, canine or feline - to let you know exactly what he thought about a person or topic. I thank him for giving me the innate ability to determine which zoological-based profanity is right for each situation. Forgive me, Mom, for providing an example. I can listen to someone spout bullshit because they’re full of horseshit while being in a dogshit situation because the food I’m eating is catshit.

I remember riding to and from “the point” - a small spit of land that juts into Loon Lake at the Norrell house - bouncing in the trailer, pulled by his tractor. And upon arriving at the point, the smell of a campfire, as we absent-mindedly roasted hotdogs into beef-based charcoal. Realizing we still had to eat it, or dad would, after it becomes a charred black rod because in this house, we don’t waste food. A healthy lesson, and an unspoken example of the lasting trauma of Opa’s youth spent hungry in a concentration camp.

Finally, I remember the man at the helm of “Freedom”. Though it was decades ago, this will be my most endearing image of Opa, the one imprinted on my brain as a young man. He allowed me to tag along on my first “guys” trip, a boy hanging out with the men for a crossing of Lake Superior. Sailing from Corny to Thunderbay in less-than-ideal weather with Opa, my father Jan and a family friend. You hear stories about the lake and it’s dangers but, as a child and knowing no better, you have supreme confidence in the abilities of the adults around you. That is, at least, until a rogue gust of wind tips the sailboat on its side, dumping you out of a bunk in the middle of the night. I am told my eyes were the size of dinner plates as I pulled myself up off the floor. At least every one else got a kick out of it. Still, to experience an honest-to-god adventure as part of a trio of Reyers, doing the thing that seemed to make Opa happiest was incredible.

The specific of the memories have warped and faded over the years, probably the result of rewinding the tape too many times. Stories evolve with each telling. I like to think the gist remains the same. I will treasure these as we move forward without him. Memories of a life well lived and what he’s left of us by founding this family. I see him in my Father and Brother, in my Aunt and sister, and his great grandchildren. I wait to see his legacy in the Reyers that follow. I can only hope that others see him in me as well.