My remarks at my dad’s memorial service on September 20, 2008.
All of you are here to day to help us to celebrate the life of the man who you may have known for all or some of the last twenty years, since my family moved to Pittsburgh from England. You all know some facet of Mick Platts: the friend, the neighbor, the colleague, the family-man, the artist, the teammate, the runner, the athlete, the chicken-wire and paper mache parade float-builder, the handy man, the father, the husband, the proud grandad.
My dad was a remarkable man for many reasons. He may have taught your kids to shingle a house, or frame a window, or hang drywall on the summer mission trips that he joined us on. My mom and he helped to lead the Youth Group when there was a need.
He was often quiet, just biding his time for the right moment for his quick wit and sense of humor to send us into side-splitting laughter. If you could have been around the dinner table with us when he got on a roll, you would have experienced such joy and happiness, even as your belly hurt from laughing so hard.
But today, I need to share with you the man that I have known since I was two-years old, and what he means to me, my sisters and my mum.
Many of you may not even know that my dad is my step-father. It was never necessary to make the distinction. My grandmother has often reminded me that when I was a little boy I would say to her:
“Do you remember the day I married my dad?”
Anne and Mick met one night in a bowling alley in 1982, their matchmaker friends had been hard at work. Dad had just moved back to Barnsley, after quitting a job that he didn’t like, and joined the local police force. (That’s right, add Mick the Bobby to the list) A group of friends were out together, and I was there. According to my mum I was a huge pain, I tried to break the pinball machine, spilled my Lemonade down the bowling lane (some things never change.) And after the evening out, my dad ended up crammed into the same car that was giving mum and I a ride home, accidentally, on purpose. There was a full moon, that reminded my dad of something. . . “Has Richard seen E.T. yet?” Which was of course his round-about way of asking my mum to the movies. . .
The story continues, but we can skip ahead to three days before my third birthday, November 12th 1983 when my mum and dad were married and we continued on with the journey of a lifetime together, as if nothing had ever been different. . . My mum and dad and I were a family, he was my dad and I was his son.
In my adult life, I realized what a brave step it must have been for him. A lesser man might have been scared off by a single mom with a three year old child. To start a family at twenty-four years of age. But not my dad. He fell in love with an amazing woman, and with me at the same time.
But our journey was only just getting started…
Two years later we had moved to Stockport, a town outside of Manchester in England. Dad had gotten back into his chosen field, and was pursuing his dreams and talents as an Engineer. We pick up the story in November, where my mum is expecting a baby.
Jenny, not surprisingly was in a rush to join us, and they had already been to the hospital expecting to come home with a baby. . . twice. Despite all of this rush, my dad in his infinite wisdom felt that it was still ok to cycle to work. And on their second anniversary, my mum went into labor with the greatest anniversary present they could have imagined. Dad had to hitch a ride home with his boss to take my mom to the hospital. He was scared, this was his first time doing this. And the first of his girls – Jennifer, who kept my dad’s bright blue eyes, arrived just after midnight the following day. And he was the happiest man in the world.
August 25th, 1988 – we arrived in America with a box of silverware, a computer that wouldn’t work, and two bikes. Completely unprepared for the greatest adventure of our lives. People often ask my mum how long we have been here. To which she sometimes responds: “We came 20 years ago for a year.” America . . . the chance to come here was irresistable for a young family. They came to the land of opportunity, but with opportunity comes risk, and fear. What brave people my parents were to bring us here and risk everything to further our family.
Shortly after this move my dad began to work with Walter Buss, a colleague, friend and boss that my dad respected very much. He would want Walter to know that he looked to him as a mentor and father-figure here. My dad was a brilliant engineer, project manager; well respected in his field by his colleagues, and we know that he will be sorely missed by them.
It didn’t take long for my dad to be spotted, and Walter wasn’t going to let him go. Our one-year adventure became three, then four, and then we started to put down real roots, bought a house, made Mount Lebanon our home, joined the church and my parents made the decision to expand our little family. . .
Ellen arrived one night during a thunderstorm that would not relent. Dad did not bike to work, and mum and dad played cards all night. Ellen, unlike her big sister did not want to come, which is a surprise to anyone who sees how she jumps into things today. My dad was so proud of Ellen his brown-eyed baby girl, who has become a beautiful young woman in her own right. We are all so proud of her talents, she is an athlete, a kind and caring girl, a musician, and a good friend.
My dad especially loved the music that she and Deborah make playing the piano, and singing . . . gifts that both girls got from my dad. (Did I mention Mick the Guitarist?)
Soon my parents realized that at 7-years younger than her older sister, we would soon be out of the house, and Ellen may be lonely. And how lucky we are for that conversation. Deborah, as is her way, was an easy baby on my mum and my dad. He proudly, and nervously cut the cord of his baby (for the first time, I might add) and our family became complete with Deborah. Dad loved to hear her sing, and watch her compete, and is so proud of the young lady that she is becoming.
The five of us have a lifetime of happy memories with my dad, and he knew how much we loved him. He was proud of us all, and showed it to us every day. He loved me as his son, but he adored his baby girls.
The past months have been hard. My dad protected us, and you, from the worst. But this time wasn’t without its blessings. For six-months after his first seizure, my dad could not drive to work. I took him in the morning, often running late, and with a couple of coffees that I picked up on the way to his house. And my sister often drove him home. For six-months, I got a half an hour every day to talk to my dad, like we have never had the chance to talk before. Sons and fathers don’t share often enough how they feel. But I took joy in having that opportunity. And I did tell him what he means to me. That he made me the man I am today. He gave me every opportunity that I have ever enjoyed. I teach German because, like him, I wanted to speak German. From him I got my strength, my ambition, and my commitment to my family.
We will remember my dad for the happiest of our memories. The vacation of a lifetime, on Kiawah Island, where all of us kids, and my wife, Marie and our baby Eleanor spent one of the happiest weeks we have ever had together. My dad and I learning together to cast a shrimping net, and while everyone else was out cooking and eating the best shrimp together over a beer, leaving the runts for everyone else.
One of the happiest thoughts that I am left with is just this past Saturday, during one of Deborah’s rainy
soccer games. Marie was coaching the team, and looked across the field to see my dad protecting his granddaughter from the rain. Holding her close, loving her, and her loving him. They were helping each other.
Girls: Your daddy loves you, and is proud of all that you are. And, I know that I speak on behalf of my sisters and mum when we say.
“Dad, we love you, we are proud of your life. Now be at peace.”
