Note: This is a eulogy I wrote for my father, who passed away recently. I ended up choosing to speak off the cuff in stead of reading from what I'd written and it is a choice I regret. Below is what I had written out and intended to say.
The first time I saw Raiders of the Lost Ark, it was my brother’s birthday and we were at some place that I understood to be a clubhouse of sorts. Of course, it is a great and very memorable movie, but one of the things that I remember most about the occasion were the scenes that featured Indiana Jones as a college professor. The whole family was watching the film together and someone in the room pointed out that Dad had the same job as Indiana Jones. And I don’t really remember being impressed by that or thinking that it made Dad cooler. It just seemed like a natural fit to me, like the confirmation of something that I’d already strongly suspected. They seemed pretty similar anyway, so it only made sense they’d have similar jobs.
In the case of Tom Selleck’s Magnum PI, I didn’t just think him similar to Dad, I actually thought he was Dad. They both had the mustache and, though Magnum’s hair wasn’t quite as curly as Dad’s, it was close enough to fool me. I even told classmates as much—that my Dad was on TV and if they had doubts, well, just watch Magnum PI and you would see him.
I’m not sure if sure if she would agree that my Dad and Magnum PI looked alike, but a girl I used date definitely thought my Dad was handsome. In fact, she used to refer to Dad as simply ‘The Handsome.’ I remember before we headed over to my parent’s house on Thanksgiving, her asking me excitedly if “The Handsome” would be there. But to me, Dad always came off as a rugged Everyman. Nick Nolte in 48 Hours, Bruce Willis in Die Hard, Jimmy Stewart in any number of films…they always made me think of him. Part of it might have been because those seemed to be the characters he got the biggest kick out of watching but part of it was also the way he carried himself.
It’s kind of funny, because in Dad you’re talking about a widely published college professor who could not only read ancient Greek and Latin but also really, really loved doing it. It took me a while to realize just how smart and knowledgeable he really was, because he never bragged and he never, ever showed off. Rather than take the opportunity to demonstrate how much he knew, he tended to let others do most of the talking (which in my case, is a whole lot of talking) and if he did interject or make points, he never presented his opinions or insights as inherently superior or weightier than the next man’s. And quite honestly, even when someone didn’t really have much to say, Dad would still lend an ear.
I think that this attitude, this humility, bled over into his teaching. From what I could gather, sharing what great writers and philosophers had to say was his priority as an instructor, not what he had to say about them. This was also how he treated others in a general sense; his own needs were always at best a secondary concern. If my car broke down in the middle of nowhere or maybe in the middle of the night, he would be there to help me out. On the other hand, he treated even the smallest gestures of kindness as grand favors and always genuinely appreciated compliments. Not so long ago, Dad watched 48 Hours and its sequel, Another 48 Hours with my brother and me. When we were done watching the movies, I got up to go to work and I let my Dad know that I had enjoyed it. He gave me this wide, bright-eyed smile, a lot like the one that I see in so many of his pictures. Maybe we were just sitting around watching a couple of movies, but it was special to him.
When my grandfather passed away about 20 years ago, my Dad gave a eulogy. He didn’t invoke Homer or Virgil. He didn’t even really use any sort of elevated language. He just talked earnestly and lovingly about my grandfather and about what a good man he was. As usual, it wasn’t about showing people that James Seaton was the smartest guy in the room, it was just about doing the right thing.
That’s Dad.
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