My dad died Februay 7, 2025. This is what I shared at his memorial service.
In the Fall of 1957, my brother, Bruce entered first grade. Determined to be the best father (no pun intended) and active in his son’s education, he attended his first PTA meeting. When he arrived and saw how few fathers were in attendance, he went home and never attended another PTA meeting again. UNTIL, Spring of 1979, the final PTA meeting of my Senior Year of High School.
That evening, my dad accompanied my mom because she was in charge of refreshments that night and he was there to help her. I was there because they were honoring the Seniors. My dad did the usual dad stuff of moving chairs, carrying trays. He did the heavy lifting. But he was being his most personable and charming self in the process. At the end of the meeting he helped clean up and was in the kitchen with the nuns washing dishes, telling jokes. They were charmed. One remarked “Oh, Mr Best, if only we had more fathers like you who came to these meetings!”. My mother did a slow burn!!! The ride home was very quiet.
Daddy was there for many firsts - first days of school, first lost teeth (which he probably yanked from our mouths), first birthdays, first communions. He and my mom even drove 4 hours to be there for the birth of their first grandchild, Bruce’s son, Ed. And there was the time of my first car accident. He drove my mom up from Pittsburgh to see for themselves that I was ok. They spent the night at my apartment, saw me off to work the next day, and drove back to Pittsburgh. They were in Erie less than 12 hours!
He was there for some lasts, too. High School and College graduations for his children and grandchildren. Bruce and my retirement parties. And he was there for the last breath of his wife, our mom.
Firsts and lasts stand out; they frame a life like the easier pieces of a jigsaw puzzle; but really, it’s the thousands of moments that fall in between that fit together and display the complete and more accurate, a more beautiful picture of a person’s life. And when that person lives to be 95, its more like tens of thousands of puzzle pieces! Moments like the whole family piled on the couch watching TV, family dinners, school picnics, backyard picnics, holiday celebrations, sitting on the side of the road while he changed a flat tire. Trips to Dairy Queen, which were rare and so very special; walks around the Highland Park Reservoir, camping trips. For a rib-achingly funny story, afterwards go see my Aunt Joan, Uncle Tom, Aunt Nancy, or nephew Chris and ask them to tell you about a certain canoe trip during a camping vacation to Cook’s Forest!
A little over 2000 years ago a religious scholar tried to test Jesus. As relayed in the Gospel of Luke, the scholar tried to test Jesus by asking him who exactly was his neighbor that he had to love like himself. This scholar wanted to get it right but didn’t want to overextend himself. Jesus responded with the story of the Good Samaritan. Daddy understood the instructions. He was a Good Samaritan.
It didn’t matter to him your faith, your nationality, your education, your political affiliation - if you needed something he could provide, it was yours. He gave away countless homegrown vegetables, canned goods, paper products, coupons. Friends and neighbors would get strange refund checks in the mail for products they’d never purchased because he’d bought ten (on double coupon day, of course) and submitted ten separate refunds - but it was only one per household so he sent them to anyone he could think of.
We lived on your average Pittsburgh hills. I say I grew up on a hill on top of a hill. Bruce, Jean, Cassie, and I really DID walk uphill to school both ways! Up Rosetta Street, down Rosetta Street, down Graham, over Broad Street to Saint Lawrence School - and then the reverse for the trip home. On rainy days my dad would pick us up and drive us home - us and 5 or six other neighborhood kids; all of us piled in to the car with our bookbags. He gave total strangers rides up the hill. One time I mentioned I was praying for him and he said “Barb, don’t bother. I was just blessed a hundred times over. I gave couple of ladies a ride up the hill with their groceries and all they kept saying was “Thank you Jesus! Bless this man! Thank you Jesus!’”
Having him here in Erie the past two years was a blessing. We were able to provide him with some of his firsts - his first taste of Mighty Fine donuts, his first Romolo’s Meltaway candy, his first trip to Panos’ and the White Turkey restaurants…hmmm, there’s a theme there.
He was there for the firsts, lasts, and thousands of in betweens. And I feel I can speak for my siblings when I say we were honored to be able to care for him in his final months. We were able to give back to him what he had demonstrated for us. And we thank you for being here for us as we say goodbye this last time.
