This is the remembrance I gave of my father at his funeral on Friday. He passed away last Monday quite suddenly of a heart attack, a week after being diagnosed with lung cancer. His obituary, along with several nice comments, can be read
here. My Dad always liked the idea of being famous on the internet, so I thought I'd post something here, hoping he could somehow enjoy it.
***
It’s not easy to try to write some high-fallutin’-type essay chock full of descriptive emotion about my father, because Dad eschewed all of those things. In fact, if he were here right now and heard me use that word he’d say, “Eschewed? What the hell is that? A nut? I love cashews! Educated idiots.”
But as much as my Dad rejected intellect, it was never for lack of it. What Dad couldn’t stand was pretense - he could smell a fake a mile away. You never had to question where you stood with my Dad, because he always told you, and in fact, probably told you where to go, too, sometimes gently pointing the way with his middle finger. The two best things I learned from Dad are how to tell the truth and how to properly use the f-word - the foundation of any good comedian‘s act.
My father was a profoundly funny man, not because of the jokes he told, but in spite of them. He could pull a story deep from the crack of his butt and weave a tale like a true improviser. People loved that about him, and he never seemed to tire of entertaining everyone as the day went by. Even if he was in a foul mood, the chance to tell one good story could turn his whole day around, as could a decent opportunity to blow off steam. In fact, just last night I got a phone call from a man who worked with my Dad. He said, “One day, your father told me ‘F You!’ And I said, ‘F you, too, you little Italian bastard!’ Man, we got along great.”
And that was sometimes the bitter pill you had to swallow if you loved Dad - just because he loved you doesn’t mean he would always be nice to you. We’ve had a sign on the back door for years that reads, “Watch it, Dad’s mad!” Even up in heaven, I bet he still is. But now when he shouts, “Jesus Christ!,” a young hippie in a bathrobe is gonna pop his head out and say, “Yes?” Jesus, if you’re listening, be careful, because Dad always had a few choice words for hairbag hippies - if Dad’s gonna remodel your cloud, you might want to consider getting a haircut. Then again, if anybody understands what it’s like to have a demanding father, it’s Jesus. Dad was not really a godly man, but he and capital G God have a lot in common. Despite booming voices and a desire to sometimes punish their children, they both have an enormous capacity to forgive and practice unconditional love.
Perhaps that’s the thing I knew of him the most - his unconditional love of me. Because it’s not just that my Dad loved me even though we were different - he loved me even though I wasn’t his. But he made me his, by choice and by law, and for that I am eternally grateful. You may have seen my name listed in the paper as Carolyn [redacted], but everyone knows me as Carolyn Castiglia. Even my own husband said, “You have to perform under Castiglia. It just sounds better.” I look like a child of Mike and Terry, I act like an Italian and I certainly eat like one. I value all of the things my father taught me to value - hard work, attention to detail, generosity, kindness and laughter. As all the people from all the parts of our lives streamed through this place last night, there were two things that everyone said. “God, he could yell!” and “Boy, was he funny.” That’s what we all miss about you, Dad.
Now I gotta go and get ready to sing... to make some noise and wake up these goddamn neighbors!
***
Right before I found out my Dad had cancer, I was remarking that so many people I knew had lost parents in the past couple of years. Little did I know it would be my turn soon.
Here are two videos I showed of him at
Meat and Potatoes in November, taken 2 summers ago. I thought I'd post them here one last time, though I've posted them here before, since I realize I'll have to put him away soon. My Dad was so proud watching himself tell jokes on the computer... I remember the last time I showed these videos to him, he said to my mom, "Terry, did you see? Carolyn's got me on the computer!" As if I'd captured his soul with one of those witchy "cameras." In a way, I guess I have.
What I admire most about my Dad is that even though he didn't understand the word, he was the ultimate existentialist. He was never afraid to die, and in some ways I think he looked forward to it, because he lived so hard. He worked hard, he played hard, he yelled hard, he ate terribly all the things he loved. He just lived the only way I know how, because that's the way he taught me. As I cling to the scraps of what he's left behind, I know these are the things I will never forget.
Scott Bateman and I honestly met face to face for the first time that night, but doesn't it look like he's been animating me for years? I'm obviously spot-on when it comes to posing for the paparazzi.
