2016, this slum of a year, claimed the lives of so many beloved artists. Sadly, my clever, sharpshooting, musical father's was one of them. Here is the section of his eulogy I gave on September 15, 2016.
Whether we acknowledge it or not, parents are always their children’s first teachers. Dad not only acknowledged this, he embraced it, and conveniently, he was an actual educator anyway.
I remember at a very young age sitting on Dad’s lap and him teaching me to count on my fingers, add and subtract, letters and the sounds they made, and so forth. He was really impressed when one time I pulled off my sock and showed him that I could count to 11.
Well, that was the beginning.
My parents were young and creative when I came along, which is my current, short-handed explanation for the extra S in my name. Being Lissa with 2 esses was simple until first grade, when I had to defend both the spelling and the pronunciation. I hope this generation of people with non-traditionally spelled names appreciates the battles I fought with school personnel who told me my name was spelled wrong; it could be exhausting for a six year old. And, I wasn’t the only Lisa in my class - the other one, naturally, spelled her name “correctly.”
One day, about half way through the school year, I brought home a paper and my name was spelled with one s. Dad said, this must be some mistake, that my paper must have mixed up with Lisa Butterworth’s, and I should bring it back the next day and straighten this out. When I told him that I spelled my name with one S myself because I was fed up with having to explain my name every day, he was visibly upset.
What a teachable moment! He told me that my name is not a word, that no one got to tell me that my name was spelled wrong, and that correcting people about it was important, because it was MY NAME, and I shouldn’t let anyone take it away from me.
Did I mention I was six?
But this story speaks to his character - the name is more than 5 letters instead of 4 - it’s an identifier, a gift from two young parents who collaborated to give me something special. Nearly half a century later, it’s a powerful lesson in self-advocacy. And for me, who teaches a generation of people who have as many spellings for a particular name as there are people with the name - it’s a lesson in treating children with very basic respect and dignity.
After that, Dad taught me (among other things) how to take efficient notes for high school history lectures that lasted 45 minutes every day, how to multiply by 11 even faster than a calculator, and that a shot of whiskey is a very effective remedy for menstrual cramps.
He taught us to value freedom, to own my choices, and to question authority. And sometimes, in doing so, heartbreak was involved. And we had our share.
But heartbreak wasn’t the most important part of Walt’s story.
The most important part of this family’s narrative is love. In the meltdown moments, Dad encouraged us with love by reminding us that we are surrounded by love. He had a way of saying it that made you know it was true.
Earlier this year, during a very dark moment for me, Dad shared a perspective that made all the difference. His words revealed the only logical choice of how to deal with the crisis: remember the truth, review the facts, and approach the situation love and compassion, Do it that way, and you’ll have no regrets.
Glad I took that to heart.
I will miss his voice, and his text messages. Dad hated texting, so he kept it brief.
Some examples:
- Roads are slippery, call when you get home.
- Back up on Sagamore Bridge. Call when you get home.
- Sharks off Plymouth Beach. Swim in a pool.
- Hot, hot hot!
- Half nude guy in White Horse Beach Houses.
I thought his autocorrect took over that last one.
And I’ll miss his maxims:
- Apples don’t make oranges.
- Tell the truth; it’s easier to remember.
- Whatever you do - don’t panic. You are surrounded by love.
So are you, Dad.
In loving memory of Walt Magee (1943 - 2016)
