3. Eulogy for Dorse W. Bennett
Katherine D. Bennett
My father had a favorite joke, and he told it his whole life. Your see, he was born in Egypt...Egypt, Arkansas that is, and he loved to startle people with his own, unique joke. Last week I heard him tell his joke while he was in the emergency room at CMH. He was in pain and struggling to breathe and stay awake. He had had a heart attack and had pneumonia and was restless with his terrible illness. A technician came in to monitor a piece of equipment and asked Papa where he was born. Dad saw his opportunity and he never missed a beat.
“Egypt,” he stated with the deadpan expression on his face that he always used with his joke.
“Wow! No foolin’!” The technician was impressed. “How...” the man began the string of questions that would naturally follow such a statement, but Dad knew his timing on this one and he interrupted with his punch line.
“Arkansas!” Papa smiled, satisfied at the startled expression and laughter that followed. He had told his joke again and had made someone laugh. I laughed, too, because even after a lifetime, it was still a good joke. He had made the connection, again, and someone had laughed at something he had said, just as Papa had intended.
Papa had a way of making those connections with people. Throughout my life I saw it a thousand times. He would say a little something to a total stranger and soon even the coldest stranger was caught up in a conversation. He wasn’t looking to sell anything or get anything from anyone, just that moment when he could make someone laugh or see the spark in interest in his or her eyes at the story Dad told. Dad loved to connect. Those moments that he became a part of someone’s day were more precious to him than gold, and he was rich beyond measure in the golden moments of touching someone with a word, a thought, or a moment of laughter.
Dad was born into a hard-working farm family. The place where he was born is still farmed by a family member, and the tree that stood by the window where he was born is still there, though the house is long gone. He was born into a family of storytellers, and his early years were shaped by their dreams and tall tales.
His father was a man who took pride in his work, and even though he passed away when Dad was a small boy, this was a lesson he impressed on my father and Dad carried it with him his whole life. I remember meeting men who worked with my father throughout my life and they respected him because he knew how to work and how to do his job in an excellent way. He was a trusted employee and a man who set the standard of excellence in his workplace. Dad respected and cherished excellence anywhere he encountered it, be it a well-tended field, a beautiful song, or an individual who had a great or unique quality.
Papa loved his family, and our stories about his dedication and commitment to us are long and too numerous to recount. He was an unflinching father to four headstrong and, admittedly, difficult girls. If you were to question us individually, each of us would insist we were his favorite, (but don’t tell the others, they might not understand). He had strong relationships with us and there isn’t a moment that we weren’t on his mind. He always wanted the best for us and accepted our failings with grace.
I remember when I was a small girl; I tried to make him a special cake. I called it a Snickelfritz Cake. It consisted of a piece of bread pressed into a pot pie tin, a cup of sugar, an egg, salt, lots of pepper, maple syrup to the top of the pan, and enough blue food coloring to dye a circus tent. Dad did not even cringe. He sat down with his favorite glass, filled it with tea, and ate the entire confection without question. I was so proud that he liked my “cooking”! It turned his new dentures a beautiful shade of blue and he had to lie down, but I never realized how vile my Snicklefritz Cake was.
Dad was very tenderhearted toward us. One time, Mom left us in his care while she went to work. We had not eaten our lunches and she left strict instructions that we were not allowed any snacks, so that when suppertime came we would be certain to eat our meals without playing. When she got home several hours later, she was dismayed to find that we had eaten all the crackers and Dad was bemused and amused. He explained to her that after she left we had started to fuss and pester him for crackers because we were hungry and that he had been firm with us for several hours. He had to cave in, though, when little Anita came to him, looked at him with her brilliant blues eyes full of tears and said, “Daddy! We need crackers!”
“Why do you need crackers?” Dad asked her, thinking she would say because we were hungry, in which case he would reply, “Then you should have eaten your lunch!”
Unfortunately for Dad, that isn’t what Anita said. She looked at him, with her brilliant blue eyes full of tears, and she said, “Because if we don’t get our salt, we’ll die!”
We got all the crackers we could eat.
Our Papa Bear, as we often called him, was a man’s man lost in the world of females, but he never gave up. He had a loving and dedicated mother that sometimes showered him with more attention than he wanted. He had an independent, intelligent wife with her own opinions about everything. He had four diverse and energetic daughters that could be a trial to his soul. Although he participated in our lives with grace and humor, he obviously was eager for some males to be in the family. When the first grandchild was expected, my sister asked him if he wanted a boy or girl, and Dad replied, “I don’t really care as long as I can take HIM fishing!” And Dad has been blessed with grandsons! He has Jacob, Charles, Lucas, Benjamin, Eric and Christopher. He has also been blessed with granddaughters, Lydia, Melissa, Kiesha, Adele and Patricia. He has great-grandchildren, too: Misha, Chaiden, Charles, and Cole. All of our lives are full of experiences we have shared with our Papa Bear.
The most important relationship our father had, though, was the relationship he shared with our mother. Although their fifty-four year marriage has had its ups and downs, the intensity of my father’s commitment to his wife has been unshakable. The past year has been a trial to Dad because Mom has been ill and they could no longer live together. He has missed living with her grievously, and his priority has been to make certain that Mama has what she needs. In his private, vulnerable moments, he would speak of her with love and tenderness, though he struggled to express it. After his stroke, he seemed to be lost to us and was uncommunicative and even seemed hostile and angry. I took Mom to see him, thinking it might be her last chance to see him. As soon as he saw her, his face lighted up in a smile that came from deep in him. He spoke to her as best he could and his eyes drank in the sight of her. He rallied after her visit, and improved to the place that he was able to go and live in the same nursing home. After he was moved in, one of the residents pulled me aside and told me in confidence that “some man is sweet on your mother!” Of course, it was Papa. Even after fifty-four years, it was evident that Dad was sweet on Mom.
Now my father has passed and is in the arms of our Lord, but the truth of his love for his family is still strong and here with us. Even up until the last moments, he was connecting with us. When I arrived at the hospital in his final hours, he was weak and weary from his long battles with illness. Still, when I came in and spoke to him, he opened his eyes and looked deeply at me and smiled. He said hi to me and I could tell he was truly happy to see me. I asked him how he felt and he made a funny face and stuck out his tongue. “Ick!” he said. He looked at me to see if I would laugh at his little joke and I did. He seemed satisfied. He had made a connection and that was what was important to him. He had made me laugh. He fell asleep and did not wake up after. When he passed, he was with my sisters, and they were singing a song about Heaven to him. He connected with the beautiful song, and on the music of my sisters’ voices, his soul was carried through Heaven’s gates.