Tomorrow, I have to give a speech:
Every person in this room knows [Daddy Skylark] in different way. For many—probably most of you—he was worker at the some point in the 34 years of his career. For others, he is a husband, a brother, a son-in-law, a brother-in-law. For all of us, he is a friend.
Because so many of you have known him in these ways, my sisters and I wanted to tell you about a different side of [Daddy Skylark].
Our father was blessed with a challenge. Between 1981 and 1988, he and my mother had three daughters. Outnumbered, he had to learn to navigate a new world, one of pink strawberry shaving cream, Girl Guide Cookies twice a year, and Cabbage Patch Dolls, Polly Pockets, and Precious Places.
He rose to this challenge quite admirably, learning not to leave the toilet seat up, to swallow his complaints when his razor blades were inexplicably dull, and also when the milk jug went back into the fridge empty. He also learned not to complain about peanut butter on his uniform hat, or the perpetual loss of black socks and the occasional white shirt. Do you remember, Dad, when we thought it was cool to wear your big clothes?
More than these trivial things, our dad taught us to be strong and independent. He always expected our best, and we hope, that most of the time, we’ve been able to give it.
To introduce the video that we’ve put together, I’ll use my dad’s own words whenever he comes home with a bunch of pictures to show us: “You’d better pee now. This’ll take a while.”