A President’s Funeral and a Father’s Goal

Sometimes you just have to drop everything and help someone achieve their goal.

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My dad has had a goal for a while. “The next presidential funeral—I’m gonna go.”

 

In the middle of my bartending shift, I paused from slingin’ drinks and looked up at the TV. Breaking news: President George H.W. Bush has died. It’s kind of weird that a president died and my first thought was my dad. I wonder if he’s going to go. 

 

Over the weekend, I made my routine call to my parents. The first thing my dad brought up was President Bush. He mentioned his goal enough times that everyone in our family knew about it.  

 

“Ah, I don’t know if I should go. I would like to,” he expressed with a shaky voice.

 

“If you wanna go, I’ll go with you.” His voice perked up. 

 

“Oh! Really?” 

 

“Yeah, I just need to be back by Thursday.” 

 

“That won’t be a problem,” he replied. 

 

I want to help others achieve their goals, including my dad. When unique opportunities come up, I want to say YES. A big reason why I’m an entrepreneur is for the flexible schedule—so I don’t miss life moments like this.

 

My Dad is American Values Personified

 

My parents picked me up in Chicago at nine o’clock on Monday night. We embarked on our long journey. My mom turned around from the passenger seat.

 

“He woke me up this morning and said, ‘I’m not gonna go. That would be stupid and irresponsible.’” They both laughed. My dad gleamed.

 

“I called you this afternoon still up in the air about it. And then you said, ‘Let’s go!’” I nodded.

 

There are always reasons not to do something. Always. But here’s what I’ve learned about life: no one cares about you “wanted to do” or what you “thought about doing.” People only care about what you did.

 

My dad is American values personified. His nickname is Swell Mel. In a world where everyone wants to tell you how hard they work or how smart they are, all you have to do is shake his hand. The tight grip of a farmer’s large callused hand will tell you everything you need to know. He follows his word and doesn’t complain. He gets the job done.

 

My dad’s goal was to go to the next presidential funeral, regardless of the political party. He has high regard for people that serve the public. He trusts that they’ll do the best job they can, and they’ll do it honorably. That’s American democracy. He votes in every election, even for small ones for Town Supervisor, because that’s his job as a citizen. Too many people have worked too hard and made too many sacrifices for him not to vote.

 

President George H.W. Bush’s Funeral

 

After driving all night, we made it to Washington D.C. in the late morning. The partly sunny sky and temperature in the mid-forties was more pleasant than the Chicago weather I escaped. By noon, the three of us hiked around the U.S. Capitol Building and waited in line formed by metal barricades, across from the U.S. Supreme Court.

 

Cameramen and reporters stood nearby. Police officers ensured security and answered questions we had about the funeral’s logistics. There were about as many people as my parents and I expected—a good amount—not overwhelming or underwhelming. We considered the variables. George H.W. Bush was a one-term president who died at the age of 94. His biggest supporters were probably dead or not physically able to make the trip. But he was a U.S. president.

 

Everyone in line had time to kill so, naturally, you chatted with the people next to you. Most seemed to be residents of the D.C. area but transplants from other cities and states. They dressed in suits and business casual attire. These weren’t the typical Republican supporters I grew up around. I only spotted one guy in Carhartt coat and camo hat. They asked us where we came from.

 

“We drove from Wisconsin last night—fifteen hours,” my dad replied. They whipped their heads back. Their wide eyes made my dad smile. It was different. Our determination made others cheery.

 

Once the line moved inside the capitol building, my parents removed their coats, which revealed their matching Hebron Farms sweatshirts. Strangers asked us about Wisconsin at least five times. Yes, it is true. We love cheese. All Cheeses Matter.

 

Of course, it was only when we were next in line to visit the rotunda that the line stopped. A long while passed. My legs grew tired. I stared at the staffers black dress shoes and wondered if they inserted additional support or if they just toughed it out standing for hours.

 

Crowds of people walked down the stairs at once.

 

“Bob Dole stood from his wheelchair and saluted him,” someone informed us. People in line whispered among us.

 

Finally, we climbed the marble stairs, passed a large Albert Bierstadt mural at the top, and entered the rotunda.

 

The Pursuit of Happiness

 

Whoa. What an incredible room. The magnitude of the moment quickened my heartbeat. My throat pulsed. I smiled from ear to ear. My face hurt from smiling. Cameras were everywhere. An American flag covered the president’s casket, with a member of each military branch standing guard. I looked around at the presidential statues and enormous murals. I tilted my head to the sky and admired the beautiful fresco. The space intimidated visitors with its overly dramatic American symbolism.

 

I looked at the mourners gathered around the casket and realized I was the only person in the room smiling. I didn’t understand it. Why were people so sad? Death is expected. George H.W. Bush was 94 years old. He wasn’t a hero of mine and, until listening to a couple podcasts on my way out to Washington, I didn’t know much about him—other than he probably shouldn’t have raised taxes during his term. But it seemed like he lived an amazing life—full of beauty, service, and accomplishment. I haven’t been to many funerals, but I’d imagine George H.W. Bush would rather us celebrate his incredible life than weep over his death. I don’t know. Maybe that’s just my preference. I’ve already started curating my funeral playlist and slideshow.

 

When we left the capitol building, my dad’s chest was heavy. He thanked my mom and me.

 

“You know, back in 2008, I realized my president, my pastor, and my doctor were all younger than me. This was something I wanted to do for a long time and I don’t know when I’d have the chance to do it again. I’m glad we did this. That was great.”

 

Life is too short to look back and think about what you wanted to do. Do it. Live a life that would make others smile.