My brother Matt gave a wonderful talk at my dad's funeral, we'd love for you to read it:
“I Had a
Cool Dad”
When I was a
bit younger; about the age of my oldest son Jensen who turned fifteen just last
week, I began to explore beyond my just my neighborhood and classmates. When I met a new family, I identified myself
through my parents, Geoff and Jill.
“Oh, I know
your Dad,” people would say, “he’s so funny.”
Anyone who had ever met Dad extended to me trust and affection equal to
the friendship he had shown them. Even the grocery store clerk at King Soopers
on Dry Creek road recognized me or Rich and Dan or Heather as Geoff’s child –
or the big funny man with the English accent.
Dad recognized them too and after returning to Littleton after a
two-or-three-day business trip, Dad would make a quick stop and pick up a
couple of things.
“How are you
Deborah? How are your kids Ronnie?” Dad knew them by name and sought out the one
that might need a few extra dollars this time of year, or the one who might be
going through a tough time and needed someone to lift their spirits.
Being Geoff
Lightens son put me on good terms with just about everyone who ever met
him. Of course, there were some
exceptions. Some few who did not feel a
sense of love and affection from Dad, but lucky for me, I never met a referee
who had made a bad call against the BYU cougars.
Mom and Dad
signed us up in little league soccer and baseball and we spent the best parts
of the year in Colorado playing on green fields, making new friends. I was enrolled in boy scouts and active in
our church.
“You have
the coolest Dad,” my friends would say.
And I did
have a cool Dad. When I was just a
little boy, my Dad and I and these other two little dudes that had the same
face and wore the same pajamas would play soccer in the backyard. Dad had just finished mowing the lawn while
Mom was making dinner. We made goal
posts of Tonka toys and little plastic tools from the sandbox. Dad and I were on the same team, and as far
as I was concerned the game was pretty one dimensional. All I had to do was score against the twins
because I had the best goalie.
“You have to
kick it over me.” He said to Rich and
Dan as he lied down between the posts. “I’ll just raise my leg and my arm, and if
you can get it past me, you get a point.”
Of course, I
didn’t know Dad when he was a boy, but sometimes I felt like I did. He told the best stories. When he was a teenager in England, Geoffrey
delivered groceries with his bicycle to raise money to finance his trip to
America. He had a regular customer; an
elderly man who needed the same groceries every week.
“When I got
to his house,” Dad told me, “I balanced my bicycle and the basket full of
groceries against his home. While I was
waiting for him to come to the door, the bicycle slipped and the groceries
spilled to ground. The eggs broke and
the bread was torn”
Dad thought
about what to do. He could tell the
manager or he could tell his customer who was coming to the door.
“There were
some boys,” Dad said. “They were chasing
me. They threatened to beat me up if I
didn’t give them your groceries.”
“Oh Geoff,” he
said, “you poor boy.” Dad brought him
the groceries and stood on the porch while she put them away. He was relieved to have the situation
resolved and anxious to be on his way.
“It’s
terrible,” she said as she gathered some money.
“ . . . terrible what those boys did to you.”
Dad, who had been staring at some wall art and
daydreaming looked at him and said,
“What boys?”
I had a cool
Dad. I loved him and he loved me and my Mom
and my brothers and sisters.
This past
Sunday at 12:30 AM I received a call from my brother Rich. After days and weeks of bad news and only brief
moments of hope; Rich said it was time for everyone come to Salt Lake Regional Hospital. I left Boise immediately and I was in Salt
Lake by 7:30. Every one of my brothers
and sisters were there, and Mom was at Dad’s side. During the time I drove, it was determined
that the time to disconnect the machinery that had retained Dads life. The doctors and nurses in the
hospital waited three more hours so that I could see him one last time. And maybe Dad waited for me too.
Dad touched many lives. By the end of the day, Mom and the rest of
the family had heard from people as far away as Australia. Mom and Dad’s neighbors across the street
where Mom lives now are Jason and Pam.
Pam was one of the first people to extend her condolences. “He was like a second father to me.” Pam said.
Dad was like
a father to a lot of people. In fact, one
of the last times when I saw Dad when he was healthy was over Labor Day weekend
this past September. I said, “Dad,
you’ve been like a father to me.” To
which he replied, “Matt, you were like the son I never had.”
Geoff was a
grandfather to 35 grandchildren. He was
“Bishop” to hundreds of students at BYU and he was “like a father,” to many
young people who were in Utah as students; away from home for the first
time. He was a father to many people,
but he will always be Dad to me.
