My Aunt Wanda, Scott's Mother, asked me if I would say a few words at the funeral. I was reluctant to do it at first. I didn't know if I could. I thought about it for a long time until I came to the realization how rare it is for a man to have the opportunity to share the stories of his childhood hero and to be able to offer a proper farewell. Men are given many gifts under the sun and most squander their gifts our of pride or some other foolishness. I am not much of a carpenter and I have no idea what strange magic causes an automobile to run but I do understand love and I have written about it and a thousand other things since I was old enough to put pen to paper. I realized it would be an honor to share my words concerning Scott with his friends and family, and so I did. The following is a copy of that speech. I added some things as I went along and left out others but that is just the way the spirit moves us. Life is never lived exactly as the script would have us live it and love has trouble being bound by lines and verses. I wish more people could have known him, he was definitely one and only.
To Scott
During
my Freshman year of college I wrote a paper about Scott, on the moments
we shared, the things he taught me and the impact he had on my life.
When Scott went on, I dug the paper out and reread it. From that paper
I discovered two things: one, I was a terrible writer when I was
nineteen and two, I had let time and distance obscure the profound
impact Scott had on my life. He introduced me to the genre of
literature that shaped my young adult life; Tolkien, Dungeons and
Dragons, the legends of King Arthur and the histories of Greek Gods. It
was that spark Scott ignited that led me to major in Literature in
College and gave me the drive to travel all over the country presenting
papers on Arthur and his Knights.
One of the most memorable experiences I shared with Scott occurred when I was fourteen. On a humid Summer Night, Scott opened my mind to music, Philosophy and independent thought. We sat on opposite sides of his living room, with the lights turned out and Led Zeppelin blasting on the stereo. He spoke of philosophies and the love and pain behind music. He brought “Stair Way to Heaven” to life, opened my mind and soul to the rifts Jimmy Page so savagely bled out from his guitar. Thinking back on it now, the event seems surreal. Like a scene from a movie. We sat there for hours, digging on the music and I just listened to this amazing man talk. To the soundtrack of Zeppelin, Scott wrapped me in his words and for a moment we were of one mind. There was no other adult that I connected with when I was a child as I did with Scott. By some stroke of fate, we had developed along the same path, separated only by age and circumstance. By taking the time to talk to a 14-year old boy like he was a man, Scott changed my life forever. I owe a large part of who I am today to that dude.
As I walked around the funeral home yesterday, flashing between intense moments of grief and lucidity, I watched and I listened. I listened to Wanda talk about Scott growing up, and the struggles they shared when it was just the two of them. I listened to Little Bobby talk of the admiration he had for Scott, for always living life on his own terms and having a strength that has nothing to do with muscle and bone. I watched Becky, so much like the mother that raised her, talking to everyone and making sure everyone else was okay, while keeping her own emotions in check. I shared a smoke with Christy, who told me about a brother who knew the secrets of her soul without ever a word being spoken, a brother who was her best friend. Before the night ended, I heard the soft humming of an off key “Danny Boy” and watched an old soldier walk a young soldier to say farewell to a fallen son.
I heard countless stories about Scott, shared and retold by those that knew him best. Listening to all these memories I realized that I was not so unique. All this time I had been under the impression that I was the only one whom had been affected so deeply by Scott. But, as I watched and listened, I realized that Scott had an impact on all of us. Whether it was his free spirited days of heavy metal and hard loving or the dignity and grace which he showed in the face of unimaginable adversity after the accident.
One of the most memorable experiences I shared with Scott occurred when I was fourteen. On a humid Summer Night, Scott opened my mind to music, Philosophy and independent thought. We sat on opposite sides of his living room, with the lights turned out and Led Zeppelin blasting on the stereo. He spoke of philosophies and the love and pain behind music. He brought “Stair Way to Heaven” to life, opened my mind and soul to the rifts Jimmy Page so savagely bled out from his guitar. Thinking back on it now, the event seems surreal. Like a scene from a movie. We sat there for hours, digging on the music and I just listened to this amazing man talk. To the soundtrack of Zeppelin, Scott wrapped me in his words and for a moment we were of one mind. There was no other adult that I connected with when I was a child as I did with Scott. By some stroke of fate, we had developed along the same path, separated only by age and circumstance. By taking the time to talk to a 14-year old boy like he was a man, Scott changed my life forever. I owe a large part of who I am today to that dude.
As I walked around the funeral home yesterday, flashing between intense moments of grief and lucidity, I watched and I listened. I listened to Wanda talk about Scott growing up, and the struggles they shared when it was just the two of them. I listened to Little Bobby talk of the admiration he had for Scott, for always living life on his own terms and having a strength that has nothing to do with muscle and bone. I watched Becky, so much like the mother that raised her, talking to everyone and making sure everyone else was okay, while keeping her own emotions in check. I shared a smoke with Christy, who told me about a brother who knew the secrets of her soul without ever a word being spoken, a brother who was her best friend. Before the night ended, I heard the soft humming of an off key “Danny Boy” and watched an old soldier walk a young soldier to say farewell to a fallen son.
I heard countless stories about Scott, shared and retold by those that knew him best. Listening to all these memories I realized that I was not so unique. All this time I had been under the impression that I was the only one whom had been affected so deeply by Scott. But, as I watched and listened, I realized that Scott had an impact on all of us. Whether it was his free spirited days of heavy metal and hard loving or the dignity and grace which he showed in the face of unimaginable adversity after the accident.
Brother,
I hate that we have to say good-bye so soon but good-byes always come
sooner than we would have them come. I consider it an honor and a
privilege to have walked in your shadow while you were on this Earth
and though your Earthly body no longer casts a shadow that mortal eyes
can see, I know you are walking towards those Pearly Gates free of the
burden you carried for so long and I hope God sees fit to welcome you
home with the most beautiful rendition of “Stairway to Heaven” you ever
heard.
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