(John Davidoff, left, with his father Jerry in 2006)
Note: This is the eulogy John delivered at his Dad's memorial service on November 28, 2009.
Hi Dad. It’s John. “Big John!” as you bellowed out my whole life.
It’s been three weeks since your last breath, and I am moved by the hundreds of e-mails and notes paying tribute to the ways you invested in people…as a friend, mentor, elder, counselor and champion of civil liberties
Since your passing three weeks ago Dad, in the very hospital, where almost fifty years earlier I was born…I have been taking stock of my own life, in relationship to yours, and reflecting on where I go from here…in carrying out the part of your legacy that is mine now to move forward.
Dad, I thank you. You were a warrior of the heart and an amazing romantic and dreamer. I will never forget when, just ten years old, you led our family all the way to Paris, to the Louvre, to stand below one of the most celebrated sculptures in the world -- the Winged Victory – that all powerful feminine tribute to a sea battle…where you, Dad, told Doug and me of your wish that we would see “her…the Victoire” every morning on our way to school such that we would grow up to be strong and confident men. What an impression that has made on my life…still, here and now, almost forty years later.
And, Dad, there was the evening when I was about fourteen and you took me, just me, into New York City to a performance of the celebrated Spanish classical guitarist Andres Segovia. We sat in the last row of the very top balcony at Avery Fisher Hall. We shared your binoculars. You taught me, that evening, how to sit still and witness the expressiveness of a gifted artist…revealing one man’s deep insight and commitments to life through each pluck of a string.
Dad, there were endless lessons like these. My IPod is full of your teachings: from Paul Robeson and Wynton Marsalis, to the Canadian Brass, to organ works, choral pieces, the great classics and more. But, nothing was more moving to you than the annual holiday Candlelight concert at Staples High School when choir members would process through the aisles, in blue robes, candles in hand, the lights low and the sung words to “Sing We Noel.” “Dost now we remember the prophets of old…that whose most wondrous stories told.” Every year Dad, you watched in tears for you were so very moved by the innocence of the moment…the innocence of life.
At age 19, in 1979, when I was a sophomore at Ithaca College, you introduced me to the writing of Kahlil Gibran. Here’s the copy of The Prophet you bought for me…inscribed in your own handwriting: For John. Because this book, like you, has beauty, reality and strength.
Gibran wrote: “Your children come through you, but not from you. You may give them your love, but not your thoughts. For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies, but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.”
Dad, you nailed your job as a parent…in your own way and in partnership with Mom. You did so despite the many challenges you faced personally, especially during my early and formative childhood years. Many know that being Jerry Davidoff’s kid was no easy life. But, life was not easy for you. You seemed to have spent your entire life wrestling with your sense of self worth…never completely finding that affirming parental voice inside you, no matter how much or how well you did. And, perhaps, Dad, I and others failed you by not pushing back in the early years, the years when you were most intimidating. How well I and others could have served you if we had known how to push back and help you find another way. Perhaps it was generational. Perhaps it was a lack of the teachings about personal development we have today. No matter what, you were so alone, yet you cared so much.
Dad, in one of my final visits with you at your hospital bed side, I thanked you for all you have done to parent me. You did your best, and your best was better than most. You were your own man. You were an unusual and exceptional man in so many ways, as beautifully shared and witnessed here this evening. I also told you that I believed that each of us must take responsibility for developing ourselves to our fullest potential, to uncover our own gifts and share them far and wide. I also thanked you Dad for the lifelong fights you fought. And, I told you I had my own fights and I would continue fighting them, holding your spirit close.
I close with these words from Paul Coehlo’s “The Pilgrimage”…an anthem of sorts I use in my own development as the son and warrior of Jerry Davidoff…picking up where you left off. Coehlo wrote:
We must never stop dreaming. Dreams provide nourishment for the soul, just as a meal does for the body. Many times in our lives we see our dreams shattered and our desires frustrated, but we have to continue dreaming. If we don’t, our soul dies and agape (love) cannot reach it (because we have ceased to fight the good fight). The good fight is the one we fight because our heart asks it of us. The good fight is the one that’s fought in the name of our dreams.
Dad, thank you for the dreamer you have been. Thank you for the warrior you were. Thank you for the lover of life you have been. Thank you for the fights you fought. I promise you, Dad, to continue the legacy of Jerry Davidoff’s love of life, rooted in faith and lived in celebration of all that is good and just.
Blessings on you my dear Dad,
Big John
