Caretakers of orphaned memories
Surviving means honoring those no longer with us
At my grandmother’s funeral about 20 years ago, I was standing with my Uncle Jack — who was also my godfather — when my great-uncle came over to shake our hands. “Thanks for coming to help me say goodbye to my sister, Jackie.”
As he walked off, Uncle Jack turned to me and sort of grumbled, “When do I get to stop being ‘Jackie’”
I thought about it for a couple of seconds, and said, “When that generation is gone.”
Uncle Jack — who called me “Jimmy” until the day he died — chewed on that for a bit, then allowed that maybe having a few folks still calling him by his childhood nickname wasn’t all bad.
What got me to remembering that moment was watching the Pro Football Hall of Fame induction ceremony for the late Don Coryell on Saturday. After listening to Coryell’s daughter’s acceptance speech, and Dan Fouts’ introduction, I went back and watched video of former colleagues and players at Coryell’s 2010 memorial service at San Diego State, where he first achieved national fame as a football coach.
Former Aztec linebacker Fred Dryer — who found his main fame as a Hollywood star rather than an NFL player — had a line in his remembrance of his old coach that resonated, and reminded me of my Uncle Jack still being called Jackie: “A real sadness comes in life when you realize that you’re losing the people who knew you when you were young.”
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