A Celebration of Life

I attended a “celebration of life” ceremony last night. The name of the observance felt odd because the gentleman had passed on to the other side. The deceased was the father of a former student of mine. A relatively young guy only four years my senior. He had lost control of his motorbike and crashed into a pole. I don’t have the details of how the accident happened but the end game was that he was killed. After the reading The Prophet (Kahlil Gibran)...For life and death are one, even as the river and sea are one..., my former student, now a freshman, spoke to those in attendance so beautifully about his father and the lessons he had taught him. He said, “My father always taught me to treat others equally and said if you do this, you will have friends everywhere in the world. I hope I can be as good as my father was,” he ended. It was well spoken, articulate, authentic, from the depths of the heart. I had met his father at a parent teacher night. Although the interaction was brief he struck me as “real”. He wore his hair long and he didn’t dress up – something I appreciated and admired. He was a stay at home Dad and didn't try to pretend to be someone he wasn't. What you saw was what you got. He stayed after my talk to the parents and made an effort to shake my hand and thank me for teaching his son. As I left the “celebration” I hugged my former student, now fighting back the tears that streamed down his face, and told him how proud his father would be of him. As I rode my motorbike home I pondered my life, my Dad, Mom, sister, my son, my wife, my own role as father and husband, my own "celebration of life", and the reliability of my helmet.