Banks' Remarks at Daddy's Funeral
My brother, Banks, also spoke at Daddy's funeral. Here is his post from Facebook with his remarks...
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Thanks to all of you for your thoughts and prayers. Daddy was diagnosed with Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis some time ago, so we all had plenty of time to say goodbye. Still miss him though, that's for sure. Daddy's in a great place now, and he certainly doesn't need oxygen tubes anymore! Here are my remarks from that day:
Guy Atkinson Meador, Jr.
Hello, everybody. It’s so nice to see everybody here. When you walk in you don’t really look over everybody, so this is my first chance to get a glance at everybody’s face. Thank ya’ll for being here, and thank you for indulging myself and my brother today as we share a few reflections.
I will keep my remarks brief because for those of you who knew my dad in his church life well, you know that he didn’t like a very long service. And I remember sitting over there several Sundays in my youth and if a service was getting a little bit long, he’d stand right up and walk right out if he wanted to... and we don’t want anything like that here today, so I’m going to move it along.
If you can say such a thing, this is my favorite part of a funeral. The time when a family can get up and share some of the things that we think you need to know - about my Daddy in this case. I may not be able to visit with each one of you individually today but there are some things I think ya’ll need to know about him. And if you know it, you will relish and enjoy hearing some of these stories.
For any son, drawing a comparison with your dad is natural. But in my case me and my dad are a lot alike. Sometimes more alike than most father-son combinations. We’re both babies of our family. Probably a little bit spoiled - nah, I don’t think so, right Mamma? Not so much? We have a lot of other similarities. We both had “Guy Meador’s” for dads. And we both have sons that are going to help carry the Meador name on. And, we also made each other upset enough that we probably couldn’t both see straight at one another from time to time. But that hardheadedness was also tempered with a great love that was just as strong.
Daddy had four sisters: Norma, Doris, Ellen, and Beth. His mother, we called her “Big Mamma,” had to be relieved when her baby boy finally arrived. That was number five, and she knew they were going to keep going until they got a baby boy. Daddy was a wonderful blessing to his family from the beginning. I never met Papa, he was gone before I arrived, but I do know that Daddy was a lot like him, and he was like Big Mamma too. The Meador-Hudsbeth combination was combustable. And for those of you who knew my dad, you can attest to that. It was like a mountain fire meeting a lava flow. Or that unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. I would describe Daddy as hardheaded, impatient, passionate, caring, hardheaded, driven, and he had the heart of a teacher. Did I mention that he was hardheaded?
There’s a little Guy Meador in everybody in this family sitting over there, no question about it. Just ask my brother’s neighborhood association what a Guy Meador can do! And I must say that I don’t know of any defense attorneys who would exactly hi-five each other when they find out they’re up against my big sister. I promise you that. Daddy instilled in us that passion, that drive, and that hardheadedness and that gives us such an advantage in life in so many areas. That baseball coach that tried to drive us to be better, but in the process break us, never could break me. You know why? Because my Daddy was in me.
And that hardheadedness lead all the way up until my daddy was in the hospital in those final days. We didn’t leave his side. We said hello to each nurse and we made sure that they knew we were our daddy’s children, and that we were going to be there for him through to the end. We were able to preserver and do that and I give a lot of credit to my daddy’s hardheadedness and “stick-to-itiveness” that it happened that way.
Those weren’t the only things Daddy passed on to us. He passed on a love for the outdoors, fishing, sailing, hunting, his love of laughter, his care for God’s creation. He taught me, and my bother, and my sister all of those things throughout his life. Daddy always, since he was a young man, had a pack of beagles. Those of you who’ve known him for a long time know that ever since he was a very young man he always had a pack of beagles. Since my brother and sister were off to school when I was a little boy, those were some of my best friends; Jimmy and Tweed and High Ball and Low Ball and Peanut - they’re all family dogs.
Daddy would take that pack of beagles (and for those of you who hunted with him, ya’ll know what I’m talking about) into a stand of woods and Daddy would have hunters all around outside the block of woods. Daddy would do what they call “jump” a deer inside that thicket of woods and the dogs would trail the deer. They would sniff his scent and every time one of those beagles would catch that deer’s scent, he would sound off. All of them had different pitches, and it developed a chorus that I believe was one of the most beautiful sounds my Daddy ever heard. He shared that with his children. To this day, when I hear a pack of beagles, I stop, I listen, and I think of Daddy. That is such a wonderful gift that he shared with us. Other family dogs of particular note that I have written here include Jinx and Eva. Jinx towards the beginning of my Mamma and Daddy’s marriage, and Eva towards the end. They were good family dogs that deserved to be mentioned here.
He and my mom were born down the street from one another, a week apart from one another. They went to Foote Street School together, and they were high school sweethearts. That’s a long time to know somebody, isn’t it, Mamma? They were married for almost 54 years. And Mamma knew Daddy most of his 74. What a wonderful thing. I have to tell you that I’m very proud of my Mamma. Very proud. Because for my mom to stand by my Daddy and love him and to be the kind of Christian wife God wanted her to be and He called her to be, makes me so proud. She loved - and put up with - that fiery passion that was so much of my daddy while he was here on Earth (and I have a feeling that hasn’t stopped).
My brother, sister, and I were tempered with my mother’s love, and kindness, and wisdom, and understanding. I think that she and my daddy, if I may say so myself, did ok. We really appreciate everything you’ve done for our family, Mamma.
Daddy wasn’t perfect, now, don’t get me wrong. He didn’t pretend to be. He made some mistakes, but who among us hasn’t? It gave him a chance to live a testimony. No, Daddy wasn’t perfect. But he was saved. And I genuinely believe every day he tried to lead a sanctified life.
Things that I’m going to pass on to my sons and hopefully they to theirs are what I’m going to wrap up with. Thank you for your indulgence.
One of the most cherished sayings that Daddy passed on to me and my brother and my sister and the rest of our family - think from his daddy - is “remember who you are.” Every time we were going out to the movies or something like that, before that door closed, I always heard him say, “remember who you are.” And I think that translates really well to us Christians too. Remember who you are. Remember you are your Heavenly Father’s son or daughter. What a wonderful lesson for our father to have taught us.
Like I said earlier, there’s a little Guy Meador in all our family - Sara Lee, Guy, myself, Sally, Ellen, Cora, Janet, Fiona, Dalton, Evan, and Cooper. And there’s a little of our Heavenly Father in all us Christians, so please don’t forget that.
One of the most unique and cherished traditions my family had is that when my daddy was walking through the woods - maybe it was on a hunt, maybe it was just out for a walk with his family - if we got separated and he needed to communicate with us (we didn’t have a cell phone, and rarely a radio) he would owl. I don’t know if ya’ll have ever heard him do it. But Daddy would owl out and you’d hear it for miles, and you knew where he was. You could respond back with an owl back to him and it was a wonderful way to communicate.
He did that while hunting, at sporting events - when I was on the playing field, when I did something good Daddy would let out an owl call and I didn’t have to guess who that was. I knew that my daddy was there in the stands cheering for me, and I knew I had done something good. I also know he did that once or twice at the Governor’s School graduation, right, Ellen? So she knew he was there for that too.
One very special time he did it was toward the end of his life in the hospital room. Some of the family was gathered around and Daddy was drifting off to sleep when all of a sudden he owled out strong and loud! We had hardly been able to hear him and communicate with him because he was so short of breath, but the people in the next room could hear him! Think about that. He was either just going to sleep and owling out, or maybe he was saying “Hey, here I come ya’ll. Get ready!”
To me that is one of the most special things in my life with him. I know that when it’s my turn to go to Heaven, and when I arrive, one of the things I imagine that might happen is that I may arrive in front of a big stand of woods, and Daddy is back out in those woods somewhere. My Heavenly Father may be back out there with him (I can just see them walking and talking together). And I might hear this owl calling me - such a beautiful thing to think of, because I know that would be heaven to Daddy. And do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to answer him like this (LOUD OWL CALL). Thank you so much for listening.
BEGIN QUOTE
Thanks to all of you for your thoughts and prayers. Daddy was diagnosed with Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis some time ago, so we all had plenty of time to say goodbye. Still miss him though, that's for sure. Daddy's in a great place now, and he certainly doesn't need oxygen tubes anymore! Here are my remarks from that day:
Guy Atkinson Meador, Jr.
Hello, everybody. It’s so nice to see everybody here. When you walk in you don’t really look over everybody, so this is my first chance to get a glance at everybody’s face. Thank ya’ll for being here, and thank you for indulging myself and my brother today as we share a few reflections.
I will keep my remarks brief because for those of you who knew my dad in his church life well, you know that he didn’t like a very long service. And I remember sitting over there several Sundays in my youth and if a service was getting a little bit long, he’d stand right up and walk right out if he wanted to... and we don’t want anything like that here today, so I’m going to move it along.
If you can say such a thing, this is my favorite part of a funeral. The time when a family can get up and share some of the things that we think you need to know - about my Daddy in this case. I may not be able to visit with each one of you individually today but there are some things I think ya’ll need to know about him. And if you know it, you will relish and enjoy hearing some of these stories.
For any son, drawing a comparison with your dad is natural. But in my case me and my dad are a lot alike. Sometimes more alike than most father-son combinations. We’re both babies of our family. Probably a little bit spoiled - nah, I don’t think so, right Mamma? Not so much? We have a lot of other similarities. We both had “Guy Meador’s” for dads. And we both have sons that are going to help carry the Meador name on. And, we also made each other upset enough that we probably couldn’t both see straight at one another from time to time. But that hardheadedness was also tempered with a great love that was just as strong.
Daddy had four sisters: Norma, Doris, Ellen, and Beth. His mother, we called her “Big Mamma,” had to be relieved when her baby boy finally arrived. That was number five, and she knew they were going to keep going until they got a baby boy. Daddy was a wonderful blessing to his family from the beginning. I never met Papa, he was gone before I arrived, but I do know that Daddy was a lot like him, and he was like Big Mamma too. The Meador-Hudsbeth combination was combustable. And for those of you who knew my dad, you can attest to that. It was like a mountain fire meeting a lava flow. Or that unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. I would describe Daddy as hardheaded, impatient, passionate, caring, hardheaded, driven, and he had the heart of a teacher. Did I mention that he was hardheaded?
There’s a little Guy Meador in everybody in this family sitting over there, no question about it. Just ask my brother’s neighborhood association what a Guy Meador can do! And I must say that I don’t know of any defense attorneys who would exactly hi-five each other when they find out they’re up against my big sister. I promise you that. Daddy instilled in us that passion, that drive, and that hardheadedness and that gives us such an advantage in life in so many areas. That baseball coach that tried to drive us to be better, but in the process break us, never could break me. You know why? Because my Daddy was in me.
And that hardheadedness lead all the way up until my daddy was in the hospital in those final days. We didn’t leave his side. We said hello to each nurse and we made sure that they knew we were our daddy’s children, and that we were going to be there for him through to the end. We were able to preserver and do that and I give a lot of credit to my daddy’s hardheadedness and “stick-to-itiveness” that it happened that way.
Those weren’t the only things Daddy passed on to us. He passed on a love for the outdoors, fishing, sailing, hunting, his love of laughter, his care for God’s creation. He taught me, and my bother, and my sister all of those things throughout his life. Daddy always, since he was a young man, had a pack of beagles. Those of you who’ve known him for a long time know that ever since he was a very young man he always had a pack of beagles. Since my brother and sister were off to school when I was a little boy, those were some of my best friends; Jimmy and Tweed and High Ball and Low Ball and Peanut - they’re all family dogs.
Daddy would take that pack of beagles (and for those of you who hunted with him, ya’ll know what I’m talking about) into a stand of woods and Daddy would have hunters all around outside the block of woods. Daddy would do what they call “jump” a deer inside that thicket of woods and the dogs would trail the deer. They would sniff his scent and every time one of those beagles would catch that deer’s scent, he would sound off. All of them had different pitches, and it developed a chorus that I believe was one of the most beautiful sounds my Daddy ever heard. He shared that with his children. To this day, when I hear a pack of beagles, I stop, I listen, and I think of Daddy. That is such a wonderful gift that he shared with us. Other family dogs of particular note that I have written here include Jinx and Eva. Jinx towards the beginning of my Mamma and Daddy’s marriage, and Eva towards the end. They were good family dogs that deserved to be mentioned here.
He and my mom were born down the street from one another, a week apart from one another. They went to Foote Street School together, and they were high school sweethearts. That’s a long time to know somebody, isn’t it, Mamma? They were married for almost 54 years. And Mamma knew Daddy most of his 74. What a wonderful thing. I have to tell you that I’m very proud of my Mamma. Very proud. Because for my mom to stand by my Daddy and love him and to be the kind of Christian wife God wanted her to be and He called her to be, makes me so proud. She loved - and put up with - that fiery passion that was so much of my daddy while he was here on Earth (and I have a feeling that hasn’t stopped).
My brother, sister, and I were tempered with my mother’s love, and kindness, and wisdom, and understanding. I think that she and my daddy, if I may say so myself, did ok. We really appreciate everything you’ve done for our family, Mamma.
Daddy wasn’t perfect, now, don’t get me wrong. He didn’t pretend to be. He made some mistakes, but who among us hasn’t? It gave him a chance to live a testimony. No, Daddy wasn’t perfect. But he was saved. And I genuinely believe every day he tried to lead a sanctified life.
Things that I’m going to pass on to my sons and hopefully they to theirs are what I’m going to wrap up with. Thank you for your indulgence.
One of the most cherished sayings that Daddy passed on to me and my brother and my sister and the rest of our family - think from his daddy - is “remember who you are.” Every time we were going out to the movies or something like that, before that door closed, I always heard him say, “remember who you are.” And I think that translates really well to us Christians too. Remember who you are. Remember you are your Heavenly Father’s son or daughter. What a wonderful lesson for our father to have taught us.
Like I said earlier, there’s a little Guy Meador in all our family - Sara Lee, Guy, myself, Sally, Ellen, Cora, Janet, Fiona, Dalton, Evan, and Cooper. And there’s a little of our Heavenly Father in all us Christians, so please don’t forget that.
One of the most unique and cherished traditions my family had is that when my daddy was walking through the woods - maybe it was on a hunt, maybe it was just out for a walk with his family - if we got separated and he needed to communicate with us (we didn’t have a cell phone, and rarely a radio) he would owl. I don’t know if ya’ll have ever heard him do it. But Daddy would owl out and you’d hear it for miles, and you knew where he was. You could respond back with an owl back to him and it was a wonderful way to communicate.
He did that while hunting, at sporting events - when I was on the playing field, when I did something good Daddy would let out an owl call and I didn’t have to guess who that was. I knew that my daddy was there in the stands cheering for me, and I knew I had done something good. I also know he did that once or twice at the Governor’s School graduation, right, Ellen? So she knew he was there for that too.
One very special time he did it was toward the end of his life in the hospital room. Some of the family was gathered around and Daddy was drifting off to sleep when all of a sudden he owled out strong and loud! We had hardly been able to hear him and communicate with him because he was so short of breath, but the people in the next room could hear him! Think about that. He was either just going to sleep and owling out, or maybe he was saying “Hey, here I come ya’ll. Get ready!”
To me that is one of the most special things in my life with him. I know that when it’s my turn to go to Heaven, and when I arrive, one of the things I imagine that might happen is that I may arrive in front of a big stand of woods, and Daddy is back out in those woods somewhere. My Heavenly Father may be back out there with him (I can just see them walking and talking together). And I might hear this owl calling me - such a beautiful thing to think of, because I know that would be heaven to Daddy. And do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to answer him like this (LOUD OWL CALL). Thank you so much for listening.