I was asked to say something at my father’s funeral and I came up with this as a first draft. I just went with it and the only bad thing is that people thought my sister wrote it. Harrumph.

Thank you for coming to the memorial service of my father, Tatsuo George Fujinaka. We appreciate that you took time to come remember him.

My father was a complicated man. He hated gatherings, but would have fun after he arrived. He was a bit shy in that respect. He would have hated having too many people here tonight, but would have been mad if no one showed up.

He loved plants. But I just found his college transcript and he got a C in Botany. I’m sure it wasn’t because he was a bad student because he also got an “A” in Organic Chemistry, and that’s one of the hardest classes that pre-meds have to pass to get into medical school. Like I said, he was a complicated man. He planted all sorts of trees and shrubs in our yard and refused to let anyone cut them. I had to sneak around and trim things back when he wasn’t paying attention and then get yelled at afterwards. He told me, “I have to live here you know. The way that rhododendron looks is embarrassing.”

I’m going to have to sort through thousands of slides of trees and flowers because he liked photography as well. I can tell you a story about his hobby of taking plant pictures. We were in a garden before my sister’s wedding and everyone was watching my sister and my brother-in-law. My dad had wandered off and was squatting down taking pictures of some spring flowers.

My dad also liked all sorts of artsy-craftsy things as well. I saw some practice sumi-e (charcoal-ink) paintings he was making on a whim. I tried making the same sorts of images and I just ended up with black-and-white pictures of marshmallows.

Even when my dad slowed down, he liked wandering up and down the block, giving gardening advice. I hope he was able to help you all so you don’t have to live with embarrassing rhododendrons.

The funeral went quite well. Reverend Gibbs explained all of the parts of the Buddhist service as he performed them and he’s an easy-going guy from Fresno. My father’s Buddhist name is “Shaku Gou Gi” which means “Child of the Buddha, Strength and Integrity.” In Korean it probably sounds like, “Child of the Buddha: Meat.” Fortunately we’re not Korean.

Who knew that Kinko’s wasn’t open all night and closed at 9PM? They sent the proofs for the memorial service and they couldn’t even spell Friday right. I forwarded it to my sister and kept badgering her, but she was out with some silly knit blogger and by the time I called Kinko’s, they were closed. I thought they were all open until at least midnight, but all the ones on the list I saw closed at 9PM. So, maybe we’re going to make the programs with crayon or a ‘ditto’ machine. Ah, well.

I’m also supposed to say something about my father. I had lots of ideas, but as soon as I said I’d do it, I forgot them all. I can say something about how he would have wanted everyone to leave him alone at a time like this, but that he’d also have been mad if no one had shown up. I can say something about his artsy-craftsy side and how I’m going to have to sort through a thousand slides of trees after I dig through all the candy and toys he liked to buy. (When they were taking pictures before my sister’s wedding, he was busy trying to take pictures of some flowers in the garden.) As his son, he infuriated me often, but just by doing odd things. He was never mean, just a little passive-aggressive and a whole lot of goofy.

Well, I’ll have to figure out what I’m saying tomorrow. Today I just filled up two 45-gallon shopping bags by shredding old bank records from 1990-2003. Man that’s a lot of old checks and credit card receipts.