Tribute to my father

My father, Thomas Malcom Quarles, passed away three years ago on March 6, 2012 after a battle with cancer.  He was 75.  I was blessed to be able to spend quite a bit of time with him during his last days and held his hand as he breathed his last breath on this earth and went home.  I wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.  At his funeral, I gave a eulogy along with my brother and wife.  That eulogy, in it's original version, is printed below.  I still miss him and the times we got to spend together.  It was a blessing to be his son and I hope that I can be half the father he was.  

Dad’s Eulogy

By Breck Quarles

Looking back on the time that I had with Dad, there is one thing that I remember most.  He loved to fish.  

Growing up in the Quarles household, there were some things I took for granted.  You see, I thought everyone had fresh fish on their table on a regular basis.  

Dad fished at least twice a week and usually more.  I would come home and we’d head for the jetties to catch trout and redfish.  On weekends, we might be in Christmas Bay or even out in the Gulf in the 16 foot Boston Whaler.  Or we could be at Harris Reservoir catching crappie or catfish. 

He told me once that the only spanking he ever got from his dad was when he used a new fishing lure that he was told not to.  

As he got older, the frequency of his fishing slowed a bit, but not his love for it.

Dad loved to be outdoors and he especially loved to fish.  

As you may know, Dad was a cook in the Army.  What you may not know is that, because of that training, he didn’t know how to cook for less than a 100 people.  When Dad was cooking, expect a crowd.  He would cook gumbo or oyster stew and invite everyone he knew.  On New Year’s Eve, our house would be the place to be.  He called New Year’s Eve “Amateur Night” and wouldn’t drive anywhere. Instead, he’d make a pot of gumbo and have everyone come to him.  As he liked to say, our house would be as busy as “Grand Central Station.”   A lot of things would be discussed at those gatherings, but the talk always turned to fishing because Dad loved to fish.  

When he was younger, Dad seemed to have a poor sense of time.  On Sunday afternoon, he’d tell Mom he was going for a drive and be back in an hour. That “hour” would be spent visiting people, scouting fishing holes, watching animals, driving all over the countryside, and going anywhere he wanted to go.  Six hours later, he might show back up.  When he’d take visitors for a drive, they had no idea what they were in for.  He’d show them every spot of history and any place he thought was important in Brazoria County.  I learned a lot during those drives.  

When we went on vacation, he’d pack us all up and drive around the countryside, looking at the sites and visiting people. I think Dad knew people in every state in the country.  (I hated it then, but I do the same thing with my family now.)

On these drives, Dad usually had a fishing pole in the car, just in case.  I think I might have told you, but Dad loved to fish.

Dad never met a stranger.  He genuinely liked people. (If he didn’t like you, he would just avoid you.)  It didn’t matter where he was, he could find a way to engage someone in conversation.  He was interested in people and, I think they knew that when they were around him.  Somehow, he always found a common interest when he talked with people.  When people had a need, Dad was willing to help in any way that he could.  One thing a lot of people don’t know about Dad is that in the 1970’s, he went to college for a while.  He was trying to get his associate’s degree.  During one of his English courses, I was listening as he was reading a paper to my mother.  I still remember it because the story was about a fundraiser and all the people who were unselfishly giving of their time and resources.  Whether he knew it or not, he was writing about himself.  He never finished his degree, but he did put his English professor onto a mess of speckled trout in Christmas Bay.  I think I might have told you, but Dad loved to fish.

I learned a lot about life from Dad.  He taught me how to treat girls by both his behavior and his words.  He would often tell me, “Son, when I married your mother, that was it.  There will never be anyone else.”  He also told me, it didn’t matter how a girl treated me, I was to treat her like a queen.  I watched the way that he and Mom interacted and learned from that.  He would kiss every time he left and modeled affection in front of the kids.  I appreciated that, because it showed me what love was supposed to look like.

He also taught me about work.  When I got my first job, he told me clearly that, whether I liked the job or not, I needed to work hard.  “Do a good job, Son,” he always said.  He not only told me, but he showed me as well.  During the years when he struggled with alcohol, I never saw him miss a day of work because of it. I have a feeling that’s where my own work ethic comes from.

Dad taught me how to sing, which is probably why I can’t sing today.  He would spontaneously break into song while he was driving.  I can’t remember how many times I heard Tennessee Waltz and There Stands the Glass.  I can still sing them today.  

Most of our conversations about life took place while we were driving to go fishing.  I’m not sure if I told you, but Dad loved to fish. 

Dad didn’t know it, but he helped me a lot in deciding who to marry.  When I first brought Sheryl home to visit, they sat in the living room and discussed the psychiatrists that Dad had been seeing and Sheryl had worked with in her previous career.  As I watched them laughing, I remember Dad telling her “Those people are nuttier than the ones they are trying to treat.”  They hit it off right away and when I told Dad I was considering asking her to marry me, he said, “You’re making the right choice, Son.  You don’t want to lose that one.” 

In 2000, when Sheryl and I were living in Malaysia, Dad and Mom came over to visit.  This was the first time he had been out of the country since the Army.  When they got to the Kuala Lumpur Airport, Dad and I went into the restroom so he could get his little travel bag off. He had it strapped on under his clothes and he was practically undressing. I was trying to help him when his eyes got the size of saucers.  “Son, what is going here?”  I looked around and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.  “What’s wrong, Dad?”  “What are they doing in here?”  That’s when I realized the cleaning ladies were walking around the men’s room doing their job while Dad was standing there half-undressed.  “Welcome to Malaysia, Dad.”  We traveled all over the country during that trip and Dad left woodcarvings with all of our friends.  When we came back to the states, those carvings were still on display and probably still are.  We also went to Hong Kong because Dad wanted to get a suit made there.  He thought it was amazing and he always told me he wanted to go back.  I don’t know if I ever told him, but I couldn’t stand Hong Kong.  Too busy, but Dad loved it.  He talked about it the rest of his life. While we traveled through Malaysia, we did do quite a bit of fishing.  Dad did love to fish.  

When we came back from Malaysia, Sheryl was pregnant with our son William.  He and Dad had a special relationship, maybe because William loves to fish just like his Pappa.  William always looked forward to coming to Freeport so he could go fishing with his Pappa.  No matter where he was, whenever William would catch a fish, the first thing he would say is, “Let’s call Pappa.”  And when we got Dad on the phone, he was just as excited as William.  I think I might have told you, but just in case I didn’t, Dad loved to fish.

As Dad grew older, he became much more concerned about the spiritual side of life.  He also became concerned about the spiritual condition of others.  While he wasn’t as overt as some, Dad knew that he had a relationship with Jesus and wanted others to have the same.  He believed what Jesus said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  No one comes to Father except through me.”  Because of this relationship, this is a bittersweet time.  I will miss him, but I know, because I also follow Jesus, I will see him again.  If you are a follower of Jesus Christ, you will too.  

In the language of Malaysia, there is no word for “Goodbye.”  The phrase used when leaving is “Jumpa lagi,” which literally means “see you again.”  So, jumpa lagi, Dad.  I’ll see you again.  

And, I sure hope there’s fishing in heaven because I know how much you love to fish.