Out of respect for my father, I attended a funeral (unrelated to family) today. This wasn't the first time I'd done this. When I was in high school, I attended a funeral with him. I remember it clearly, for the deceased had killed himself via suicide, leaving behind a boy who was only one or two years older than I (the boy went to my high school and the divorced dad had attended church with us).
That was my first hard funeral due to the tragedy tied to the cause of death.
This one today was tough, but mostly it had to do with the tragic, longstanding narrative tied to the deceased's family life.
The pastor who officiated (who was a family friend of the deceased) beat the drum of his dead mentor "loving Jesus" to the maximum. We mourners heard this over and over again. All the while, everyone there knew the dead man, nor his family members had not darkened the door of the church in decades. And the setting clearly spoke to this dichotomy. For the wake and funeral was held in a tee-ninny suburban funeral home parlor where the overflow crowd of mourners were all squeezed in like sardines within the repurposed pews.
At the outset of the service, the officiating pastor cited the book of Samuel, quoting scripture which captured David eulogizing Saul (post his suicidal death). That was fitting, but I don't believe many mourners picked up on the subtleties therein (is there no more anticlimactic Biblical figure than Saul?).
Not long after that opening salvo, the pastor used the word chaos to describe the deceased man's family, doing so right there in front of his widow, two daughters and all the grandchildren / great-grandchildren (they were all packed in too). He even went so far as to specifically cite the bastardization of the man's first grandchild (borne from his youngest daughter) as if it was yesterday's news.
Most of those in attendance likely knew the family when that particular shit hit the fan. The year was 1989. Understandably, his daughter's future (& their family's trajectory) was forever changed as a result, but what had to have made the greatest specific impact was the unshakable stigma they were now saddled with. Particularly considering their place as a well-established, upper-class Jacksonian family.
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What I'm going to say next is going to sound like a cop out, but I'm going to say it anyway because I believe it (& lived through it).
The 1980s weren't good to any of us white folks, and this family was (like so many) right within its crosshairs. I'm not blaming this decade of excess for their specific missteps, but you must realize that families were hit from two (if not more) sides during this decade.
1. Enormous economic success that was unparalleled. Especially for those who were put together and Dale Carnegie extroverted (as the deceased had been during that era). Most professionals were making money hand over fist (both earned & unearned) which precipitated enormous buying power for these. Constraint / "quiet living" along with temperance were ideas from the past that were outright mocked during this era. Everything, and I do mean everything was hinged on excess and immediate gratification, no matter the risk.
2. Massive shift in societal norms as it pertained to the prioritization of class / cliques / relational circles of influence. Autonomy was so very out. Country club status quo was everything and everywhere in the '80s. There was more chrome and hairspray, Porsche and Winnebago than had ever been seen prior here in America. For all of these veneers / brands screamed, "LOOK AT ME!" Arguably, all of the upper / middle-class family's identity was classed directly to these pleasurable platitudes, leaving it particularly vulnerable to headship neglect / distraction.
Considering both of these, time and energy to play within this particular arena massively downplayed what once was the bastion of familial importance:
The husband / father's role as protector. And not just via shielding but via exposure / knowledge / insight that's used to educate / shrew the family of cultural / societal deception risk(s).
The familial chaos cited by today's funeral pastor, I'm convinced, found both its origin and virility during this powerfully influential decade.
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Two distinct funerals. Considering both this one today and the one from my teenage years, both were tremendously hard to sit through but for different versions of tragic.
My dad thanked me at the conclusion of each for taking the time to attend. Because I was there to stand with him, I'm glad I did.
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