Posted on by Phil Strawn

In Remembrance


“In Remembrance.” How many times have you rolled your eyes at that phrase? Obituaries, Eulogies, sympathy cards, and Life Celebrations all bring it to mind, but to me, it feels like a worn-out catchphrase from the past. Not the most fitting expression, but it has that eye-roll-inducing charm. My grandparents, bless their hearts, were professional funeral attendees. They never missed a chance to show up for the bereavement and raid the potluck table – family, friends, neighbors, and even strangers. Their dedication to mourning and food was truly unmatched. Some months, my grandmother didn’t cook a meal; they lived on leftovers from the family gatherings after the service. Ham, roast beef, tater salad, rolls, they ate better than anyone in the family. Death is final, but it comes with good food.

I’ve taken that old phrase, “In Remembrance,” and revamped it to perfectly encapsulate my childhood adventures. It has nothing to do with shuffling off this mortal coil, pushing up daisies, biting the dust, buying the farm, ashes to ashes, or any other worldly farewells. It’s all about the good ol’ days, mischief managed, butt whooping, and the epic tales of my early youth. I’m an old guy now, so time is of the essence, and my keyboard is hot. My punch card could run out at any time, anywhere.

There will be a flurry of “In Remembrances” hitting my blog. I figure a small novella broken into multiple chapters will about do it. I will, because of being blessed with a crazy-assed family, be using them as fodder and foils in many of the recounts. To protect the guilty, I will change some names because a few of them are still among us.

My direct family, Mom and Dad, are floating around in the clouds now, so what I write about them will be respectful and kind, even though my dear Mother whipped my little kid’s bony rear thousands of times with everything from Tupperware to a Mimosa Tree switch. My neighborhood pals and, of course, my mentors, Mr. and Mrs. Mister, played a large part in my development into what I am today. According to my wife, Momo, I should get into a time machine, return, and start it all over. I’ll give H.G. Wells a ring.

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17 Replies to “In Remembrance”

  2. My step-father’s brother died somewhat young. Everyone in the family seemed to predict it. His adopted lifestyle was asking for it. He wasn’t a good man. Nice enough, but with a corrupted soul. Took advantage of people for his benefit. He once took up with a widow, spent all her money, and left her in the dust.

    When he died, I was obliged to drive several hundred miles to attend his funeral. It was a demonstration of solidarity. During the Eulogy, delivered by a preacher man who never knew him, I turned to my step-father and asked, “Are we at the right funeral?” He answered “Yes” and then asked me why I was asking. I replied, “I just don’t recognize who the minister is talking about.” It made him laugh, and we both received dirty looks from those sitting nearby.

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  3. Let me borrow that machine also just for a spin Phil…certain place in Liverpool I want to go in the early sixties…I won’t have it out long.
    Yea I remember the line “go and get me a switch” …getting a small one never worked. She made it feel like a baseball bat.

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  6. (1) In remembrance of…who was that it again?
    (2) The last funeral I went to was in the American Cathedral in Paris (France, not Texas). And the burial of the deceased in a small country cemetery remains the only burial I’ve ever attended. (As to the “why” of this, it’s a long story…)
    (3) If you’re going to give H.G. Wells a ring, you’d better hurry. He’s not feeling well.

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