A family member asked for a copy of the eulogy I gave at my father's memorial service. I didn't have one, because I spoke off the cuff with just a few handwritten notes. The following is the text, as best I recall it.

My father asked that I speak to you today.

I could tell you stories. I could tell you stories like the time Charlie Law and I towed a broken-down '64 Rambler into my father's driveway. And instead of doing the right thing -- having it towed away -- he helped us try to fix it.

I could tell you that he was my answer man. Any time I had a question about anything -- anything in the world -- I would ask him first.

I could tell you how much he loved music, and wanted his children and grandchildren to have it in their lives. It was important to him.

I could tell you how in the last few months, he was learning a new language, because that's who he was; he was always learning new things.

But instead I'll tell you this:

He worked with his mind, but he respected most those who worked hard with their hands.

He was irreligious, but he loved this church and its people.

He was fiercely rational, but he enjoyed a good conspiracy.

That was my father. He defied conventions. He did and said things in his own way. That's how I'll remember him.