For Kyle Love Dad — Craig's Eulogy

My son. My baby, Kyle, was born on the 4^th of July. Sharleen and I watched fireworks through the hospital window with him in our arms. His life was one grand and awesome fireworks display. It just ended so much too soon.

My parents were married here at Temple Emanu-El, and Kyle’s Baby Naming Ceremony was here in this very room. He would be so happy to know that we are sending him off from this same great Synagogue.

When Kyle was a baby, people regularly told us, even strangers, that he was an old soul. I think most of the people who said that had no idea what they meant or why they were saying it. But everyone knew it was the right thing to say. The first time my brother held Kyle on the day he was born, he said he looked like an old Rabbi. He had that serious, soulful, wise look in his eyes from the moment he was born. And from his first day, he always had those incredible probing, knowing eyes that could look inside you, and those amazing eyelashes. It took awhile for that old soul to come out into the world. He evolved over many years from painfully shy, to sweetly bashful, and finally to quietly self-assured and maddeningly stubborn. No one had stronger opinions or deeper convictions than Kyle. And no one will ever have a stronger iron will.

As difficult as it is for me to admit now, whenever we disagreed, he was almost always right. He was right about getting that damn Star of David with the Sh’ma inside it tattooed on his chest. I’m so happy that he has that with him now. He had the same unrelenting conviction about his aspiration to go to Israel and join the Israeli army. The thought of such a gentle and sensitive boy doing such a thing had me shaken to the core, and I was trying with all my being to talk him out of going, but he felt such a strong connection to “his people” and he had such certainty about his need to serve them, that I’m sure he would have, and in the end, it, too, might have been the right thing.

When Sharleen and I divorced, Kyle felt as though his little family was broken apart and taken from him. Over time, through his pain, he developed the most skilled and lovely coping mechanism. He made little families wherever he went. He had his CAS family at B High that meant so so much to him. He had his baseball family. He had his Orinda family, his Piedmont family, his Marin family. He had his family with his cousins. He had his family with Marcus and Brandon next door. When those boys moved away, Kyle opened up shop across the street and shared the most extraordinary family with PJ, Amri and Irma. Just in the last few months, he made the sweetest, coziest family of all with his first heart connection, his first real girlfriend, Hannah. Hannah melted through that tough guy outer shell in a way that no one else had. I’m so sorry you didn’t have more sweet moments together.

Many of you know the story of how we got to this moment. Kyle saved up his own money and fulfilled his dream by buying himself a black 1992 Twin Turbo Dodge Stealth when he turned 16. He bought it the day after Thanksgiving, and wanted PJ to be the first person to ride in it. When we got home, Kyle told me that that day was the best day of his life. He had a couple of fender bender accidents, and he and I spent the last two weekends together rummaging through junkyards, searching for replacement parts. Last Saturday, Kyle brought his good luck charm—Hannah—along on what was, she assured me, her first trip to a junkyard. We had a blast, got covered in grease together and ate terrible burritos together from the taco truck. And we found the fender we needed. On Wednesday, Kyle and PJ were headed to a body shop in Richmond to get an estimate for installing the parts, and Kyle somehow lost control of that black 1992 Twin Turbo Dodge Stealth.

Since Wednesday night, Persis, Sharleen and I have received so much love and support from you all, we cannot begin to express our gratitude. I am humbled to find myself so completely surrounded an\d embraced by so many and such fine human beings. Of all t\he gifts I have received the last few days, the greatest of them\ all came from the students and teachers of CAS, the small school at Berkeley High that was such an important part of Kyle’s life. The stories that you told Persis and me Thursday night about Kyle\ were so healing, and helped to turn our grief into an exploration of beautiful parts of my son that we barely knew existed. I was so honored to be with you all, and to bear witness to your sadness. Your love for Kyle is big enough that I felt it wash over me, too. I am so happy to know that Kyle had the support of such loving, intelligent and articulate young people. Despite all the obstacles that our society and our education system have erected, you are a triumph of the human spirit.

Many of you told me that you had heard Kyle say his famous line, “I don’t give my respect to anyone; you have to earn it?” The funny ironic thing is, despite all his efforts to keep you at arm’s length, he couldn’t. You all earned his respect and his love. He was a tough guy on the outside but on the inside, he was a marshmallow.

Kyle was a good student but not the most dedicated one. He was plenty smart and got good grades but clearly his friends were a higher priority than his school work. In elementary school, he was a big fan of Roald Dahl. In 5^th grade he wrote an essay about Danny Champion of the World. It worked out so well for him that he has turned it in for an assignment every year since. He complained bitterly to me after the first day of school this past September when he found out that he had Ms. Martinez again for English, the same teacher he had last year, because that meant that he couldn’t use that essay again, and his streak with Danny was over at 6 years. Kyle fancied himself a writer, though, and so I’d like to read to you part of an essay that he wrote this year that I think explains a little about how he approached his own life.

This was written for Ms. Martinez, 3^rd Period American Literature:

“In the book, Fences, by August Wilson, Troy treats his life like a baseball game that he is determined to win… In baseball, any inning can suddenly be different from the previous one; at any given moment everything can change with one swing of the bat, or one error can end a game. If you’re on defense and you miss one ground ball, that can be the deciding factor. Troy is such an aggressive player that he sometimes misses the little things that in the end cost him the ballgame. Troy will often try to do a little bit more than he is capable of, like an infielder trying to make an impossible double play instead of taking the one easy out. Troy’s wife said about his death, ‘He swung the bat and then just fell over. Seem like he swung it and stood there with this grin on his face…they carried him on down to the hospital but I knew there was no need.’ In baseball, the most looked down upon thing you can do is strike out looking to end the ball game. When you let a close pitch go by in an important situation, you are giving the pitcher the power to determine your future. Many players will let it go by and hope that it isn’t a strike. Troy Maxson swung the bat as hard as he could and it just happened that that pitch got by him. Troy made many mistakes in his life, but he never gave up, and always tried his best to succeed. He was just a little too aggressive, and because he had his mind so set on winning, he made some crucial errors.”

I have never loved anything as much as I love my sons, Kyle and Niko. Kyle, my big boy, taught me to stretch the limits of my love beyond my capacity, beyond the point I thought possible, to stretch my love beyond the breaking point, until it made me ache. Niko, I’m so sorry that your big brother has been taken away, but I want you to know that even when he was a jerky teenager, even when he had difficulty knowing how to play with you, he always loved you, and he will be inside you the rest of your life. He asked to be in the hospital delivery room the night you were born, pretty brave for a 9-year old. He carried you into our house the first time when you came home from the hospital. He begged Persis and I each night to put you in his bed so he could cuddle you. He taught you to walk across our living room floor, and he was never, ever, ever happier than when you first learned to say his name, and you shouted to him, “Ky Ky, Ky Ky!” He knew how much you loved him and he remembered every little kindness that you showered on him. Most of all, Niko, I want you to know that Kyle and you are the ones who taught me how to love. And even my broken heart is still filled up with love for you.