Mad Zoo House

You know, in case you haven't been bombarded with ads for Father's Day sales several times a day like I have. This will be my second Father's Day since my dad died, and for some reason it seems more difficult than last year. Maybe last year I was still in some kind of shock and/or denial, and now I've moved on to the more interactive middle stages of grief. Fun.

It's been 20 months since my dad died. Normally "20 months" or "over a year and a half" seems like such a long time to me - like if you're planning a wedding, talking about how old a baby/toddler is, looking forward to a future vacation. But the 20 months since my dad has been gone feels like minutes. Maybe it always will. Maybe I'll always regret not getting home sooner once we knew he was terminal. Being told that you have a limited amount of time left with a loved one is a horrible, heartbreaking gift, but it's a gift nonetheless, and one I didn't take advantage of.

Here's part of the eulogy my brother wrote:

Dennis Aguiar
March 1, 1938 - October 11, 2004

My father grew up in the sparse and humble world of the sugar plantations of Papaikou. He didn’t have a college degree – in fact, he didn’t take classes until much later in life, yet he was the smartest man I ever knew. He was more intelligent and much wiser than my professors in graduate school. I read books; he lived life.

In my view, my father was a great man, but Hilo will never erect any monuments to him. No ballparks; no public buildings; no highways will bear his name, though he worked to build monuments to others, played sports with a vengeance, constructed buildings, and helped to develop this community.

In many senses of the word, Dad was a gardener. He enjoyed growing things. He grew three children and we are now each firmly established in our communities, married, and homeowners. He made sure my sisters and I learned the important values of work, honesty, and self-sufficiency. He encouraged us and provided tremendous support for our education. He made sure each of us got a college education and the “piece of paper” to prove it.

He grew relationships with his family. He is survived by his only sibling, our Uncle Ronnie, who has been a very important part of our family. Dad was also adopted into my mother’s family. The Perreiras truly treated him as a member of the family. My grandmother saw him as her third son. My mother’s brothers were among his best friends.

He grew great employees by developing their skills. He delegated tasks to them as their talents dictated and trusted them to do their best. We should all be so fortunate to have one boss in our lives like my father.

He grew friends by the bushelful, especially his golfing buddies. As far back as I can remember, my father saved Thursday afternoons for gold. Although his retirement years were cut short, he relished those extra days on the course and especially the 19th hole with his friends.

Dad also grew a community: Hilo. No, not by himself. He intuitively understood that to make your hometown a better place, you had to start with good soil, water, and sunshine. That is, you need strong values, a few key resources, and room to grow.

My father – like so many others – are the unsung heroes of American society. He did his duty in the U.S. Navy and grew deep, durable roots in his community. He was civically engaged in a plethora of public affairs that helped to make Hilo a stronger community.

He was a member of the Hilo Jaycees, chairing the County Fair when it was the highlight of community events. He was a charter member of the Big Island Portuguese Chamber of Commerce; a truer expression of community involvement cannot be found. Dad was also a Kiwanis and a Forester, whose members trusted him to lead them. He served his government in a variety of capacities when called. Dad worked to preserve the tradition of a rural school, Kalanianaole, his elementary school.

He did these things because they were the right things to do and he loved doing them. In all these things, he made all of us better people, who live in a better community because he worked to make it so.

Throughout the years, he had one constant in his life: our mother, his wife and love of 43 years. She is the solid rock who did all the “little things” – like feeding and ferrying us kids while running a successful business – that gave him time and the freedom to be active in community affairs. Our mother, who lovingly and patiently cared for him throughout his illness, never complained and was always cheerful.

My father understood what it meant to be a good citizen. He knew it meant much more than obeying the laws of the land, paying your taxes, and voting. He enjoyed – reveled in – getting involved in community affairs to make Hilo a better place.

Dad will never be gone. One hundred years from now, visitors to Hilo may spend weeks in town and see no outward sign of Dennis Aguiar. Yet if they probe deeply and ask around, his spirit will remain forever. It will be in the hearts of people who are better off because he grew the most beautiful plants: community, friends, and family.

No, he will never be gone, because he resides here in my heart and all of yours. His grandchildren will remember him as an old man, but we will teach them that he worked for many things that we all value: honesty, dignity, trust, dependability, responsibility, honor, work, family, country, and community.

My father knew how to savor the simple pleasures in life: hitting the sweet spot on a golf ball and watching it sail in a perfect arc to the hole; the crisp bite of a good scotch with a little water; watching his grandsons score a goal in soccer or hit their first homerun; the joy of getting up early on a Sunday morning to watch the Packers play; the thrill of helping a young couple finance their first home; and coming home to be with Mom.

We meet here at this time and this place not to mourn a life expired, but to celebrate a life well-lived. My father enjoyed simple comforts, but I think his example serves as a challenge to all of us, not to examine our lives with regret and sorrow, but to live life fully, to take a big bite out of life’s apple and relish its tart juiciness.

The family joke was if one of us kids missed our mom or dad's birthday, their anniversary, any of the Hallmark holidays, Dad would say "ah, you're outta the will!" Just so you know I haven't forgotten Father's Day, Dad. I love you.