Hello, Family, Friends and Guests.  For those who may not know, I am Jason, Randall's third born child and second son.  Thank you for coming.
Most of you knew my father.  He was a hard-working man and a devoted husband to my loving mother, Gail.  That is what most of you will remember about him.  But who was he to me?
For me, growing up, my dad was the irritated man who came home every day in the late afternoon to complain the house wasn't clean and the seven of us children were making too much noise for him to relax and read the paper or watch some t.v.  We knew to be quieter or to make ourselves scarce when he made it home.  My brother, Adam, and I remember how, at bedtime, he would tell us to “keep it down to a small roar,” or when we made too much noise in our beds, as there were at least four boys sharing one room, we would hear a knock on the wall and his telling us to “turn over and look at the wall.”
I regret I don't have more memories as a child with my dad, but I do remember some things, though.  I remember his teaching me how to mow a lawn after I pestered him relentlessly while he was working in the garage on something that I am sure was important to him at the time.  I remember digging a deep hole beside the driveway with a post-hole digger for hours so that we could put up a basketball goal together.  Then we would play basketball together.  I remember his chasing me around the back yard, riding bicycles through the neighborhood, to Humble and back and through the very cemetery where he is to be laid to rest today.  I remember feeding the ducks, climbing the large tree there, jumping our bikes on the neighborhood dirt track or riding our bikes down the wall of a bayou.  I remember going to Astroworld on Tuesdays when it was at its least busy time and riding the Greased Lightning multiple times and not having to get out and return to a line.  And on the way home, we would always stop at the 7-11 on Kirby to get Slurpees.  I remember going to the beach and going out with my dad to where the water was just deep enough for the ocean floor to be beyond our toes' reach and waiting to ride the waves pushing us to shore.  We would feed the seagulls together and we would enjoy our sandwiches with a Grape Welch's drink.  I remember going fishing many times with my dad's parents on the banks of the San Jacinto River under 59 North or under the 1097 bridge in Conroe.  He showed me how to set trot lines, cast my rod and reel, bait hooks and remove catfish from the line.  He taught me to shoot a bb gun.  He even took me to my first ball game at the Astrodome where we enjoyed good snacks, drinks and great baseball.  
As I grew into a teenager, I was very rebellious and did not respect him as I imagine most young men don't respect their fathers at that age.  I fought with my brothers and sisters and once got into a fist fight with my dad after I cursed him and severely disrespected my mother.  But that was not the man I grew to love as an adult.  
The man I am proud to call Dad today continued to be loving and devoted to his family.  It is as an adult that I realize all the hard work he had to do to make sure his seven children not only went to private schools, but also regularly saw the dentists, had extra-curricular activities in school, went on field trips, took vacations to the beach or to AstroWorld or took us to the occasional ball game.  He worked sixteen hours a day at a job he hated to come home hoping to relax, eat dinner and get just a few hours of uninterrupted sleep before he had to do it all over again.  He gave of himself so that we could have and it went entirely unnoticed by me until much later in life.  
He also taught me to be a man, to stand up for what is right and to respect women.  I learned that from example as he practiced that with my mother.  He taught me an honest work ethic, which I carry with me to this day.  I don't remember his ever taking a day off, even when he was legitimately sick.  He taught me to put in honest work for honest pay.  He taught me to laugh at the small things and the big things would work out in the end, if I put forth the honest effort to try.  He taught me to never give up, even against insurmountable odds, a lesson he continued to teach to his grave fighting his multiple injuries and illnesses.  
For the last fifteen years or so, I saw a much different man that I knew as a child.  He had retired and spent all his time with his wife of 46 years as of this last August 23rd, always there by her side, making her laugh all the time.  He had the greatest way of doing that, making us all laugh.  That is what I will remember most about him.  My family, who is also here today to honor my father, and I would visit every other weekend and play cards.  During these games, we would have the greatest time, laughing and joking with each other.  My dad couldn't get a sentence out without messing up the words.  He would tell jokes and attempt tongue twisters.  I would ask him to entertain my children with his Donald Duck voice.  He would speak in a fake German language.  He desperately wanted to play with his grandchildren on the floor, but his knees prevented it.  To his dying day, he wanted to take his grandchildren fishing, but never got a real chance.  He even bought them their first rods and reels.  I was with him at Academy when he picked them out.  
No, my dad wasn't the irritated man who came home in the late afternoon to complain.  He was the greatest and strongest man I knew.  I hope I can be as inspirational, loving, devoted, wise, compassionate, instructive and most of all, a funny father and husband to my children and wife as he endeavored and succeeded to be in his life.  
I love you dad and will always miss you.  Good bye for now.

I remember my husband especially for the way he made me laugh everyday.  He was always so funny.  He passed that trait on to all of our children, for they, too, can keep me laughing.  And that is something that helps me a lot when I am missing him.

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OBITUARIO

Randall Lee York

18 noviembre, 1941 – 16 septiembre, 2011

Brookside Funeral Home & Memorial Park

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Randall Lee York

18 noviembre, 1941 – 16 septiembre, 2011

Brookside Funeral Home & Memorial Park

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