Robert Velasquez Jr.

My name is Robert; I’d like to thank you for coming. It means a lot to me that you

would honor my father here today.

When I was asked to put my thoughts to paper, I wasn’t sure what to say. And

honestly, standing here, I’m still not. So, please, forgive me if I start to ramble.

One of dad’s favourite board games was called “Pandemic” and without going into

too much detail: it was co-operative game which pitted a team against the events of

a global outbreak. Dad’s favourite weekend night pitch was “when are we going to

‘save the world.’”

My father spent his adult life in the service of others. As a young man, he joined the

United States Air Force to spend 20 loyal years in service to his country and his

brothers-at-arms. I grew up listening to stories of those days; I think, for a lot of

reasons, those were his fondest memories. He learned a skill that would carry him

(and his family) throughout life and it opened doorways. He served his country

proudly and even to his last days, I would always see him walking up to other

Vietnam Veterans and say “Welcome Home, Brother.”

“Welcome Home, Brother.” The greeting of every Vietnam Veteran throughout this

nation. And he never missed a chance to welcome a brother-at-arms home. It didn’t

matter if they were on an aircraft carrier, or carrying a rifle through the jungle. All

of them were greeted the same. Sitting there, listening to Dad talk about the years of

his service and those of his comrades so many years later, was humbling.

I remember, in High School, I found out through my JROTC class that the Walking

Vietnam Wall was coming through the Covina Park. And I remember going, just my

father and I, and standing at the wall. My father didn’t spend any time looking for

names of fallen brothers. We didn’t leave any flowers, or medals, or a card of any

sort. We stood. And as I looked around at the others, walking through the stone slabs

that made up the memorial, I saw something in My dad I don’t think I’d ever seen

but maybe once before. And standing there, with a Vietnam Veteran; someone who

experienced the hell that is War; someone who has served his God and country. That,

to this day, was a sobering experience.

I can recall exactly two times I ever saw a tear in my father’s eyes. At the funeral

mass for my Grandfather, Robert Velasquez, Sr. And standing at that Memorial

Wall.

A sobering experience.

Dad and I never talked about it again; but I saw his pride for his service in every

Brother he welcomed home.

…Once a sergeant, always a sergeant…

Those were mom’s words whenever dad put his foot down. But as I grew up, he

relaxed a bit. He was always strict; and I think, at least now I do… I think, he was

always trying to be fair.

I got the impression, very recently, that he didn’t know how to relate to children

well. And as I came closer to adulthood, I started to see my dad actually laugh, tell

jokes (albeit, bad ones… for the most part) and ease into the father I loved until the

end.

I think that’s where my love of a bad pun came from. I freely admit I have a lot of

bad jokes; and a lot of them came from him.

He loved a good brain-teaser, too. And I think, it was learning to listen to questions

like “Quick: how many three cent stamps to a dozen?”, that helped me learn to relax

and not react, but think.

And questions like “if you have two but don’t want two, what do you do?” some of

the problem-solving and outside-the-box thinking skills I’ve developed over my

short 34 years. (By the way, you give one away.)

I’m not sure how we’ll ever manage to make it back to the table for family game

night and while the fun and games will eventually continue on, I know it will be a

while before we can sit down and ‘save the world’.

I guess, we’ll just have to learn from his example.

~Robert Velasquez, III

May 4, 2016

Eulogy for:

Robert Velasquez, Jr

390713-160405

Arrangements under the direction of Turner & Stevens Live Oak Mortuary, Monrovia, CA.