PART 3
On Sundays, he would sit in front of the speaker for hours listening to his records of Fleetwood Mac, Juice Newton, Linda Rondstant. And we all knew his favorite because we all had to be really quiet when his song came on the radio. Or the eight-track. You know which one.
Ooooooooh,  Dream weaver, I believe you can get me through the night.
I do not know if I can ever listen to that song again without breaking down. 
I knew this day would come. I saw it getting closer and closer over the last few years. Faster and faster. I tried to stop it; we all did. But Daddy knew what he was doing, and he wanted to stop hurting. I wish so badly that I could have made it stop. I promised everyone that I would take care of him every day because he was not supposed to go. He needed to be here for me. He needed to be here for all of us. WE need him. 
We need more people like my Dad. Stubborn, a little bit. Broken, maybe, but he was real. He was always 100% pure and genuine. He had a dark sense of humor sometimes that a lot of people did not see. He was bright and noticed things most people did not. He never judged anyone, and if he did, you would never have known it.
I miss him so much. My Dad had flaws, but my Dad was perfect. Perfectly flawed. In diamonds, they call them feathers. (Or clouds…)  But there was no one ever as perfect as my Dad. He was handsome, the smartest person in the world, in my world. He was talented. He was good. He was a good man.
I am happy he got to see me finally grow up. I see him in my son. I see him in everyone. 
I heard someone say to my mom the other day, in time, our thoughts of him, the tears will one day be replaced by smiles. I know they will. It might take an eternity, but I know they will. And when that day comes, we will have grown. I do not see that happening anytime soon, but I am looking forward to that day. 


PART 2
He taught me to love to read. We would trade Stephen King novels in high school, and then the older I got, the deeper the books were. I loved to talk to him about them. I loved it so much. I would stay up all night and talk if I could. Hours would pass, and I was not finished yet. He was not finished yet. I would feel so proud when introducing a new title or an author and then learning that he loved it.
My Dad is the reason I make the choices I make today. The good ones, the bad ones, he instilled in me a moral compass that will never waver. He taught me that I make my own choices no matter what happens, and he tried to help me make the right ones whenever he could. He taught me that if it could be done, there was nothing stopping me from being able to do it, whatever it was. 
No one gave him a book on how to raise a kid. Or two. Or three. Or four. He fell in love with the most beautiful woman on the planet, and he did everything he could to balance her. She was a force to be reckoned with. But she loved him with all her heart. 
Everyone I know who met my father instantly loved him. He was so cool. He was so mellow. Not a mean bone in his body. My Dad was everything that is right in the world. He was pure and he was true.
 
He taught me how to love and escape into music. An appreciation for music that many people think they have, but he-he would engulf himself and get lost in a song.
He would take me on Sunday drives for hours, looking at houses. I remember sitting in the front seat of the Ford Fairmont with no seatbelt, a cigarette between his fingers, a beer between his legs, and pointing out the houses he worked on, asking which ones I liked. Yet somehow, he was still the safest (and slowest) driver in the world. We always had the music on. 
(Part 2 of 3)

PART 1
Anyone who knows me, anyone at all, knows how much my Dad meant to me. 
How much he meant to all of us. My Dad was the whole world. To me, he was a god. In fact, it was not until I was in my mid-twenties that I first realized that he was not perfect.
My Dad was pure. He was honest. He was true. He was always patient. He was calm. 
My Dad truly and wholly loved unconditionally. And my Dad was always fair. 
He taught me that even when life was unfair, and it was, often, he taught me why I still needed to remain fair. Daddy was not always dealt the best hand, but he always played fair. 
Throughout his life, he had his hurdles, and with the help of my mom, his sister, his friends, and his family, he got through them, though not unscarred. That is what made him my Dad. That is what made him human—his scars. My Dad did not have demons. My Dad had medicine. He self-medicated. Poorly, but it was the only way he knew how to deal with his pain and how not to bother anyone else with it. Daddy never asked anyone for anything. Never.
My Dad always did the right thing. He taught me the importance of taking the upper road.
He gave me my moral compass. He taught me to love unconditionally. My Daddy taught me how to love people. He taught me my work ethic, if anything else, how to get lost in it.
My Daddy was not a religious person. He was an Agnostic. He believed in something; he did not know what it was. He read and read. He is one of the only people I know that has read the entire bible- front to back, every single page. I do not think he ever realized that it was himself he was supposed to believe in. 
I wish I had known him before the war, before the light dimmed.
Daddy treated people with kindness and a smile. Everyone. Even when I thought he should not, he still did. Even when I wanted him to stand up and yell, he would not. I thought he was a pushover. He was not. He was just a good person who saw good in everyone and everything. 


I am so sorry for your loss.  Ken was a gracious, incredibly caring and funny man.  I feel very lucky to have known him.  My prayers are with your family, especially all the grandchildren I know are among his most precious gifts.

As a teenager, I remember Kenny driving through St Paul on his way back it west where I think he may have departed for Vietnam.   We listened to the one Beatles album I owned. I’m not sure in his earlier childhood that he loved his visits to his threesome girl cousins.  I do remember playing cops and robbers with our cap guns.  And building with those little white block that predated Legos.  Nadia…no one could have a more devoted and steadfast wife.  I am so happy that he found you and together you made a wonderful family.  My heart goes out to you all.  Xxxooo. mimi

OBITUARY

Kenneth Stanley Magnusson

August 16, 1946 – November 3, 2021

Robert Toale & Sons Funeral Home at Palms Memorial Park

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