Eulogy Final Draft

My dad, Kendyl Ko, passed away on the night of September 12, 2009. During his memorial, I came to realize what he had meant to me by listening to the remembrances that people close to him had prepared. Their stories cemented the lessons he’d taught me into my consciousness. Dad taught me how to lead by example but still respect others, how to stand up for what I believe, and to always be grateful for what we have. He inspired me to try to be the best human being I could be.
Many of the lessons were taught through sports. My dad loved sports. No matter what it was, he loved it. I know this because he was always there on the sidelines, cheering either my brother or me on, in any sport we did: baseball, basketball, soccer, swimming, volleyball, even bowling. Yes, bowling is a sport. And while supporting us in athletic endeavors, he taught us how to lead. Whether by taking charge of the team to get through a tough game, or by showing other teammates how to respect others, Dad taught us how to do it. But, what I didn’t know was where he learned how to lead. The answer? He was born with it. My uncle told us that he was always the quarterback, he was always the catcher, and he was always the point guard; not only born with the confidence and strength to command, he also had the cool, level head under pressure that these leadership positions required. His leadership and respect flowed into the other aspects of his life as well: his job, his friends, and his family. He knew when to step up and grab the reins to guide people to success, but he also knew how to step back and let others lead.
Listening to all the old stories, it seems that Dad had a reputation among his peers back in the day. He was big, strong, and never backed down. You wouldn’t want to get in a fight with him. But people told me that my dad didn’t pick fights just to pick fights; he fought only when people did something that went against his morals. I remember one story that my auntie told me. My dad was on his high school basketball team and throughout one game one of his friends was getting unnecessary heat from the other team because he was smaller than them. Fed up, my dad grabbed the other player, threw him to the floor, and just walked off the court, knowing that he would get ejected from the game anyway. I guess he felt that if you’re going to pick on somebody, pick on somebody your own size. I won’t lie; when I heard that story, I was surprised, yet proud. I never knew my dad as hot-tempered. He was always calm, never raising his voice unless there was no other resort. And, while he certainly didn’t teach his sons how to fight, he did teach my brother and me how to stand up for ourselves and what we believe in. He taught us that fighting wasn’t the way to go about it, but to use other means to get our point across: our voice, our actions, and sometimes, simply walking away-- not giving in, but instead taking the better road.
But unfortunately, I wasn’t around to witness these stories of leadership or moral character firsthand. I did, however, get to see how much my dad loved us. He never missed a moment to let us know that he loved us. I remember a fight my Dad and I had. It was about something trivial, but it had got heated pretty fast. We’re Korean; we can’t help it. But I remember how even when he was mad, he took the time and said, “I’m only getting mad at you because I love you.” I always regret fighting with my Dad as much as I did. To me, it happened too often. As it got closer to the end, I told him that I was sorry for all the fights we had, and that I wished that I could take them back. He laughed at me: one, because I was crying, and two he said, “If we didn’t fight about anything, it would mean that I didn’t care about you. The only reason I yell at you or scold you is because I don’t want you to get hurt. I love you, you know that.” I did know, and will never forget that he loved me.
Thank you was never missing from my dad’s vocabulary. He made sure he always thanked people for the things that they had done for him, even the smallest of things. Nurses, doctors, friends, and random people who would hold the door, everyone got a thank you from my dad. While talking with my dad one day, he told me why he told everyone he cared about thank you every day that he could. He said that he was afraid that he would never get the chance to say it again.
This past year, I found it difficult to say thank you to my dad, because it felt as if I was saying goodbye to him, and I wasn’t ready at the time. It was just so hard to think that he wasn’t going to be around forever, but it tore me up that I might not get a chance to let him know what I felt. When I finally got the courage to tell him, he looked at me and told me that I didn’t have to tell him how I felt; that he knew from my actions how I felt about him. Sometimes I don’t think he realized that we felt the same about him; that he didn’t have to say “thank you” or “I love you” every day. His actions, his love for all of us spoke volumes of words that cannot be dictated. Every hug was “Thank you.” Every kiss was “I love you.” Every wordless car ride was “I enjoy just being around you.”
My dad is an inspiration to me through his words, actions, and love. I strive to be the leader that he was, the brother that was always there, the friend that always stood up for the people he cared about, and that caring human being that didn’t judge any person without giving them a chance. But most of all, when I have kids, I want to be the dad he was to me.

Eulogy Draft #1

My dad passed away on the night of September 12, 2009. During his memorial, I came to realize what he had meant to me by listening to the remembrances that people close to him had prepared. Their stories cemented the lessons he taught me into my consciousness. He taught me how to lead by example but still respect others, how to stand up for what I believe, and to always be grateful for what we have. He inspired me to try to be the best human being I could be.
My dad loved sports. No matter what it was, he loved it. I know this because he was always there on the sidelines, cheering either my brother or me on, in any sport we did: Baseball, Basketball, Soccer, Swimming, Volleyball, even Bowling. Yes, Bowling is a sport. And while supporting us in whatever we decided to do, he taught us how to lead. Whether it was leading by taking charge of the team to get through a tough game, or by showing other teammates how to respect other people on the team, he taught us how to do it. But, what I didn’t know was where he learned how to lead. He was born with it. My uncle told us that he was always the quarterback, he was always the catcher, and he was always the point guard; that he was born with the confidence and strength to lead in these positions, but also had the cool, level head under pressure that these leadership positions required. But this leadership and respect flowed into the other aspects of his life: his job, his friends, and his family. He knew when to step up and grab the reins to guide people to success, but he also knew how to step back and let other people lead.
Listening to all the old stories, it seems that my dad had a reputation among his peers back in the day. He was big, strong, and never backed down. You wouldn’t want to get in a fight with him. But people told me that my dad didn’t pick fights just to pick fights; he fought only when people did something that went against his own morals. I remember one story that my auntie told me. My dad was on the basketball team at his high school and they were playing a game. Throughout the game, one of his friends was getting more heat than necessary from the other team because he was smaller than them. Fed up, my dad grabbed the other player and threw him to the floor, and just walked off the court, knowing that he would get ejected from the game anyway. I can guess my dad felt that if you’re going to pick on somebody, pick on somebody your own size. I won’t lie; when I heard that story, I was surprised and proud. I never knew my dad as hot-tempered. He was always calm, never raising his voice unless there was no other way to get us to listen. Well, while he didn’t exactly teach us how to fight, he did teach my brother and me how to stand up for ourselves and what we believe in. He taught us that fighting wasn’t the way to go about it, but to use other means to get our point across: our voice, our actions, and sometimes, you just have to walk away. You’re not giving in, but instead taking he better road.
Being an educator, my dad got to see all the roads of life. From the rich, all the way down to the people who were barely getting by. I’ve heard that he looked for people who didn’t have everything, or had trouble with something. In my auntie’s words, he had a special place in his heart for the square pegs that didn’t exactly fit into the round holes. He didn’t judge people based on their background or circumstance. Instead he gave them a chance to prove to him what they could do. His classroom always had an open door policy; students could come in and just talk to him about life.
But unfortunately, I wasn’t around to witness these stories of leadership or moral choice firsthand. I did, however, get to see how much my dad loved us. Thank you was never missing from my dad’s vocabulary. He made sure he always thanked people for the things that they had done for him, even if it was the smallest of things. Nurses, doctors, friends, and random people who would hold the door, everyone got a thank you from my dad. While talking with my dad one day, he told me why he told everyone he cared about thank you everyday that he could. He said that he was afraid that he would never get the chance to say it again. This past year, I found it difficult to say thank you to my dad, because it was as if I was saying goodbye to him, and I wasn’t ready at the time. It was just so hard to think that he wasn’t going to be around forever, but it tore me up that I might not get a chance to let him know what I felt. When I finally got the courage to tell him, he looked at me and told me that I didn’t have to tell him how I felt; that he knew from my actions how I felt about him. Sometimes I don’t think he realized that we felt the same about him. That he didn’t have to say “thank you” or “I love you” everyday. His actions, his love for all of us spoke volumes of words that cannot be dictated. Every hug was “Thank you.” Every kiss was “I love you.” Every wordless car ride was “I enjoy just being around you.”
My dad is an inspiration to me through his words, actions and love. I strive to be the leader that he was, the brother that was always there, the friend that always stood up for the people he cared about, and that caring human being that didn’t judge any person without giving them a chance. But most of all, when I have kids, I want to be the dad that he was to me.

Sick Quote

"God was sad with his happiness so he called me morning(mourning) so I could raise his sun(son)."

~ Queen Godis

I Have A Dream Analysis

The logical structure of the piece moves from the past, to the present, and into the future. Dr. King starts his speech very boldly with the line, “Five score years ago” (562), which should have reminded the audience of President Lincoln’s Gettysburg address. This first sentence already starts us off in the past, and also, by relating his own speech to one of such renown, Dr. King is saying his speech will also go down in history. He goes on to talk about the Emancipation Proclamation, which was the “great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice” (562). He admits that the proclamation was something that the slaves needed and praises it for what it had done in its own time.
But then he thrusts us one hundred years into the future to the present, and tells us the problems that we were facing. The many civil problems that were the reason he was giving this speech. He also repeats the phrase, “now is the time” many times in the paragraph with the bank metaphors. He is stating that they must focus on the present, not the past, to get to the future that they want to achieve.
And when he moves to the future, the famous line, “I have a dream” comes into play. He talks about the bright future that they all want, that people can live free together peacefully and dream together. In this section he gives us many sensory details about the future he sees.
The speech is directed mainly to the African-American audience. In the 5th paragraph he says, “for many of our white brothers…” (563). This shows that he is talking to the black audience, but acknowledges the presence of the white audience also. The purpose of the speech is to bring people from all backgrounds together and dream for one dream. He says about the white audience, “[they] have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny, and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone” (563). This passage shows that he is trying to bring the blacks and the whites together by telling them that their paths are intertwined whether they like it or not. They are all links in a chain, and if one link fails, the whole chain falls apart.
Dr. King uses allusion right away in his speech by alluding to the Gettysburg Address and the Emancipation Proclamation. These allusions show that he is relating his own cause to that of President Lincoln’s. The audience will inevitably compare the two causes and see the similarities. Repetition is also used a fair amount of time throughout the speech. He repeats the phrases “now is the time,” and “we can never be satisfied” and, of course, “I have a dream.” These repetitions cement these ideas into the audience’s mind.

Why is Speech Important?

The art of speaking aloud is a important ability and tool to have in our society. It allows to you be able to communicate fluently and articulately to masses of people and get your point across in a way that they can understand.
Formal speech and informal speech serve many different functions in our society. Formal speech is used to impress or to convey a point to many people in a fluid way that is rehearsed. The people who have the poise and skill to deliver a well-planed speech in front of an audience often impress. It shows that they are eloquent speakers. Informal speech is used between friends to convey different kinds of points. It is blunter, harsher than formal speech. There is no time to plan what you are going to say. You can filter some things, but not all.
The advantage of writing is that once something is written down, it can be saved. It no longer relies on being passed by word of mouth, but is something tangible. However, you cannot see, hear, or feel the true emotion of something when it is ink on paper. Spoken word shows the emotion through movements, tones, pauses and pacing. While people can guess what the author was feeling when they wrote the story, they can never really be sure without hearing it straight from the author.
If I were in an oral culture, I think I would pay attention more to what people say and how they say it. It’s not that I don’t pay attention to what they are saying, but when to can have something written down in front of you to read later, it is almost as if the speech doesn’t mean as much. People in oral cultures cherish the stories that are passed down through the generations. I think our culture can learn from those types of cultures and learn to appreciate what good speakers are saying.
Speech is important because most people don’t learn how to speak publicly or eloquently. By teaching us the ways to speak and when to use proper and casual speech, we can be better orators and speech givers.

Rehab or Punishment?

Resolution: Rehabilitation ought to take precedence over punishment in the U.S. criminal justice system.
In order to be able to completely and fully take a stance on this resolution, you must know the definitions of the words that encompass the resolution: rehabilitation, precedence, punishment, and justice. The definition of rehabilitation is, “the restoration of someone to a useful place in society.” The overall goal of rehab is to get people to a place where they can be of use to society, so that they can take part in and perhaps further the society in which they have been restored to.
“To cause to suffer for crime or misconduct, to administer disciplinary action” is one definition of punishment. This is the definition that we all associate to the word, punishment. But another one is “to dumb down severely or to the point of uselessness or near-uselessness.” Punishment causes people to feel dumb and useless, emotions which, if left to brood in a person, can easily turn to anger and hate. These feeling of hate and anger are then turned outwards, towards those that inflicted the punishment, which often is society. Punishment causes people to turn against their society, rather than help them ease back in and be of help to the society.
So why should something that can cause anger and hate take precedence, or priority, over something that is meant to make people feel good about themselves, and feel useful again? Justice? Lady justice may be portrayed as blind, but she is not blind to everything. Justice is derived from the word “just” which is defined as “fair to all parties as dictated by reason and conscience.” To be just, is to be fair to all parties, even those that committed the crime. Justice cannot be blind to the help that they may need. Their crimes are cries for help.

So Long

Been so long out of love,
forget how to begin it.
Been so long out of love,
forget how to begin it.
Pretty lady won’t give no chance,
I must be a miscreant.

Been so long out of love,
forget how to be in it.
Been so long out of love,
forget how to be in it.
Pretty lady caught me with a woman,
it’s a shame, ain’t it?

Been so long out of love,
forgot what it’s like to lose it.
Been so long out of love,
forgot what it’s like to lose it.
Pretty lady gave me a kiss and left,
gave me some money, I ain’t used it.

Been so long out of love,
still can’t forget what it felt like.

Hospital

The hospital: a place where opposites exist on parallel floors; where a newborn is being given to her mother, taking her first breaths of bleach stained air, yet two floors up somebody's father is lying in a bed, straining to breathe. I have visited there many times in the past year, so memories still linger in me just as its antiseptic smell pervaded my clothing. The halls are labyrinthine: twisting and turning, corridors that lead nowhere, with doors that transport to a completely different, alien place. They are lined with confusing signs and arrows, each pointing in the same direction yet guiding you to different places, pressing you in a direction where you don't want to go, as if the very hospital doesn't want you ending up at your real destination because it knows that you won't like what you see.
But as you trek on, staggering through the never-ending maze, you eventually find the elevators. These massive metal movers transport you to the floors above, where the halls are quiet and still, their white walls muffling whimpers and cries, whether of happiness or sorrow. And the nurses: they look at you with smiles on their faces, yet their eyes reveal the pity they have for you.
And as you walk past the rooms, the sights inside surprise you. Some are filled with people laughing, trying to keep happy faces on for their loved ones, cheering them on and wishing them speedy recoveries. But some are empty, only occupied by the patient, quiet and calm, yet terribly lonely.
As you keep walking, the door comes closer and closer, urging you to open it, yet warning you to stay out. Its cold handle mirrors the feeling in your soul, one of dread and fear, not knowing what will be on the other side. Slowly you open it, and everything turns white; not because of a bright light, but because of the curtain: yet another barrier, telling you to turn back.
Finally, you draw back the drapes and you see what you've been imagining on this long journey through the labyrinth of halls, past the gazes of pity, and through the barriers of fear: happiness. He is lying there with a smile on his face, even though you know he's in pain. The family that surrounds him is comforting, not pitiful. As you look at him, a smile springs to his face, happy that you're there, and you think maybe, just maybe, that trek from the car to the hospital room wasn't as bad as you thought.