One of my favorite memories of Randy was actually a repeated occurrence. I would come over to the house after school to hang out with marisa and the series of events went like this:

I’d let myself into the house (ofcourse) and typically bark out a shrill “hellOOOOoo” (ofcourse). Then I’d wander around the kitchen before eventually making my way upstairs to Marisas room. And somewhere between the kitchen and the piano/living room, I’d cross the gym. And there Randy would be, either topless or wearing a sweaty tank top and the tiniest pair of shorts you ever did see on a dad, pumping some IRON. Sometimes I would say “Hello!!” and he wouldnt hear me so I’d scurry off. However, on some lucky occasions, he’d see me and howl out a “HEY HONEY! HOW ARE YA?” with his larger than life barrel voice. A voice that one only acquires after years of asking yourself “why is everyone whispering?”. I suspect years and years of being a seasoned diver were also a contributing factor, but I digress.

In those moments, it was as if Randy and I had this wonderful unspoken understanding and shared experience; While I’ve never once put an oxygen mask on my face and couldnt tell you one basic principle of diving, I too often wondered “why is everyone whispering?” 

Our exchange was predictable after that, “im great! how are you?” etc. but it never ever failed to make me laugh and smile. Much like his voice and tiny shorts, his presence and candor was joyfully startling, gregarious and always made you laugh and smile.

It was one of our fun adult weekends in Clare.  We were all out on the lake, having a wonderful time with several of our friends.  I remember Jack & Lynn, Teri & Greg, Amy & Paul, Diane and I floating and having cocktails.  We floated up to the Ski Lodge and your dad came walking down the path with a tray full of mudslides, a cigar in his mouth and that grin of his that I’ll always remember.  I don’t remember much after that because that is what happened after a couple of randy mudslides.

Been thinking about what story to tell for a while now and I’m definitely overwhelmed by choices. At first, I was thinking about how he used to slam his car full of us cousins and hit up every drive-thru on Claire Ave, or when we were in the caymans and I had a ton of trouble with my ears all week. He lied to my mom’s face and took me to the wall the same day as my flight home. Going over the coral head with him toward a huge open ocean, watching him grab a lobster with his hands, or him pointing at his watch for me to check my gages and setting me up to notice that we were right at 100′ of depth are all vivid memories that I hope to never lose. He really went above and beyond for us all the time. It’s the only way he knew how to do it. 

The story that sticks with me most though is when Mikey and I wanted to play paintball and no one else was really into it. Except for your dad. He set up guns as quickly as he could and told us the rules of the game. It was 2 v 1. He would start by the asparagus patch and we would start on the slope between your barn and the lake. I was excited when we started. I never saw him for a second but was instantly pinned down behind a narrow tree. He was absolutely pelting this thing and it wasn’t much wider than me. I got rattled and threw my gun off to the side thinking he would realize I was giving up but he also wasn’t ever really one for subtlety. I got really upset and might have even shed a tear or two. Your brother was only a couple of trees away and helped me get my shit together and finish the game but I’ll never forget feeling so stuck behind that tree with paintballs whizzing by and realizing at some point he wasn’t gonna take it easy on me. It was on me to get my shit together and try to cover your brother. I’m sure he mopped the floor with us and I got shot right after composing myself but I think about being behind that tree a lot. 

There’s no substitute for that experience and that lesson and that’s what your dad was all about. Those once-in-a-lifetime moments just seemed to follow him around and I’m so thankful that I got to put up with him. 

First of all, I always remember him smiling. Full red cheeks and a wide smile, always in host mode. Most notably I remember the way he would sneak off to the garage with me and the football guys to take a breath from the party and talk cigars and whiskey- and he made me feel COOL. Like one of “the guys” when I didn’t often get a chance to feel that way in high school. He was also really direct when he told me how much he believed in me and how much he loved watching us on stage. It always made what we were doing feel important whenever it felt frustrating, monotonous, or just plain BAD (LOL). So many magnetic qualities that definitely stick with me from even over a decade ago.

Coyote season 2014, I almost think that jacked your dad up more than deer season. He had this thing about killing coyotes… I swear, this guy would rather shoot a giant coyote than a buck. Dammit, he was not going to let any coyotes get to his deer if he could help it. I think it was the second year, he got these huge tracks for the Polaris Ranger.  It was like he thought “we’re not messing around this year.” I can still hear him say, “Don’t mix up activity with results.” We were all on radios and he would come pick us up… I think he enjoyed driving around & checking on everybody even more than hunting. He picked me up and we were bombing through the field of snow behind the Ferrantino’s house. Your dad leaning over the steering wheel, smiling but so serious, and I grasping onto the handlebar. I loved riding in the Polaris with him bombing through those snow drifts. With him, everything was always bigger and better than ever. I had so many firstI didn’t realize it at the time. But those were the best times.