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Using his words, Dad would be "so tickled" to see all of you here, in celebration of his life today.
As you all know, Dad was a sweet and gentle soul. He was kind and extremely affectionate. He loved music, dancing, singing and watching live performances. He was a passionate man, with a free and loving spirit. Passionate about his family, people, politics, and business. Occasionally, his passion would slip over into anger... liiiiike that time when I broke the fourth TV remote in a row, or that other time when I poured water directly into the back of the television. Oops. In 1983, Dad's passion led him to open his own used car business and he operated it for 25 years. The connotation, when you hear the term "used car salesman", is not typically a good one. I always used to tell people that Dad was a used car salesman, but not the stereotypical kind. He was a used car salesman with a big heart. He loved cars and selling cars, but more than anything, he loved to help people. He always gave people breaks, and had the softest spot for those who were struggling in some way. He often sat with potential or current customers, listening to their stories of financial hardship, job problems, illness, and family strife. He had a heart for those who were hurting. And so, he sold discounted cars to people who needed them, and he very rarely repossessed a car. Our basement, growing up as kids, was a testament to this. It was treasure mine of random items that Dad had collected as "collateral." If someone couldn't make a payment, Dad would keep the collateral in exchange. So we ended up with trombones, other old rusty instruments, jewelry, record players, stereos, old video games, etc. It was always so fun to see, "hey! what's in the basement this week??" In essence, Dad collected other people's stuff, so that they could keep their car when the cash came up short. That's just the kind of man he was. He always cared, always trusted, always wanted people to get ahead, always tried hard to give people the benefit of the doubt.
It was a simple, modest living, but Dad's work was rich. I have learned so much about real, unconditional, nonjudgmental love, by watching him.
Dad made friends easily, and he always made our friends feel like family. He greeted people with a warm smile and a great hug. All were welcome, anytime, any place. Growing up, and even now, our friends didn't call him Mr. Quinones. They called him Papa Q.
Dad had a special way with words. He had sayings that were very specific to him. He said funny things like, "I need to put on my sweat-out suit" instead of "sweat suit" or "It doesn't mean zelch", combining "zero" and "zilch". "You eat with your eyes," was something he said, instead of "your eyes are bigger than your stomach." "To beat the band" was also one of his go-to phrases. He used that one in every situation possible. I'm not even really sure what it means. I think it means a lot of something, or very much? He'd say things like "This Chinese food is terrific, to beat the band!" or "There was traffic, to beat the band." He tended to make up words and phrases, and we loved this about him. It always made us laugh. He was quite the philosopher, too, and gave us many words of wisdom to live by. He always encouraged us to live life to the fullest, and to follow our hearts. One memorable quote from Dad was "Good friends are like cushions of comfort." I had no idea how true that would be. Even after his surgeries when his speech and functioning were compromised, in his better moments, he still had words of wisdom for us. Some of my favorite post-surgery gems were, "Life is life," "You can't worry your life away," "Change your job, change your act, change your heart," "Time is precious," and "Spirit is a universal language."
Dad was a hard worker. He worked hard, long hours to support his family, and to provide for our needs. In the last few years of his life, he expressed remorse that he worked so much and wasn't physically there more often for Mom and for us... that he didn't help out more with raising us, or spend more time with us growing up. It hurt so much to see how this pained him... but more than that, it was amazing to see yet another layer of his character revealed. One that could see and recognize his human imperfections, and be vulnerable in that difficult space, and to say "I'm sorry." I will never forget those beautiful moments. I told him, "It's okay, Dad. You took care of us. You always did the best you knew how to do for us. And we always knew how much you loved us."
It's difficult to find the words to describe how much we will miss him. But his great passion for life, his great love for family, his heart for the less fortunate, and the beauty of light that he spread to all who knew him, will always live in us. He'll be the sparkle in our eyes, when we see each other. The strength in our arms, when we reach out to hug a friend or to lift someone up from the ground. He'll be the tenor in our voice when we sing and laugh, and the pep in our step when we dance.
We love you, Dad... to beat the band. And we take comfort in the knowledge that you are finally home.
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