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The quote goes something like this: “The mark of a man is how many show up at his funeral.” On behalf of my family, I greet you and thank you for being here today. Sometimes these kinds of tributes I am about to deliver become self-serving for the family. Well, this one is and I hope that you will bear with me.

Whether you called him Norman, Uncle Norman, Norm, Normy, “hot hands”, or dad, this kind of gathering of family and friends is the kind of thing he would enjoy. He never actually sought out being the center of attention, but when the attention came he reveled in it, no matter if it was friends or nephews and nieces heckling him, or grandchildren asking him to play with them.

When we were putting together ideas for my remarks today, we wanted to be respectful of dad’s wishes about how he should be portrayed. He was a wonderful man and his memory will be cherished, but what does a family say to a group of people who knew him in diverse situations. Perhaps dad’s greatest quality was his ability to meet people, like them and keep their friendship. My son, Eric, was always amazed at how quickly his grandpa could make an acquaintance and find some common ground to open a conversation with. He would sit down on a park bench and within a minute be engaged in a conversation with a total stranger.

Dad enjoyed his friendships. One of his pleasures was fall hunting with friends and his sons. He enjoyed the camaraderie and skill involved but wasn’t too excited about actually getting any birds because eating them was marginally enjoyable and cleaning them was at the bottom of his “to do” list. Being a part of a snowmobile group meant a lot to him because of the friendships the group shared for so many years of winter activity. As a family, we thank you for taking in that country boy and making him a part of your group. Dad seemed to have a natural grace in the winter on cross-country skis as well. He insisted that it was a result of having to ski to school every winter on skis that he made himself from barrel staves. No family member ever corroborated or disputed his assertions.

In his family, Norm was the youngest of 9 children. He did tell about his sisters, Signe and Edna, dressing him in doll clothes and using him as their live doll. If you wanted to make his hair stand up, all you had to do was call him the “baby”. His sister Edna would have liked to have been “the baby of the family,” so dad bestowed that honor on her and was happy to merely be “the youngest.”

Those of you who knew him very well know that dad had some quirks that made him funny, although that was not his intention. He really loved flying the single-engined primary and basic training planes during his early flight training, but chose to become multi-engine rated because he couldn’t swim. As far as he was concerned, fighter pilots spent entirely too much time over water. What makes this a remarkable story is that dad bought a succession of boats and actually enjoyed being on the water fishing or just running around. Our family experiences with boats were usually iffy though. We had a new cedar strip boat sink during the opening of fishing season trip and another sink at the dock when dad forgot to put in the drain plug. He backed his Buick too far off the boat ramp into Mille Lacs Lake and had to be towed out on another fishing trip.

Norman was also creative, from sawing off my canoe paddle handle to make a garage door stop, to mounting his oriole bird feeder on my brother’s hockey stick, to using bungee cord as a door closer, or the boomerang attached to the mailbox that falls down indicating when the mail carrier delivered the mail. He was working on an electric starter for lawnmowers and snow blowers that used a cordless drill as a power source.

My sister, Claire, sent this story of dad taking her aside when she was pregnant with her first child. “He put his arm around my shoulders and told me, ‘Sometimes people name their first child after a grandparent, but I am here to tell you..... Do not name that baby Norman!’ He said, “I don’t know how my parents could look down at me as a cute little baby and name me Norman.’ Well, fortunately, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, and I am sure both Adrienne and dad were glad we didn’t name her Norma Kedrick.”

My brother Ross said that he sees dad in his son Joshua. Dad taught Josh to bait a hook, shoot a basketball and grip a bat. Ross said that one of his favorite memories is waiting as a young boy for the front door to open in the evening. With delight in his eyes, dad would smile and kneel to catch three small bodies running down the hall yelling “daddy’s home, daddy’s home!”

When all three of us children moved away from home mom would write to us every week. Now we e-mail. Once in a while dad would pull “letter writing duty.” Without fail, for all these years, at the end of the letter he would always sign it “love Dad” and underneath it in parenthesis he would write “Norm A.” like we didn’t know who dad was.

Claire told me dad told her to be honest. He thought he could have made more money by being a bit dishonest, but he preferred to sleep well at night. We think he was a rich man with so many friends and family who cared for him.

Dad, Norm A., was sort of proud that I grew to be almost six feet tall. It was kind of like all his hard work had paid off in feeding me enough to grow me. I am a little shorter now because of the weight of all I know, but you parents understand what I am getting at. A while ago I was looking at dad’s military i.d. card. It said he was 5' 8" tall, but I doubt he ever was that big, but he wanted to be. Though not a big man physically, his heart was giant sized. It held all the love he ever needed for his family and friends, a few strangers and an assortment of pets. He was a nice man and as many of you have said — he was a gentle man. Thank you for taking time out of your lives to be here with us today.