By Jean Griffith

We've come today to celebrate the life of Tom Kerns whom we all love.  At the same time we celebrate his life, we also mourn his passing, though we realize he was ready to go.  Five of us are his children, and—if I counted right—20 grandchildren and 22 great grandchildren.  The overwhelming majority of us lives and works within reasonable walking distance of this spot where we now stand.  And it's been a comfort to those few of us who are renegades—we moved away—that Dad had so many kids and grandkids for company throughout the years.

It was almost 60 years ago (58 to be precise) that Dad and Mom chose this valley in which they set their roots.  They came here from western Oregon with two kids and not many possessions to settle on an 80-acre farm they'd bought sight-unseen.  (Dad chose it based on soil maps he'd studied).

We will miss Dad's indomitable spirit.  Throughout the hard years he never let the trials of life get him down.  And during the good years he and Mother worked hard to reach goals they set.

In recent years, whenever we'd talk Dad would always say, "I'm just a has-been.  I has been a better man."  And though he could no longer be physically active, Dad never lost his interest in everything that was going on.  He enjoyed this beautiful world and recently said that he truly believed there had to be a creator.  This world could not have been made by chance.  He often expressed how blessed he was to have such a fine family.  And, though basically house-bound in recent years, he knew what was going on out in the world and wanted "to see what would happen," how things would turn out.

Dad's memory has been (for almost as long as I can recall) "selective."  That is, he only remembered the good stuff.  He wasn't always like that.  When I was in high school Dad embraced the positive thinking concept laid out by the Rev. Norman Vincent Peale.  I believe Dad made a conscious decision to realign his way of looking at life—and then he did it.  I'm convinced this is why Tom Kerns lived to the age of 86.  He chose to erase unpleasant experiences from his memory bank; he let them go.

Dad loved his family.  He treated all people with courtesy and respect, and he loved the land.  He encouraged each of us kids and grandkids to reach for our own dream.  He was unfailingly generous, and had no desire for fancy stuff for his own pleasure.

Dad wasn't perfect.  None of us are—with the single exception of our Lord Jesus—but he was about the best dad any of us could have.  We'll miss him.

We'll miss his puns.  Once we were discussing a health problem I had.  He said, "Jean, you inherited some bad genes."

We'll miss the games he always invited us to play with him.  Chess, Scrabble, card games, he enjoyed them all.  He had such fun teaching all of us to play, and never, ever played to trounce his opponent.  Rather he would slyly offer some hint to help even the odds of the game.  And when someone got so good they could beat him—that really pleased him.

We’ll miss his off-key singing.  He was really skilled at mutilating a good tune.

We'll miss the way he quoted the timeless words of others.  He could take the Gettysburg Address, the words of Shakespeare, and the poetry of Longfellow and weave them into what appeared to be one quotation.  It was truly amazing.

We'll also miss his teasing and rather tall tales with which he took us all in at one time or another.  He told all of us that his education ended with the second grade at Gay Creek near the Wyoming ranch on which he was raised.  When his two eldest grandsons went to Oregon State and chose to major in agricultural engineering they were surprised—no make that dumbfounded—when Granddad said that he had graduated with that same major.

Dad taught us to:

1. Love others.
2. See/remember only the good stuff and not hang onto memories of wrong or let corrosive anger occupy our minds.
3. Be generous and giving.