Allow me, if you please a moment and the opportunity to eulogize our father Emile Mahfood.
I have only eulogized once before, that being the death of my young nephew Joshua, my fathers loving grandson. It seemed appropriate, at that time, to speak of longing and mourning, to speak of love nurtured and lost, and somehow try to make reason of that death. Now as I speak of my father, none of that seems appropriate or important. My father lived and loved for 80 years. Eighty years is a good long life and the fruit and the love of that labor can be seen here today. His nickname was Milo, given that moniker by my mother's oldest brother Carl. No one seems to remember why he was so named but it stood for some 60 years or so. He was born in September or October of 1922 and he died December 21, 2002. He was born in Kingston, Jamaica to Lebanese immigrants, came of age there and then went to the United States, in 1943, to marry our mother. Life in Jamaica, apparently, was very hard for my father. He told us so and we, of course, eagerly believed every word. When he did apprise my brothers and sisters of the Jamaica experience… he did so in measured doses, kind of like this:
· When my brother and sisters would complain of waiting for the school bus by standing outside our front door he would tell us of walking three miles a day, to his one room school house on the island.
· When we would tell him of the misery we suffered by waiting in the heat for the bus, to take us home at the end of the day, he would tell us about walking those three miles a day each way to his one room school house. He was on a roll.
· When we groused and further complained about anything associated with school he would tell us of walking those same three miles, each way, uphill both ways, in the snow, in Jamaica. Only world geography in the 7th grade would free the four of us from that particular piece of guilt.

In his life he had been a peddler, a haberdasher, a banker, and an auto industry manager. He was, during his life, an owner of a gas station, a TV repair shop, a record shop, then many record shops, an arts and craft business and later in life a shoe factory. He was a man of many talents and a master of many talents, always in the pursuit of providing a living, always self-taught. He had work ethics, he had social ethics, he had honor. He was a loyal man, a good friend, and "hail-fellow-well-met" Perhaps you didn't know but he was mild of manner, mild of anger, and soft of heart. He called it the Mahfood Horaney curse-the fact at he was disposed to shedding tears easily. It bothered him all his life, perhaps he thought it was weak. I never saw weakness, I always saw a man that was kind, gentle, and caring and lead with his heart.
I want to tell you of things about my father that, things you might never have known. I decided the best way to tell you all about him was to speak like he did. Not in Arabic, not in English, with a Jamaican accent, but with expressions and old sayings that once pondered, served as lessons to me. Every father prides himself on what they pass on to their children and Milo was no exception. He saw himself as our earliest and foremost teacher. There were years I didn't listen and learn, and there were years I wouldn't listen and learn.
Fortunately for me there were years that I did listen and I did learn.

· Our father was both an inventor and a peddler by nature-from his Presto hot dog cooker to light bulbs with a lifetime warranty .
· · Our father was an early pioneer of desktop computing, as early as 1976 he built, programmed and used a PC.
· · He was an informal engineer able to construct vast wooden structures that would assemble perfectly and with out nails or screws.
· · He was an entrepreneur. He had routes, routes selling 45 PRM records, routes selling stuffed animals like the red Arkansas Razorback Hog with a AM radio in their nose. He used to tell me to find just one item and sell it to Sears. Instant success!
· He as a free thinker.
· This club, the game of poker and Johnny Johnson made his top ten list
· He was a self-taught very intelligent man.
· He was a lover of peace & and my mothers only love

One of my earliest recollections of his influence and direction was at 7 years old. I do not remember the exact circumstances that lead to this but apparently I perceived that my life was in the gutter and any further attempts to live at home were futile and I ran away.
I packed my little suitcase and stopped by the kitchen because I knew my mother was frying chicken and a man on the road needs to eat. Playing the roll perfectly she wrapped up a piece or two of chicken, wished me the best, and I was on the road.
One block away from home I looked around and there was Milo, a half a block behind me. With some measure of indigence, I asked, "why are you following me?" He told me that if things were this bad at home he didn't want to be there either so we were going to run away together. The longer we walked the more we talked. What he said, and perhaps not in these words, but with his actions, he was telling me was that my problems were his problems and together we could handle them. By the simple absurdity of a seven year old and a 40 year old running away together he was also telling me you couldn't run away from your problems either. That began a fifty-year run of the Milo and Michael show. Everybody knows that this day will come, that we will come to face squarely the death of a parent, life and death being the inevitable sequence that it is. Perhaps we can find meaning in this thought from Helen Keller:
"What we have once enjoyed
we can never lose.
All that we love deeply
becomes a part of us."

I told you that I wanted to speak to you like my father would have. Let me share a few colloquialisms that seemed to flow effortlessly from his lips to our ears. Sayings and expressions that once pondered were to have meaning to all five us for all our lives
What we obtain too cheaply, we esteem too lightly
Borrowed from John Ruston and perhaps told to him by his father, I think he was saying that nothing is obtained without effort, nothing with a worth or value comes free, and the very best things in life…. family and love must never be taken for granted.
Every jitney thinks her jonquil white
A jonquil is an ugly black bird indigenous to the West Indies. Ugly to all expect it's mother. His meaning was loud and clear. As parents we love our children unconditionally.
Dog has money-buy cheese
This was his way of commenting on the way money changes peoples values.
Swapping a black dog for a monkey
Yet another commentary but his way of asking us "did you improve your life with that decision?"
We believe Milo died a very happy man. He had a life long enough to spend with my mother and fall in love…a life long enough to see his five children grown and established with their own families…a life long enough to meet and love all of his 16 grandchildren and a life long enough to know of his six great grandchildren. By all standards my father lived a good life.
He died in peacefully surrounded, over those hours, by all of his children, all save one of his grandchildren and two of his of his great-grandchildren. During that time hundreds of prayers, and later condolences, poured in from all parts of the world via the Internet. He was, as we all were, protected from reality, for those few precious hours by the place known as Home Place. Our family wishes to thank Hospice of East Texas for giving us, and those who came to be with him at his last moments, the incredible gift of life for his last five days. And because it is the right thing to do, I want to stress our family's wishes that you consider a donation in Milo's name to Hospice in lieu of other memorials or flowers.
Suzann and I, on behalf of my mother, brothers and sisters want to thank to Monsignor Joseph Strickland, my pastor and friend and to Reverend Randy Potter, David's pastor and friend for their prayers thoughts and words today. Our appreciation goes to Ross and Renee French for the music and the gift of their talent and to Peggye Mahfood, Teresa Shick and Emily Smith. It is their gift of love and their knack for organization that you see around you today.
Earlier this year our family met and was befriended by a really good man. This follower of the Hippocratic oath took it upon himself to understand my father and his health, to be personally involved in his almost day-to-day care and in the end guided us to help our father die with compassion and dignity. From the moment his met Milo, earlier this year, to final kiss he bestowed on my fathers forehead at Hospice, Dr. Royal Becker showed compassion and uncommon love for his fellow man. Royal, thank you and always remember that "Healing the sick doesn't" doesn't always mean making someone well.
To Dr. Terry Woodard, my friend, who attended my father in SICU -to Valinda Smith, Veronika, Dave, and Mary his critical care team at Mother Frances, who lovingly treated my father, above and beyond the call of duty. Words cannot express…. thank you all.
Throughout our life my mother's brother Dr. Mitchell Rasak, of Detroit, Michigan has cared for our family. My uncle rests little during a family medical crisis, always ready with information and guidance and diagnosis. To the most caring of men, we say thank you and we thank God for you.
And thank you all for your love, for your support, and for your prayers. God bless you all, God bless our father and God Bless America.
Sincerely and with the deepest of respect, I remain,

Yours Truly
Michael Mahfood
A Son Of Emile Mahfood