Good morning. I’m Alicia – Ted’s eldest daughter. When I Googled how to do this, that was the first thing I was told to do. I was also told to keep this to three minutes. But I am my father’s daughter so…

I’d like to read you a poem that my father wrote for me. It was published in 1970 in his first book of poetry, Breaking Through The Windows To Breathe, also the name of the poem on the back of your bulletin.

There are a lot of ways that you could describe my father. You can describe him by what he was: He was a family man. He was a teacher. He was a writer. He was an athlete. He was a gardener. You can also describe him by who he was: Honest. Compassionate. Devoted. Kind.

In 1975, before Kramer vs. Kramer even hit theatres, my mother and father divorced. Dad got custody of me and my sister and in small-town Pennsylvania, this was revolutionary. That summer, whilst vacationing at my grandparents’ house in New Hampshire, my father took my sister and I to see the re-release of Bambi. For those of you familiar with that film, it doesn’t end well for Bambi’s mom and my poor father had two very upset young girls on his hands. From that, and I know that Ashley will remember this, the tales of the Tall Princess and the Small Princess were born.

Even my earliest memories of my father are of my father the storyteller.

My grandmother was very proud of her eldest son and one of the things she would repeatedly boast about was my father’s ability to reduce a person to nothing with mere words. And with a twinkle in her eye, she was extra proud because he could do it without profanity. My father was, indeed, a wordsmith.

Some of you may have had the pleasure of knowing my father through the theatre. Perhaps he directed you. Perhaps you shared the stage. Perhaps he wrote a play you performed in. Even after his career path changed, he remained passionate about the theatrical arts. By the way, if you are a director, an actor or a writer, guess what you are? You’re a storyteller.

After my father passed, several people shared remembrances on social media. The word that was used repeatedly was storyteller. I’ve even heard it over the past couple of days. We’ve all heard one of my father’s stories. Some have heard some of my father’s stories several times.

Every year on my birthday, I would receive a call from my father. Those of you who know me, know that I hate talking on the phone. When he called this year, I knew it would be the last time he’d call to wish me a happy birthday. There is a story that he would tell me, almost without fail. I would repeat it now but I don’t think I could without falling apart. Even after hearing the story countless times, this time he shared a detail with me that I’d never heard. That while he was waiting for me to be born that he read The Great Gatsby twice. I’ve never read it once. I will add that to my to do list. But I digress…

My father did not live an easy life. But he lived a full life. He loved deeply. He cared beyond measure. And he led by example.

My father wrote in his poem:

And I wonder if, sometimes,

My lines will hold

Reflections for her.

Well, Dad, they do.