(cremation) Son of Basil and Vera Walker Morrow. One of three children. He is preceded in death by his parents,Basil & Vera, grandparents,Jess and Grace Morrow, sister Vickie Jordan.He is survived by his wife,Jennifer and four children..Eulogy for Gary W. Morrow
I want to take a moment and thank those of you who sent flowers and cards and the food, all the food! You have been so generous. My Mother’s co-workers really have gone above and beyond and from the bottom of my heart, I just thank you for loving my Mom so much. Believe me, she has been through a lot through the last 3 months of my Father’s life. Her friends and family from all over helped to keep her going. And to the ones who came so far to be with us to celebrate this man’s life, I thank you; for as my Dad would say, suiting up and showing up, even if you just sit on the bench, shows your team support. I thank you all for your support.
My Dad, Gary Wayne Morrow was borne on January 1, 1950, to Vera and Basil Morrow. He would later end up meeting skinny Jeni Mckinney at Nordhoff High School in Ojai, California. On December 1, 1968, Jeni and Gary were married and began a family consisting of myself, my brother, Matthew, my middle sister, Melissa, and my youngest sister, Elizabeth.
In his earlier lifetime, my Dad played ironman football and only needed one reconstructive knee surgery. He also played baseball, coached basketball and was the all- around Big Man on Campus. He wasn’t just a pretty face though. He read encyclopedias (it was before the internet), and he was invited to join MENSA, which he declined.
Fun fact, my Dad could peel an apple or an orange for us in one perfectly beautiful turning strip with his trusty pocketknife. I’m sure it was the same pocket- knife he used to clean his fingernails, though I’m pretty sure he wiped it off first. He could also blow a succession of magic smoke circles from a pipe or cigar that if I hurried, I could wear as magic rings until they floated away and disappeared.
My Dad could spot a California Condor flying way up in the sky. He could take a rough sketch of a house drawn on a gum wrapper and skillfully build you a beautiful house to spec and code.
He could explain just about anything in a kind and loving way. He would offer a suggestion of a different way to do something instead of yelling, “You’re doing it wrong!”
He was almost an Eagle Scout and he was scary good at Jeopardy.
He once said in typical Dad joke form to my Uncle, as they were driving along somewhere in a truck or some such vehicle, as a big, juicy bug slammed into the windshield, “He’ll never have the guts to do that again!”
Where you ever greeted on the telephone when you called to “Himees’ pool hall, eight ball speaking”?
When Mat and I were much younger, my Dad would let us run through his framed houses picking up all the “quarters” we could find. I guess they come from the conduit boxes, but who cared, we were rich!
One thing my Dad would do is sing happy birthday so off key it had to be on purpose. Whatever he could do to get a rise out of Mom. One time when I was just a baby Dad picked up KFC for dinner. When he opened his meal it was just fine. Mom sat me in my highchair, went to open her meal only to scream at a plastic lizard Dad had put in there. He thought it was super funny; Mom, not so much.
My Dad loved mornings, a sentiment not shared by everyone at my house. He also thought it was important to acknowledge the human being in everyone. He would say hello to the drive through servers, the pharmacy techs, the baristas, and he would nod and smile to all, no matter what your were wearing, your color, if you were dirty from work or homelessness, but he was not a fan of piercings. Most people even knew his car. When he got were he could not drive anymore, as I did his errands, I would be asked “where’s Gary? How is he doing? Tell him we are praying for him.”
I asked my Mom if she had any special memories of Dad and she glanced down and said she would have to think about it. The more I wanted to press her, the more I realized my Mom’s memories of my Dad are private and will be kept in her heart.
One of his favorite verses was John 14:47, Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.
So, I thank you for listening to a glimpse of my Dad. If you did not know him, you really missed out. Goodbye for now Dad, I love you. West side, middle gate, see you in Heaven.
I want to take a moment and thank those of you who sent flowers and cards and the food, all the food! You have been so generous. My Mother’s co-workers really have gone above and beyond and from the bottom of my heart, I just thank you for loving my Mom so much. Believe me, she has been through a lot through the last 3 months of my Father’s life. Her friends and family from all over helped to keep her going. And to the ones who came so far to be with us to celebrate this man’s life, I thank you; for as my Dad would say, suiting up and showing up, even if you just sit on the bench, shows your team support. I thank you all for your support.
My Dad, Gary Wayne Morrow was borne on January 1, 1950, to Vera and Basil Morrow. He would later end up meeting skinny Jeni Mckinney at Nordhoff High School in Ojai, California. On December 1, 1968, Jeni and Gary were married and began a family consisting of myself, my brother, Matthew, my middle sister, Melissa, and my youngest sister, Elizabeth.
In his earlier lifetime, my Dad played ironman football and only needed one reconstructive knee surgery. He also played baseball, coached basketball and was the all- around Big Man on Campus. He wasn’t just a pretty face though. He read encyclopedias (it was before the internet), and he was invited to join MENSA, which he declined.
Fun fact, my Dad could peel an apple or an orange for us in one perfectly beautiful turning strip with his trusty pocketknife. I’m sure it was the same pocket- knife he used to clean his fingernails, though I’m pretty sure he wiped it off first. He could also blow a succession of magic smoke circles from a pipe or cigar that if I hurried, I could wear as magic rings until they floated away and disappeared.
My Dad could spot a California Condor flying way up in the sky. He could take a rough sketch of a house drawn on a gum wrapper and skillfully build you a beautiful house to spec and code.
He could explain just about anything in a kind and loving way. He would offer a suggestion of a different way to do something instead of yelling, “You’re doing it wrong!”
He was almost an Eagle Scout and he was scary good at Jeopardy.
He once said in typical Dad joke form to my Uncle, as they were driving along somewhere in a truck or some such vehicle, as a big, juicy bug slammed into the windshield, “He’ll never have the guts to do that again!”
Where you ever greeted on the telephone when you called to “Himees’ pool hall, eight ball speaking”?
When Mat and I were much younger, my Dad would let us run through his framed houses picking up all the “quarters” we could find. I guess they come from the conduit boxes, but who cared, we were rich!
One thing my Dad would do is sing happy birthday so off key it had to be on purpose. Whatever he could do to get a rise out of Mom. One time when I was just a baby Dad picked up KFC for dinner. When he opened his meal it was just fine. Mom sat me in my highchair, went to open her meal only to scream at a plastic lizard Dad had put in there. He thought it was super funny; Mom, not so much.
My Dad loved mornings, a sentiment not shared by everyone at my house. He also thought it was important to acknowledge the human being in everyone. He would say hello to the drive through servers, the pharmacy techs, the baristas, and he would nod and smile to all, no matter what your were wearing, your color, if you were dirty from work or homelessness, but he was not a fan of piercings. Most people even knew his car. When he got were he could not drive anymore, as I did his errands, I would be asked “where’s Gary? How is he doing? Tell him we are praying for him.”
I asked my Mom if she had any special memories of Dad and she glanced down and said she would have to think about it. The more I wanted to press her, the more I realized my Mom’s memories of my Dad are private and will be kept in her heart.
One of his favorite verses was John 14:47, Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.
So, I thank you for listening to a glimpse of my Dad. If you did not know him, you really missed out. Goodbye for now Dad, I love you. West side, middle gate, see you in Heaven.
(cremation) Son of Basil and Vera Walker Morrow. One of three children. He is preceded in death by his parents,Basil & Vera, grandparents,Jess and Grace Morrow, sister Vickie Jordan.He is survived by his wife,Jennifer and four children..Eulogy for Gary W. Morrow
I want to take a moment and thank those of you who sent flowers and cards and the food, all the food! You have been so generous. My Mother’s co-workers really have gone above and beyond and from the bottom of my heart, I just thank you for loving my Mom so much. Believe me, she has been through a lot through the last 3 months of my Father’s life. Her friends and family from all over helped to keep her going. And to the ones who came so far to be with us to celebrate this man’s life, I thank you; for as my Dad would say, suiting up and showing up, even if you just sit on the bench, shows your team support. I thank you all for your support.
My Dad, Gary Wayne Morrow was borne on January 1, 1950, to Vera and Basil Morrow. He would later end up meeting skinny Jeni Mckinney at Nordhoff High School in Ojai, California. On December 1, 1968, Jeni and Gary were married and began a family consisting of myself, my brother, Matthew, my middle sister, Melissa, and my youngest sister, Elizabeth.
In his earlier lifetime, my Dad played ironman football and only needed one reconstructive knee surgery. He also played baseball, coached basketball and was the all- around Big Man on Campus. He wasn’t just a pretty face though. He read encyclopedias (it was before the internet), and he was invited to join MENSA, which he declined.
Fun fact, my Dad could peel an apple or an orange for us in one perfectly beautiful turning strip with his trusty pocketknife. I’m sure it was the same pocket- knife he used to clean his fingernails, though I’m pretty sure he wiped it off first. He could also blow a succession of magic smoke circles from a pipe or cigar that if I hurried, I could wear as magic rings until they floated away and disappeared.
My Dad could spot a California Condor flying way up in the sky. He could take a rough sketch of a house drawn on a gum wrapper and skillfully build you a beautiful house to spec and code.
He could explain just about anything in a kind and loving way. He would offer a suggestion of a different way to do something instead of yelling, “You’re doing it wrong!”
He was almost an Eagle Scout and he was scary good at Jeopardy.
He once said in typical Dad joke form to my Uncle, as they were driving along somewhere in a truck or some such vehicle, as a big, juicy bug slammed into the windshield, “He’ll never have the guts to do that again!”
Where you ever greeted on the telephone when you called to “Himees’ pool hall, eight ball speaking”?
When Mat and I were much younger, my Dad would let us run through his framed houses picking up all the “quarters” we could find. I guess they come from the conduit boxes, but who cared, we were rich!
One thing my Dad would do is sing happy birthday so off key it had to be on purpose. Whatever he could do to get a rise out of Mom. One time when I was just a baby Dad picked up KFC for dinner. When he opened his meal it was just fine. Mom sat me in my highchair, went to open her meal only to scream at a plastic lizard Dad had put in there. He thought it was super funny; Mom, not so much.
My Dad loved mornings, a sentiment not shared by everyone at my house. He also thought it was important to acknowledge the human being in everyone. He would say hello to the drive through servers, the pharmacy techs, the baristas, and he would nod and smile to all, no matter what your were wearing, your color, if you were dirty from work or homelessness, but he was not a fan of piercings. Most people even knew his car. When he got were he could not drive anymore, as I did his errands, I would be asked “where’s Gary? How is he doing? Tell him we are praying for him.”
I asked my Mom if she had any special memories of Dad and she glanced down and said she would have to think about it. The more I wanted to press her, the more I realized my Mom’s memories of my Dad are private and will be kept in her heart.
One of his favorite verses was John 14:47, Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.
So, I thank you for listening to a glimpse of my Dad. If you did not know him, you really missed out. Goodbye for now Dad, I love you. West side, middle gate, see you in Heaven.
I want to take a moment and thank those of you who sent flowers and cards and the food, all the food! You have been so generous. My Mother’s co-workers really have gone above and beyond and from the bottom of my heart, I just thank you for loving my Mom so much. Believe me, she has been through a lot through the last 3 months of my Father’s life. Her friends and family from all over helped to keep her going. And to the ones who came so far to be with us to celebrate this man’s life, I thank you; for as my Dad would say, suiting up and showing up, even if you just sit on the bench, shows your team support. I thank you all for your support.
My Dad, Gary Wayne Morrow was borne on January 1, 1950, to Vera and Basil Morrow. He would later end up meeting skinny Jeni Mckinney at Nordhoff High School in Ojai, California. On December 1, 1968, Jeni and Gary were married and began a family consisting of myself, my brother, Matthew, my middle sister, Melissa, and my youngest sister, Elizabeth.
In his earlier lifetime, my Dad played ironman football and only needed one reconstructive knee surgery. He also played baseball, coached basketball and was the all- around Big Man on Campus. He wasn’t just a pretty face though. He read encyclopedias (it was before the internet), and he was invited to join MENSA, which he declined.
Fun fact, my Dad could peel an apple or an orange for us in one perfectly beautiful turning strip with his trusty pocketknife. I’m sure it was the same pocket- knife he used to clean his fingernails, though I’m pretty sure he wiped it off first. He could also blow a succession of magic smoke circles from a pipe or cigar that if I hurried, I could wear as magic rings until they floated away and disappeared.
My Dad could spot a California Condor flying way up in the sky. He could take a rough sketch of a house drawn on a gum wrapper and skillfully build you a beautiful house to spec and code.
He could explain just about anything in a kind and loving way. He would offer a suggestion of a different way to do something instead of yelling, “You’re doing it wrong!”
He was almost an Eagle Scout and he was scary good at Jeopardy.
He once said in typical Dad joke form to my Uncle, as they were driving along somewhere in a truck or some such vehicle, as a big, juicy bug slammed into the windshield, “He’ll never have the guts to do that again!”
Where you ever greeted on the telephone when you called to “Himees’ pool hall, eight ball speaking”?
When Mat and I were much younger, my Dad would let us run through his framed houses picking up all the “quarters” we could find. I guess they come from the conduit boxes, but who cared, we were rich!
One thing my Dad would do is sing happy birthday so off key it had to be on purpose. Whatever he could do to get a rise out of Mom. One time when I was just a baby Dad picked up KFC for dinner. When he opened his meal it was just fine. Mom sat me in my highchair, went to open her meal only to scream at a plastic lizard Dad had put in there. He thought it was super funny; Mom, not so much.
My Dad loved mornings, a sentiment not shared by everyone at my house. He also thought it was important to acknowledge the human being in everyone. He would say hello to the drive through servers, the pharmacy techs, the baristas, and he would nod and smile to all, no matter what your were wearing, your color, if you were dirty from work or homelessness, but he was not a fan of piercings. Most people even knew his car. When he got were he could not drive anymore, as I did his errands, I would be asked “where’s Gary? How is he doing? Tell him we are praying for him.”
I asked my Mom if she had any special memories of Dad and she glanced down and said she would have to think about it. The more I wanted to press her, the more I realized my Mom’s memories of my Dad are private and will be kept in her heart.
One of his favorite verses was John 14:47, Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.
So, I thank you for listening to a glimpse of my Dad. If you did not know him, you really missed out. Goodbye for now Dad, I love you. West side, middle gate, see you in Heaven.
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