That's the deal I have with M. I won't tell her family and she won't tell mine. Let them find out a few months later if ever. No one needs to fly around and go to funerals. But no. My family can't behave like that.

Rob's dead. Older brother. There is no way in hell he would travel to my funeral and I wouldn't ask him to. He was a very happy non-traveling semi-shut in. He was the ceremonial mayor of his tourist town. He played the fiddle in the fancy restaurant just for fun. He organized the fox hunts for the ham radio club. He was in charge of the Franklin institute radio room. When he went blind he built his own electronic braille display. Rob was the ultimate Renaissance man. He could use it any tool in existence. He could rip apart an engine and rebuild the carburetor just for fun. He played any instrument you could name. Drums, piano, guitar, violin, flute, piccolo, saxophone, you get the idea. He was also an incredible system 3x/ AS400 programmer.

He was tough. A manly man. When I lept off his front porch and broke my ankle and screamed and cried he lectured me to get my ass in motion and man up. F*** you Rob. I broke my f****** ankle. He was a manly man. He walked like an ape. He was a knuckle dragger. And he lived up to his morals. Yes he was moralistic. But he lived it.

My sister used to say we were raised by wolves. Not me. I was raised by Rob.

Ok, That's his obit. Goodbye Rob.

Ham radio clubs volunteer to be emergency communications and backbone of search and rescue teams in the event of natural disasters and when planes go down. Fox hunts are practice for this.

https://tamiamiarc.org/what-is-a-fox-hunt/

This was Rob's website. It's almost as old as the internet. And it shows. I wonder how long until it disappears.

http://www.learnmorsecode.com/

My dad, Rob ..., passed away this week. He
never wanted to be a dad, but he stuck around and
did his best anyway.

He taught me how to play softball, how to play the
piano, how to do algebra, how to build an electric
motor, how to solder, how to snowboard, how to
code, how to drywall and spackle, how to change a
tire, how to jump a car, how to replace a carburetor...
his love language was sharing knowledge and he
taught me so much. His determination taught me that
I can do anything when armed with enough
knowledge.

He was a genius who didn't play well with
others, and his discerning standards taught me that I
was allowed to set boundaries before it was cool.

He was generous to a fault with complete strangers
and taught me how to tip the waitstaff properly.
When he took the El to center city everyday, he built
stops to feed homeless people into his routine. When
he took the bus every Wednesday to Allentown, he
bought food and bus tickets for people he didn't
know. When The Cafe was open, he once gave Rich a
wad of cash to pay his electric bill. He loved to
mentor Ham Radio kids and sent books and
equipment to anyone and everyone that showed
interest. He gave away almost as many musical
instruments as he collected.

The brand new snowboard in the basement tells me
that he wasn't ready to go... and I'll be seeing him in
all the familiar places that this heart of mine
embraces all day through... like the small trail at Big
Boulder that they named after him.

----------
My follow-up. Big boulder also named a bench after him. In the hall in front of some lockers. One day someone was being an a******, a young punk annoying people. Rob told him to go away. So he's sarcastically asked: what, you think this is your bench?

Rob smiled and pointed to the plaque with his name on it. And sent him away.