Clyde L. Tyler b. May 6, 1932 – d. March 25, 2012
I’m Bob Tyler, Clyde and Bert’s middle child and only son.
Dad was a son to two,
He was a brother to four,
A husband to one,
The father of three,
He was grandfather to four,
And he was a friend to many.
Some of the words I use to describe my father include:
Family Oriented. That is, he was always focused on the family. He had laser focus. That focus was all inclusive. No individual or part of an individual family member was excluded.
Available. He was there when needed.
Candid. Don’t ask him if you didn’t want to know.
Stoic. Or quiet if you prefer.
Strong. Like an Ox, both emotionally and physically.
Detail oriented. He told a good story, when he wasn’t being stoic .
Educated. He read anything and everything he could get his hands on. Just a couple of months ago, a while after he had lost the ability to follow a long story and had gone to reading piles of magazines only, I read a book I really liked and was telling him about it. A week or so later, I found a copy of that book at their house. He read it the year it came out.
Competitive. Very competitive. More specifically, he was competitive when playing games. He was not competitive with life, never getting caught up in trying to collect the most, biggest, or newest.
Willing and able. Always willing and always able.
It may sound like I’m trying to make him into a perfect man. He wasn’t perfect and he knew very well that he needed the Grace afforded him by his faith. He told me many times that we were all saved by Grace alone.
I remember many examples that illustrate these traits of Dad’s, but I’ll share one example in particular that is, obviously, special to me.
One Thanksgiving, 27 or 28 years ago, I decided it was time to come out as a gay man to my parents. I had already done this obviously with myself, and also, with my sisters, so I made damn sure that they would be home as well for this little announcement. I sat the whole family down in the living room after dinner and gave them “the talk”. Consider yourself lucky that I’ll spare you the details of this conversation, and, to be honest, I don’t remember Dad saying much during the telling of it anyway.
What I do remember is a conversation he and I had later, in the theoretical safety of the garage, where we could talk about cars or tools or snowmobiles, if needed. He was crying, which was pretty much unheard of, and he told me that the thing he was sad about was that I would have such a difficult life. He knew there were people that would try to make my life something less than the wonderful adventure he thought it should be for all of his children.
To me, that was always an absolutely shining example of Dad’s quiet, but fierce value system. He was an iron-clad supporter of his wife, children, and grandchildren. His focus was on his family…laser focus.
Obviously, I’ll miss Dad, as will the rest of my family. We’ll miss him tremendously at times when we gather as a family for holidays, conversation or simply a meal. I thank God –as well as my parents, my sisters, and each of our spouses—that we all ended up within 35 minutes of each other and have had 15 years or so together, continuing to learn and share with each other.
Now that Dad has done his job, it’s time for us to pass it forward, and continue with our own laser focus.
Thank you.
