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Health & Fitness

A Eulogy for My Dad: Louis Crisitello, 1949 - 2012

On the morning of Monday, September 17, 2012, my father, Louis Crisitello, was killed in an accident in Middletown. Read "Eulogy for Dad"

On the morning of Monday, September 17, 2012, my father, Louis Crisitello, was killed in a car accident. Below is the eulogy that I wrote and read at his memorial service to celebrate his life.  He will never be forgotten.  

Eulogy for Dad

I know it seems cliché’ to stand up here and tell you how perfect the person we are mourning for was, but the truth of the matter is that my dad was pretty much flawless in my eyes.  He was a selfless man who wanted nothing more than to provide for those around him.  His greatest satisfaction in life came through giving to others.  He was caring, supportive, and warm-hearted.  He loved his family more than anything else and worked tirelessly to spoil all of us.  His #1 joy in life was my mom.  After 38 years of marriage, he was still completely enamored with her and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to please her.  If he were still with us, it would have been just a short matter of time before he caved and bought my mom a puppy.   Though my dad had a long track record of stepping into or slipping on accidents that one of our dogs left, he was an avid animal lover and treated his pets like children. 

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While my dad wasn’t the type of person to brag, he took great pride in his family and proudly spoke about all of us.  He was someone who was simple and didn’t need a lot from life.  In recent years, he got great enjoyment out of watching his grandkids play in the pool.  He began making regular trips to Atlantic City to play the penny slots and take advantage of the all you can eat lobster at the casino buffets.

Anyone who knew my father knows just how much he appreciated a good a meal.  His love of food was admirable.  My mother’s eggplant, Fran’s antipasto, and Laura’s desserts: he had a lot of favorites.   On an almost weekly basis, he would bring friends and family to Newark for dinner.  He’d go to Krugs Tavern for calamari and undoubtedly the best hamburger around, Tony Da Caneca for mussels, garlic shrimp, sangria, and a pork sandwich with bacon and mayonaisse (I’m pretty sure he created that sandwich on his own), he’d go to the Bellmont Tavern for shrimp beeps and chicken savoy, and it wasn’t official unless he stopped by Texiera bakery for a cup of coffee and some custard cups.  My dad knew good food and I’ll miss our dinners together, but I promise to keep the tradition of overeating in Newark alive.

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Along with the great food came great conversation.  My dad couldn’t tell a story without sounding like he was yelling and waving his arms around.   He was an expert storyteller and could make anyone laugh.  He’d recount tales of how he borrowed a fire truck from the nearby station and left it parked against a tree in the park or the time he poured a bucket of water from a fourth story window onto the local crazy lady as she growled at him.  There was no conversation my dad couldn’t make interesting.  I still laugh to myself when I recall my dad’s 30-minute rant in which he passionately debated how Sam’s Club is better than Costco, but BJ’s is better than Sam’s Club.  I already miss talking to my dad on a daily basis.

What makes this so difficult for my family is the knowledge of just how hard it was to knock my father down.  My dad was a bull.  His work ethic was incomparable.  There is no one, at any age, able to work as long and as hard as my dad worked.  He took some hard hits over the course of his career and I can’t think of any time where he didn’t just stand up, brush himself off, and return to work.  He was a superhero. 

…And like any great superhero, my dad loved to clean up… literally.  My dad was obsessed with vacuuming.  He taught me the art of eating without making crumbs.  In one of my last conversations with my dad, he begged me to leave my car with him soon so he could vacuum it out and clean it up.  I agreed, and to hold him over I let him take all of the loose change out of my car so he could roll it.  As a testament to just how much my dad appreciated the little things in life, I have a vivid picture in my mind of him sitting happily at his desk, with his glasses at the end of his nose, feeding the loose change into his coin-sorting machine.  He repeatedly told me with excitement and concern that I had about $15 worth of coins just sitting in my car.  I’ll miss that child-like innocence that my dad had throughout his whole life.  I’ll miss his youthful spirit and warm smile.   I’ll miss the perfect person that he was. 

In this unfortunate moment in time, I have never been more proud to be Louis Crisitello, Jr.  I promise to keep my Dad alive through his stories and our memories.  I love you Dad and I can’t wait to see you again.  In the meantime, please watch over us. 

When I do see you, we will order some calamari and split a burger.  I also want to thank you for passing down a great head of hair. 

We love you dad. 

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