Mr. Speaker, I rise today to ask that these moving words delivered on April 2, 2005 by Brian Wronikowski at a memorial service for his father, Michael Wronikowski of Detroit, Michigan, who passed away on March 16, 2005, be included in the…
Mr. Speaker, I rise today to ask that these moving words delivered on April 2, 2005 by Brian Wronikowski at a memorial service for his father, Michael Wronikowski of Detroit, Michigan, who passed away on March 16, 2005, be included in the Congressional Record:
First of all, my family and I would like to thank all of
you for coming today. We appreciate everyone taking time out
of their busy lives to celebrate the life of someone who was
and always will be such an important part of ours. Everyone's
thoughts, prayers and kind words have not gone unnoticed.
Thanks again.
We would like to invite any and all of you to continue the
celebration of Mike's life after mass. Stop in for a bite to
eat. Stop in to say hello. All are welcome to stop by at Mike
and Kathy's home. Just follow the caravan of people walking
down Audubon after the service.
Joseph and Dorothy Wronikowski welcomed Michael John, their
3rd of 5 children into the world on September 3rd, 1946. He
was born in the city of Detroit, where he lived all 58 of his
years. Raised in the Catholic faith, he attended Guardian
Angel Elementary School and graduated from De La Salle High
School in 1964.
After graduation, he joined the Army Reserves, where he
served as a security code specialist until 1972. It was also
upon graduation that he began work as a printer, a career
that would last over thirty years. In June of 1967, he met
and began dating Kathleen McEvoy, a former classmate of his
from Guardian Angels. Although they were in the same grade,
they were never in the same classroom in any of their eight
years. On May 10, 1968, a mere eleven months later, they were
married.
Being the good Catholic young adults that they were, my
parents got to work on starting their family. Nine and a half
months after they were married, Anne Marie, their first child
was born. Eleven months later, came John Michael. And so on
and so on to the tune of eight children in nine and a half
years. As the kids kept coming, and the bills kept rising, my
father worked two jobs to provide for us and send us through
Catholic schools. You see, public school was never an option
for us kids in our parent's eyes. They were both brought up
in Catholic households and a Catholic education was the only
way to go.
My Dad became a printer back in the '60's because it meant
a pay increase over his job in the mail room. But make no
mistake, he took great pride in his craft. I can remember
him bringing home picture after picture that he worked on.
I think all of us kids had ``The Tiger's Roar in `84''
poster that he worked on hanging in our rooms at some
point.
It was not all work for my Dad. He was a spectacular
athlete in his younger years. He dabbled in a just about
everything. He was a solid third baseman. As you heard, he
was lucky enough to play in the nets in the storied Montreal
Forum. He was also a very good golfer, and he was the best
bowler I have ever seen.
As the years went on, working the long hours on the
printing press took quite a toll on my dad's body. He
developed degenerative disc disease, which resulted in four
separate back surgeries. He lived every day in constant pain,
but you would never know it, because he would never show it.
His desire to live and be active outweighed his desire to
live in comfort.
As the surgeries mounted, he was forced to give up all of
his hobbies that he loved for so long. Instead of feeling
sorry for himself and packing it in, he moved on to other
hobbies that I am sure were no better for his back than his
sports were. He redid almost the whole inside of my parent's
house. You cannot step foot inside a room there that doesn't
have his fingerprints all over it. My mom even turned him on
to the wonderful world of gardening. Pulling weeds, planting
bulbs--all sorts of fun stuff. But it wasn't the job that he
was doing that was important to him; instead, it was how he
did it. He was a perfectionist at heart. And it didn't matter
if he was working the presses or vacuuming our pool, the job
was not done until it was perfect.
My Dad stopped working in 2000. And though we had some
stressful times over the last few years, anybody that knew
him knows that his last few years were his happiest. His kids
were all grown up. He was blessed with five beautiful
grandchildren. And he got to enjoy more time with my Mom than
any other time in their marriage. Sure, they had their hard
times like any other couple. But my parents were married 36
years. Neither one ever strayed. Through thick and through
thin, their love never wavered.
Everyone has different things that will always stick with
them. Different memories. Different ``Dadisms''. Here are a
few. My Dad was a very good listener. Sometimes he offered
his opinions, but more times than not he just wanted to be
there for his kids. His silent confidence is already missed.
My dad was a huge hockey fan. Many a Saturday night was spent
in our younger years with the TV tuned in to Hockey Night in
Canada. And it didn't really feel like the Wings had won the
Cup until we were able to get Dad on the phone and share our
excitement. My Dad was always very affectionate with both his
kids and his grandkids. Every time someone was leaving our
parents to go back home, wherever home may be, you knew it
was time for a kiss on both cheeks from Dad. And a giant bear
hug. Then he would stand at the door and wave goodbye, not
moving until the car was out of sight. My Dad was always
there for all of us. Whether someone needed a ride, a couple
extra bucks or just a visit to say hi, you could always count
on him. I will be honest with you now--my sisters gave my Dad
some of the ugliest gifts I have ever seen. The hats. The
shirts. Not so good. Didn't matter though. If the card
attached said Love, one of his kids or grandkids, that gift
automatically became his favorite article of clothing. And he
wouldn't take it off. One of our neighbors gave us a card
that read ``I will personally miss Mike because of the man I
knew him to be--a helpful, caring, involved and thoughtful
neighbor.'' Any time we were talking to my Dad on the phone,
each call would end the same way. ``I love you. Okay,
bye.'' That's my Dad.
I will have many long lasting memories of my Dad. But some
will stick around more than others. I think like just about
every other five or six year old kid, I thought of my Dad as
the strongest man on Earth, some type of super hero almost.
He had these huge, Popeye like forearms that he got from the
long hours working on the press. As years went on, and I
looked at my Dad as more of a human being than a super hero,
my thoughts of his strength faded away. The last few years, I
watched him and marveled. Not because of his arm strength,
but more because of his inner strength. He persevered through
his life in a way that I cannot do
justice in words. In the last month, I saw that inner
strength shining through. He was not ready to leave us. He
was not ready to leave my Mom. And he fought and he fought
til his last day. I realize now that maybe I was right when I
was five or six. Maybe he was a super hero. But it wasn't the
muscles in his arms that made him that, it was that giant
muscle in his chest. And all of us who knew him are better
people because of it.
When I started to piece this together, I came across a poem
that reminds me of my Dad to a tee. I would like to share it
with you. It is anonymously penned, entitled ``Don't Quit.''
``When things go wrong as they sometimes will;
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill;
When the funds are low, and the debts are high
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh;
When care is pressing you down a bit--
Rest if you must, but do not quit.
Success is failure turned inside out;
The silver tint of clouds of doubt;
And you can never tell how close you are
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit--
It's when things go wrong that you must not quit.''
Well, thank you all for letting me share a little bit about
him with you. And in my Dad's own words, ``I love you Dad.
Okay bye.''
So Mr. Speaker, it is my honor to rise to recognize the memory of Michael Wronikowski.