A Tribute to June Stipak
A Tribute to Frank Stipak

What you will find here is my tribute to my parents. This tribute reflects my belief in the rightness of showing gratitude and in the imperative to remember, for if we should forget those who helped us and those we were close to, we would surely lose our own way. That I created this tribute also reflects my desire to do something for my parents and to cope with my personal grief. I hope as well that those of you visiting this tribute will find something of value for you. If you knew my parents, this tribute will probably have some special meaning. If you did not know them, you may still find something of interest, perhaps amusement, perhaps even solace in confronting that common thread of grief we share as humans in experiencing life's loses. You are welcome here.

I took the picture at the beginning of my mother's tribute in the back yard of my house in the spring of 1995. Because of the strong emotions I have for my mother, I included some poetry as befitting her tribute. Following the poetry, my mother's tribute contains a selection of photographs taken throughout the world. I have also included some photographs of us together, as well as sound and video of us joking with each other. Finally, her tribute has pictures of her at the piano as well as sound of her playing.

I took the picture at the beginning of my father's tribute while we were travelling in Alaska, a few days before he died in 1997. I felt compelled to say something in my father's tribute about his social consciousness, for else I would surely have felt his posthumous disapproval. Because of the focus my father and I had on sharing outdoor activities, I went on to highlight those activities in his tribute. I have included sound so you can hear him joking and talking about his outdoor experiences, and video so you can see him skiing. I also included some photographs showing his farcical sense of humor.

By including the humorous photographs of my father I recognize I risk facing my mother's posthumous disapproval, for my father's humor often violated her more refined sense of dignity. In incurring this risk, however, I feel on safe ground, as my mother was quick to forgive my transgressions.


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