Dearly Beloved,
We gather here today to remember our dear friend and loved one, Matt. For twenty five years he has brought joy and frustration into our lives in his own unique and disturbing way. For a quarter of a century he has walked the earth, touched our hearts, and depressed our spirits. Matt was never self-serving or arrogant. He never spoke much of himself, didn't seek the limelight. He would be embarrassed, I think, by all of this attention. But today, on the celebration of his life, it would only be appropriate to say a few words on his behalf. I would like to take this time, then, to remember him and to honor him.
Many of you will always remember Matt as the remarkably attractive young man with brown eyes full of hope and cynicism in equal measure, grinning goofily at both the world's incompetence and his own. But to those of us who knew him best, he was so much more. He was a true friend in times of need; always willing to listen briefly to your problems before launching into a helpful description of his own, always ready to explain a particularly obscure dirty joke in the Shakespeare play you were studying, and ever draining away your approval and affection like a needy and self-conscious leech.
Matt was born twenty-five years ago on May 11, 1981 in McCall, Idaho, the eldest child to Steven and Denise Haws who have never since regretted (save on one or two occasions they've told me of) their first successful act of procreation. He was a loving and dutiful yet rather surly son, a devoted momma's boy, and a continual source of both pride and disappointment to his eager if somewhat optimistic parents. He was followed into the world by a brother, Blaine, and a sister, Rebekah, who continued the tradition for many years by following him everywhere. But he always treated his siblings with the utmost respect and love, and was, by all accounts, their favorite brother (because Blaine had no other brother, and neither did Bekah, really) and his parents' favorite child (once again, sort of the de facto choice). As he developed into his own personality, he was at times so different from his progenitors that they were often heard to wonder where on earth he came from. He defied his origins and shattered preconceptions.
His interests were many and varied and noble, but basically boiled down to Shakespeare and skinny dipping. He was a lofty man of ideas, and since he had some issues with modern capitalism, was clearly a filthy Communist (aka, a Marxist minx, Trotsky traitor, Lenin lover). And yet he loved America, mostly. He talked big but did very little. He routinely practiced what he did not preach, and often had his cake and ate it too. He spent a great deal of his time pretending to be somebody else. He loved ketchup but hated tomatoes. He was a man of many inconsistencies.
But let it not be said that he was a man who did not love, for his heart was full and his affections great. He had many loves that were dear and close to his heart; chief among these were computer games and The West Wing, but many of his family and friends made the Top 20. He had many friends, many of whom he hardly ever saw or spoke to, and a blog with a legion of devoted fans. He formed crushes easily, but rarely fell in love. He was at once both fiercely loyal and an unreliable flake. His sanity was always somewhat questionable and he often caused people he liked to flee from him in terror, but those who stayed agree that a more likeable nutcase you'll never meet.
Ultimately, if there are words suitable to describe the complexity that was Matt Haws, I am not wise enough to know them. I mean, I could use a thesaurus but, frankly, that would just be a lot of bother. I merely wish to add, in conclusion, that from the first moment I saw him I loved him dearly, and that was the beginning of a life-long romance.
And now, I would invite his many friends, family members, and admirers to come forward to pay their respects. No, he's not dead. Yet. It's just his birthday.
We gather here today to remember our dear friend and loved one, Matt. For twenty five years he has brought joy and frustration into our lives in his own unique and disturbing way. For a quarter of a century he has walked the earth, touched our hearts, and depressed our spirits. Matt was never self-serving or arrogant. He never spoke much of himself, didn't seek the limelight. He would be embarrassed, I think, by all of this attention. But today, on the celebration of his life, it would only be appropriate to say a few words on his behalf. I would like to take this time, then, to remember him and to honor him.
Many of you will always remember Matt as the remarkably attractive young man with brown eyes full of hope and cynicism in equal measure, grinning goofily at both the world's incompetence and his own. But to those of us who knew him best, he was so much more. He was a true friend in times of need; always willing to listen briefly to your problems before launching into a helpful description of his own, always ready to explain a particularly obscure dirty joke in the Shakespeare play you were studying, and ever draining away your approval and affection like a needy and self-conscious leech.
Matt was born twenty-five years ago on May 11, 1981 in McCall, Idaho, the eldest child to Steven and Denise Haws who have never since regretted (save on one or two occasions they've told me of) their first successful act of procreation. He was a loving and dutiful yet rather surly son, a devoted momma's boy, and a continual source of both pride and disappointment to his eager if somewhat optimistic parents. He was followed into the world by a brother, Blaine, and a sister, Rebekah, who continued the tradition for many years by following him everywhere. But he always treated his siblings with the utmost respect and love, and was, by all accounts, their favorite brother (because Blaine had no other brother, and neither did Bekah, really) and his parents' favorite child (once again, sort of the de facto choice). As he developed into his own personality, he was at times so different from his progenitors that they were often heard to wonder where on earth he came from. He defied his origins and shattered preconceptions.
His interests were many and varied and noble, but basically boiled down to Shakespeare and skinny dipping. He was a lofty man of ideas, and since he had some issues with modern capitalism, was clearly a filthy Communist (aka, a Marxist minx, Trotsky traitor, Lenin lover). And yet he loved America, mostly. He talked big but did very little. He routinely practiced what he did not preach, and often had his cake and ate it too. He spent a great deal of his time pretending to be somebody else. He loved ketchup but hated tomatoes. He was a man of many inconsistencies.
But let it not be said that he was a man who did not love, for his heart was full and his affections great. He had many loves that were dear and close to his heart; chief among these were computer games and The West Wing, but many of his family and friends made the Top 20. He had many friends, many of whom he hardly ever saw or spoke to, and a blog with a legion of devoted fans. He formed crushes easily, but rarely fell in love. He was at once both fiercely loyal and an unreliable flake. His sanity was always somewhat questionable and he often caused people he liked to flee from him in terror, but those who stayed agree that a more likeable nutcase you'll never meet.
Ultimately, if there are words suitable to describe the complexity that was Matt Haws, I am not wise enough to know them. I mean, I could use a thesaurus but, frankly, that would just be a lot of bother. I merely wish to add, in conclusion, that from the first moment I saw him I loved him dearly, and that was the beginning of a life-long romance.
And now, I would invite his many friends, family members, and admirers to come forward to pay their respects. No, he's not dead. Yet. It's just his birthday.
Comments
:)
Happy birthday, buddy!
love the fav. aunt, bnk