Eulogy by Daddy's Little Girl

The eulogy for Glenn D. Cogswell (Feb. 1, 1922-Feb. 7, 2011) recited at my dad's funeral, Feb. 12, 2011

"Thank you all for joining in this celebration of the life of the honorable Glenn D. Cogswell, my father, my hero...

How do I find the words to offer a fitting tribute to this wonderful man God gave me for a father except to say I am privileged to call him 'Daddy?'

Whose knees encased me as he read to me "The Three Little Kittens Who Lost Their Mittens,"

On whose shoulder I burped as he pat my little back with his gentle hand,

A hand that gripped the hand of President Eisenhower, Vice-President Nixon, William Allen White, Arthur Capper, Alf Landon, Bob Dole and, undoubtedly, many of you here, with a heartfelt and congenial greeting...

His smile lit up a room, his hugs brought me into the heart of God, and he always made me feel I was Daddy's little girl. He even sang it to me:

'You're the Spirit of Christmas, my star on the tree;
You're the Easter Bunny to Mommy and me.
You're sugar and spice and everything nice,
and you're Daddy's Little Girl.'

He taught me to sing harmony to a song called 'Tell Me Why.'

'Tell me why the stars do shine
Tell my why the ivy twine,
Tell me why the skies are blue
And I will tell you just why I love you.

'Because God made the stars to shine
Because God made the ivy twine
Because God made the skies so blue
Because God made you
That's why I love you.'

In 1992, my father came to Oklahoma to share an accomplishment with me. We were riding in the car, he was driving. All of a sudden, he began to sing,

'Love lifted me, love lifted me, when nothing else could help, love lifted me,
'Love lifted me, love lifted me, when nothing else could help, love lifted me...'

And he probably went, 'Bom bom bom bom.'

'Daddy' I said, 'Where did you learn that?'

'Oh,' he said, 'I was saved at a Baptist revival when I was 16,' and I was glad.

Recently, when it became hard for him to form thoughts and communicate them effectively, I was afraid maybe he had forgotten, and, even though I knew God had not forgotten, I was blessed when, this past Christmas Eve, I saw him say 'Jesus' and bow his head.

So, until I see him again, how do I live my life in fitting tribute to this man God gave me to be my father, whom I am privileged to call 'Daddy' and who will inspire me as long as I live?

I have one more story. Even though it was often hard for him to say what he was trying to say, many times I could still sense he was trying to offer counsel and guidance, still wanting to be my Dad.

One time when I was riding the bike at the health club I called him up on my cell phone, and I heard him say these words:

'My little daughter,' he said, in the rich baritone he retained since his youth,

'Sometimes in trouble,

'Sometimes in great things...

'Play it hard.'

And that's what I will do. I did not need an explanation of what those words might mean. A daughter understands.