Good morning. Thank you all for joining us today in honor of my dad’s life. Our family greatly appreciates the outpouring of kindness, love and support that has been extended to us. The wonderful memories of my dad that have been shared has also helped to sustain us and has brought us relief in the form of smiles and laughter despite our grief.

I’m not typically one to jump at the opportunity to speak publicly in front of a large group, but I will do my best today by channeling my inner ‘Frank.’ My dad, Frankmerrywell Jolly Ayson Aguilar, although most people simply called him “Ike”, was a true original. I guess with a name like that, he didn’t really have any other choice.

Dad knew how to command a room and possessed an undeniable presence. His self-confidence was unfaltering and he was a force to be reckoned with. He was intellectual, articulate and eloquent. He was known for his persistent storytelling, stories that often sprouted off into a million random tangents and sub-stories until you realized hours had passed and he STILL hadn’t gotten to the point. Those who know me would probably agree that I have a similar style when it comes to my own storytelling. I admit proudly that it’s a trait passed down from my dad. Context and details mattered immensely to him and they matter even more so now that he is gone and I am left here to provide you with a glimpse of who he was.

Even though I probably lost a lot of sleep trying to listen to and follow his stories, I’m grateful for those moments because I realize that it was my dad’s way of spending time with his children, guiding us and sharing a part of himself with us, often times the most vulnerable parts. I will miss hearing his voice and benefiting from the life lessons and wisdom behind his stories. There was always something to be learned from my dad.

Dad was likely one of the most unconventional, eccentric people to have ever walked this earth. My older cousin said it best a few days after he passed away―he was extraordinary and we will never meet anyone like him again. For example, he had an uncanny desire to bring the great outdoors indoors, but not necessarily in the form of house plants or natural artwork. At one point, he had quite the collection of windchimes in varying sizes hanging from the ceiling between the dining room and family room at our home in San Jose. On a breezy day, it could get pretty noisy indoors.

Additionally, being a big kid at heart, my dad would encourage my brothers to ride their skateboards and Razor scooters throughout the inside of our house. And it wasn’t an unusual sight to spot eight-year-old me clumsily rollerblading down the hallway, bumping into walls and using the door frames to brace myself. I remember Dad being so excited about our first family camping trip to Redding to be held at one of his college fraternity brother’s properties. In preparation, he wanted to practice pitching the tent he had just bought along with a bunch of other camping equipment, each item the exact same shade of pine green because in dad’s words, everything had to be “uniform.” He cleared space in the center of our family room and, once the tent was pitched, we turned off all the lights so that there was only the glow of the lantern. My mom and I laid inside the tent and looking up, we pretended that the ceiling was a night sky full of stars.

At his best, my dad was fun-loving, creative, humorous, curious and imaginative and he tried to cultivate those same qualities in us, whether it was in bringing the outdoors indoors in his own unique way, putting up whiteboards with markers around the house so we could brainstorm and have drawing contests, buying the coolest games and puzzles, and making sure we had unlimited access to art supplies, books, encyclopedias, globes, maps, dictionaries and the morning newspaper. It is due to his influence and example that I love to read anything and everything, that I possess a knowledge base of random information (show me a picture of any dog and I can likely tell you what breed it is), that I take pride in my penmanship, am painfully self-aware as he always encouraged reflection, can deliver clever and stinging comebacks although I am no match for him, and can embrace the absurd and laugh freely at myself. I am grateful for the characteristics that my dad passed down to me.

Dad was open and gregarious, caring and thoughtful. As children, he never undermined our intelligence or ability to comprehend things that most adults may have thought were beyond our capacity to grasp or even inappropriate. I remember my older cousin and I riding in the back of my dad’s Bronco on the way to Santa Cruz, our 5-year old and 8-year selves giggling because the radio host on the station my dad was listening to was talking about blow-up bras for women. To our surprise, my dad paused to explain to us what blow-up bras were and went on to detail the advantages for women who chose to wear them. He wanted to promote our curiosity, increase our awareness and understanding and expose us to everything.

Due to his personal struggles, my dad was elusive at times. He couldn’t always be there for us even when he wanted to be. But no matter how much time had passed since we last saw each other, he would still call at the most random times or appear by surprise, in his own way reminding us that he was thinking of us and cared for us. I remember him driving from Fresno to the Bay Area in Spring 2005, when I was in college to drop off a container of Miki Bihon chow mein from the New Orient Express in Sunnyvale to my dorm. It was one of my family’s favorites for take-out when we lived in San Jose, with extra chili oil, which was my dad’s request any time he ordered chow mein from a restaurant and of course, no bamboo shoots. I happened to be on my way to attend a toga party with friends and was feeling extremely awkward having to meet my dad outside, slightly buzzed dressed in a pinned up white bedsheet. I was bracing myself for one of his sarcastic jokes about my appearance, but he instead acted as if it was completely normal and I had come outside in a t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. He could be refreshingly unpredictable.

Aside from chow mein with no bamboo shoots and extra chili oil (you guys should all try it that way some time), Dad loved bon bon fruit candies, especially ones that were imported, fish and chips, carnitas tacos, barbeque, Little Caesars Hot-N-Ready pizzas, just to name a few, and of course my mom’s cooking including any type of meat dish with rice. He ALWAYS ordered a venti hot Café Americano with 8-9 raw sugars, no room for cream, in a double cup with a splash stick from Starbucks. He was extremely particular and knew what he liked.

This was also reflected in his style. Growing up, I remember him having quite the collection of Vans and Converse sneakers and the most denim jeans and long sleeve button up shirts I’d ever seen outside of a department store. He always wore a watch and was typically seen out in one of many pairs of Ray-Ban sunglasses. He loved wearing shirts in bright, contemporary colors. My younger cousin told me after he passed away that he will always remember my dad as having the best style.

In addition to being stylishly dressed, Dad also knew how to roll up in style in a car that was usually eye-catching. I would know my dad was pulling up into the driveway before I even saw him, because from inside the house, I could hear his car speakers blasting music. He listened to a wide-range of artists and genres, whether it be The Beatles, Eagles, Tupac, Eminem, The Notorious B.I.G. or a collection of Christmas songs. I can remember waking up on a summer morning when I was nine to him blasting TLC’s CrazySexyCool album on his stereo system set up in our family room. The sounds of Creep and Waterfalls resonated throughout our house that day. He was definitely a lot cooler than I could ever hope to be.

During his last trip from Fresno to the Bay Area in early March, my Dad was in too much pain to get out of the car to pump his gas once he arrived in San Jose. My boyfriend and I followed him to the gas station and helped him fill up his tank. On his way back from Eureka the following night, he called me to ask if we could help pump his gas a second time before he headed back to Fresno. He seemed more giddy than when we had seen him the night before. I offered him a bag of gummi bears and without hesitation, he took it and said, “Oh, yes. I like that.” My dad had the biggest sweet tooth of anyone I knew. Despite his condition, as I reminded him to make sure to go to his doctor’s appointment later that week and promised to try to come home to visit him soon, he thanked us then turned to Chris and said, “Hey, take care of my daughter, alright?” I didn’t realize this would be my dad’s final goodbye to me. True to his character, it was delivered in his own unique way, during what would be the last of the weekend joyrides he so loved to take.

Life can be complicated and relationships are complex, there are sometimes miscommunications or misunderstandings as we attempt to find the right words or the best approach to let one another know we care. Amid the struggles of this often crazy life, it is our love for one another when all else has dissipated which remains steadfast and constant. My mom, siblings and I have hoped for our dad, prayed for our dad, and loved our dad always until the very end. My dad is a part of us and we are a part of him. Although we will miss his earthly presence, I believe that his spiritual presence will continue to guide us. I think of my dad even now and can’t help but laugh out loud. He was such a character. He will live on in each of us―through Ronrico, who is a natural leader and ever loyal to our family; through Rudolf who one, is his spitting image and two, shares my dad’s often times inappropriate sense of humor plus his strong desire to care for his family; through Ray who shares his enjoyment of the finer things in life plus has the same haircut my dad had when he idolized The Beatles; through Rodbert who possesses my dad’s smile and depth; through Rossana who is strong, dependable and full of goodness; through Lea who has his wicked sense of humor, organizational skills and artistic talents; through Franz who is pensive, thoughtful and has a lot of wisdom to impart despite his young age; through Ace who is too smart and too sassy for his own good; and through my Dad’s only grandchild, Tristen, who is conscientious, perceptive and funny as hell. Be at peace, Dad. Thank you for all you have given us. 

My Eulogy to Dad

by Franz Aguilar

Eulogy

by Ike Araneta

For those who have not heard the news, Brod Frank lost his battle with prostate cancer and passed away at 2:00 am this past Wednesday, March 27, 2019. Frank leaves behind his wife Cynthia, his nine children and one grandchild. Brod Frank was the first brod, that I am aware of, that started his career in Silicon Valley as an integrated circuit chip designer. He worked for notable companies during the '80's like Data General, Fairchild, and National Semiconductor. He lived life in the fast lane and at times even held two jobs. He worked hard and he played hard. He was also a generous brod, who was always willing to lend a helping hand. He had a big heart.

I still have and treasure the Swiss knife that he had engraved for me as a birthday gift in 1988.

Goodbye Frank. It pains me to see you go but it's time for you to rest...after all that you've been through.

Godspeed, brod!
Ike '71

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Our sincerest condolences to Brod Frank's family.

Tony Frio, UPLB '60
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UPBSI-International website

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I join the fraternity in sending my heartfelt condolence to the family of Brod Frank Merriwell Aguilar in this their hour of bereavement .May the soul of Brod Frank Rest in Peace. Amen.

Mon Ventura
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