Where does one start – where can one possibly begin – to say enough about the person to whom you owe your entire existence? And when that person not only gives birth to you, but brings you up with the love, attentiveness, patience – particularly so in my case – and self-sacrifice that this wonderful woman did for me, where do the words exist to pay her proper tribute? But even if I had the knowledge and skills of the greatest poets, this eulogy itself would still be but a pale attempt to express the depths of gratitude and love that my three siblings - Roy, Millie, and Ron - and I feel for our mother, Freda Mae Privett.

We were lucky. We had two heroes as parents. Our father, William Andrew (Bill) Privett, served in the 101st Airborne during World War II, and was one of the fighters surrounded in Bastogne in the Battle of the Bulge, holding out against the might of the Third Reich's onslaught. Our mother had different battles to fight. Born the year of the 1929 stock market crash to parents John and Ida Rowland, she, along with siblings Virgie, Carl, Nathan, Estel, George, James, Grace, Lester, Rose, Shirley, and Betty – she was born between Lester and Rose – was raised during the Great Depression and had to learn to cope with meagerness and scarcity, foregoing many of the so-called luxuries that children today take for granted. But the experience did help her to develop a talent for weighing needs against wants and economizing against resources available, and more importantly, realizing and better appreciating things that really mattered most in life and which don't come with a price tag, a wisdom that she tried to pass on to us.

But one area where she never scrimped or compromised was in the abundant love she showered on us. Bearing three children before her twenty-first birthday, for her the post-war economic boom only meant new sacrifices, this time voluntary, for her children. And whatever new or unexpected challenges domestic life threw her way, she endured them all as she protected and molded her children, and judging by what I see of my siblings today and the fine people that they have become, she did an exemplary job of mothering.

Then, in 1959, a decade after having had three children in the span of three years, I came along and presented my own set of challenges, some familiar, some not so much, starting the day I was born as a breech baby. But once again my mother forebare, and any failings are the fault of my own obstinacy. One of my regrets looking back now was that in being born later in their lives I took away time that she and my father might have enjoyed together in his later years on earth, for he passed away in 1979 of cancer. However, at least we can all take condolence in knowing that they are now at long last joined again, and might spend eternity together.

Oh, and did I mention that she did all this while also being a working mother? First for Howard Johnson's restaurant and then for the Fairfax County School's Food Services, where she was eventually promoted to Cafeteria Manager, one of the wisest decisions that county has ever made.

That brings us to the closing of this eulogy, but it is hardly the closing of her legacy: THAT has barely begun. The love that my mother passed down to us shall continue to radiate in our hearts just as her precious memory shall linger forever in our minds. And those of us with children have passed her love and sense of caring onto them, as they will pass it onto theirs: her grandchildren Kandi Bailey, Ken Privette, Kristen Johnson, Jasen Privett, Micah Privett, and Adam Privett, and her great grandchildren Ruben Bailey, Makayla Privett, Abbey Privette, Skyler Privett, Ryker Privett, and Lilly Johnson. And if any of what our Christian doctrines tells us is true, then hopefully she is listening to us here today. So I want to say again, thank you, Mom, for all your love, your selfless efforts, and many blessings you have bestowed upon us, and may they be paid back to you multifold in the better world where you now dwell. We love you so dearly and miss you so much already. But I can imagine that our own dearly departed daughter Kylene, who you so often and gladly sat for, is standing beside you now, tapping her foot impatiently while waiting for me to wrap this up so that you can join her and my father in one of the card games you two so liked to play. But they had better take care, for as judging from what we’ve seen here on earth over the past years on leisurely weekend nights, you have become quite an ace.