Fly High Big Fella

TigerBlog had to go to a funeral Monday.

When he says "had to," he doesn't mean in the "obligated to" sense. No, in this case he had to, because to not have gone would have been unthinkable given, sadly, whose it was. 

Kevin Kehs was only 67 when he passed away last week. TigerBlog was part of his extended family, which, he supposes, pretty much means anyone he ever came into contact with in his travels. 

Who was Kevin Kehs? He was a heavyweight wrestler at Duke, an ACC runner-up for that matter. He was a family man. A businessman. A coach. 

More than that, he was the life of every party. He loved the beach. He loved to imitate Rodney Dangerfield. He loved to play classic rock music really loudly. 

Put simply, he loved to have fun. He probably never went more than 30 minutes of those 67 years without laughing — and maybe less than that without making fun of someone, or himself, all with his huge smile, an enveloping hug and another laugh that let you know that he was doing this from a place of love. 

Of course, there was the other side of him, the part that showed that his strength of character matched his physical strength. Someone in need? He was there. Sick family member? He was there. Again, it didn't matter how he knew them. Old teammates. Players he coached. He was a rock. 

His favorite day was the Fourth of July. He would have anyone and everyone over to spend time in his pool, eat from his BBQ, play volleyball on his court and basically just be happy to be together. 

Every speaker at his funeral Monday said the same thing about him: He was "larger than life." Oh boy, was that ever true. 

How was TB related to him? It doesn't matter. TigerBlog Jr. and Miss TigerBlog called him "Uncle Kevin," though he was technically their second cousin. 

It really was unimportant how he knew you. Once he did, you couldn't help but love the guy. 

It was at one of those Fourth of July picnics where an uninvited visitor strolled by — a raccoon that appeared to possibly be rabid. While someone called animal control, Kevin gathered the large group of kids who were there, none of whom had yet become teenagers, and attempted to comfort them as the racoon was being euthanized about 100 yards away. 

"It's a raccoon. He's sick. This is the nice thing to do so he doesn't have to suffer anymore. And he doesn't have a soul. He's like your aunt."

All of those kids are now adults, some of them with kids of their own. They were all there at the funeral. Like TB, they had to be there. 

TBJ and MTB drove up from Washington, D.C., for the day. Others flew in from Georgia, Utah, Ohio – wherever they were, they knew they'd be there. 

It wasn't the kind of funeral you normally attend. There was no formal service, just a gathering with his family and friends, with a slideshow of pretty much all of them mixed together. 

And there were speeches. 

His three kids talked about what he meant to them and how much he'll be missed. One of his friends said that he was the kind of guy who would call up and say "what are you doing?" and when you said "nothing," he replied "good, because I'm pulling into your driveway."

What really stood out to TB, though, were the three Duke wrestling teammates who were there. They each spoke, telling stories about how Kevin ripped a UNC football picture off the wall in a Chapel Hill bar, what kind of fraternity brother he'd been, how much they'd relied on his strength through the years. 

At Princeton, the talk is always about the 40-year commitment, which TB has always thought should be called a "lifetime commitment." The friends that are made with Princeton Athletics last forever.

Some of those friendships are being built right now, with fall practices that are beginning and newcomers who are just now starting to get to know each other. They'll do what the Duke wrestlers did, and what so many Princeton athletes have done. 

They'll do what MTB did. She recently spent a beach week with her former women's lacrosse teammates. 

They'll go to each other's weddings. They'll buy each other baby gifts. They'll see each other at their 25th, 40th, 50th reunions, and even beyond. They'll see each other all the way down the different paths that life holds for them. 

And then, sadly, they'll stand up at the funeral for the first one of them who goes. And they'll laugh at the same stories that were told about Kevin – like the one about the time they all went to a concert in Philly and Kevin had to somehow had to wedge himself into the back of a compact car. And they'll try really, really hard to forget, if briefly, that the subject of those stories is no longer going to be there, that the stories they're telling will have no further ones moving forward. 

And then they'll just be left with the memory of who that person was. 

The last time TB saw Kevin Kehs was at a tailgate party in the old Lot 21 outside Princeton Stadium before a football game. If ever anyone was in his element, it was Kevin at a football tailgate. 

The thought of seeing him there in his mind's eye is making TB smile.

The thought that he'll never see him again is not — though, like everyone who knew him, TB was lucky to have spent time in his orbit.