Garrett "Garry" Molholt

Remembering my dad, Garry Molholt

No one ever tells you when the last time you speak to your dad will be.

For me, it was in 2023.

Between 2018 and 2023, my dad and I had a thriving email relationship. Looking back, I can

start to see perhaps the struggles and confusion that could have been signs of dementia. My

dad never liked to talk about his life before marrying my mom and adopting me, and in many

ways he seemed to be trying to move forward from a traumatic past without really knowing how

or knowing what that would look like. But in those exchanges, he told me that he loved me and

was proud of me. That he was glad to have raised me.

One thing that he did like to recall was his history with music. My dad played the tuba for the 5th

Army Band and studied for a time as tuba major at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.

Although he eventually transitioned to a linguistics major, he remained a lifelong lover of music.

He would sometimes “jam” with me on the recorder while I played the piano as a child, although

those sessions became fewer as my musical studies intensified. Although I was taught

classically, with little room for improvisation, it was the musicians who could “jam” and play

without judgment or fear that I admired the most when I went to college. I like to think that my

dad was like that, playing purely for enjoyment and camaraderie.

As a linguist, my dad liked nothing better than a good pun. He was the king of dad jokes, and

frequently couldn’t help himself when a particular play on words struck him. I wonder if he ever

saw the feedback from students in his class (and I quote): “His sense of humor was

extraordinary,” “the entire class cracks up with him,” “hilarious,” “my favorite professor.” I hope

he did. He probably would have had some wry pun to make about it all. Once, when I was in

preschool, he dressed up as Santa and came to visit my class. Of course, I knew it was him, but

when he got home, I asked him where the long white beard had come from, and where it had

gone. “Didn’t you see the person walking behind me holding it up?” he deadpanned, and

maintained that fiction for as long as I continued to ask.

Part of the reason dad made such a good Santa is because he didn’t have to fake the jolly belly.

Getting treats with my dad remains some of the best memories of my childhood. Dad introduced

me to his favorites: rocky road ice cream, crepes, pumpernickel bagels, cheeseburgers, and the

pinnacle: pie a la mode at the local diner. It’s carried over into how I parent my children - always

looking for a place to get a little treat for them wherever we go.

Dad, wherever you are, I hope you’re jamming along on your instrument of choice, making

music like you always wanted to, enjoying all of the treats, and knowing that I loved you. I

appreciate you. I know you always did your best. Arrangements by Bunker’s Garden Chapel, www.bunkerfuneral.com. Should this obituary appear anywhere but bunkerfuneral.com, please check our website for accurate details and service information.