Remembering Skip Sheffield: Part 5
Skip with his grandson, Milo, and daughter Mary.
Editor’s Note: We will be honoring the life of Skip Sheffield throughout the week and will compile photos, stories, and memories of our beloved Entertainment Columnist. We have received photos, and letters like the one below since Saturday morning and we will begin to publish these online. We will print a special edition honoring Skip with some of his best stories, and letters like the one below. If you, or anyone you know, would like to share with us a story of you and Skip, please email us at pheizer@bocaratontribune.com. Send your photos, stories, and anything else you would like.
By: Mary Sheffield
My sisters and I were lucky to have Skip Sheffield as a dad. Or rather, a daddy; we never called him dad to his face. He was always daddy or Skip – nothing in between. To me this is fitting of his personality. He was a deeply romantic man with a rich appreciation of beauty in all its forms. He was also silly to the point of nonsense. One of this favorite poems was “Jabberwocky,” if that gives you any insight.
Growing up we benefited immensely from having a parent who was also an entertainment critic. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been privileged to see The Nutcrakcer, for example. For my sisters and I, Saturday mornings meant doughnuts and children’s theatre (specifically Little Palm – we saw many wonderful plays there).
(from left to right) Laura Sheffield, Mary Sheffield, Skip, and Anna Mohi-Sheffield.
His absence is a physical sensation. Somehow I didn’t realize until he was gone how strong he made me feel. How I had learned to bend toward him, as flowers do the sun. He was a rather unconventional father, but he loved us all fiercely and that love is what comforts me now. He instilled in me a love for literature, film, and the arts. He gave my sisters and I a childhood rich in culture and imagination.
Did I mention he was silly? So, so silly. His nickname for me, par example, was Emery Arfus. Quite a lovely nomme de guerre, no? Bewitching and all that. But that was the kind of person he was: silly, kind, crazy smart, sometimes despondent, always in love with love. His life:
twas brillig, and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
all mimsy were the borogoves,
and the mome raths outgrabe.
And I miss him beyond language.
