[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 162 (2016), Part 9]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages 13323-13324]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




          TRIBUTE IN HONOR OF THE LIFE OF JOHN MICHAEL ANSTETT

                                 ______
                                 

                           HON. ANNA G. ESHOO

                             of california

                    in the house of representatives

                     Wednesday, September 21, 2016

  Ms. ESHOO. Mr. Speaker, I include in the Record the words of Zachary 
Anstett, written in memory of his beloved father, John Michael Anstett. 
Zachary's words are as follows:

       Whenever I think of my dad, the very first thing that 
     always comes to mind is a familiar scene, not a particular 
     one: perhaps our family's workhorse car needs to be fixed by 
     tomorrow morning otherwise countless important lessons, 
     orthodontics appointments, not to mention after school 
     activities of soccer, piano lessons, and Martial Arts 
     training will be missed. Which is why we are both crouched 
     under the jacked up car (don't worry, this is likely where he 
     teaches me about the safety jack stands provide us working 
     under the car) everything looking like a black and white film 
     in the harsh caged high wattage light-bulb's glow. I do 
     believe I learned about the difference between drum brakes 
     and disc brakes and how technically, disc brakes are better 
     but our car has drum brakes.
       This scene is so familiar to me because it was in those 
     times I could literally see him leave my time frame and go 
     back to the early seventies. He's built himself and rebuilt 
     himself an even better Chevy Camaro (obviously, red) and this 
     car is legendary for spitting fire and raking in the speeding 
     tickets all over north Texas. Not to mention the famous 
     ticket you were most proud of: the one you received for 
     disturbing the peace because your car's idle was too loud. 
     You see he loved these things because he carefully built 
     these things lovingly with his own hands--just how he built 
     our family.
       His first attempt at building a son obviously more flawed, 
     contained more mistakes not for lack of love or care. Just 
     maybe he spent a little too long trying to build as much in 
     from the get-go. He named this project Chris and it remains 
     one of the only things he made that was so full of love that 
     nobody could every question this one most-important goal of 
     the project. Not just to build a wondrous and wonderful human 
     being: my brother. But to ensure this child would know he was 
     loved not by saying it but by doing it. This child never went 
     hungry, never had to be homeless, and got one of

[[Page 13324]]

     the best educations possible in that time at that space. This 
     child indeed would become just as precisely crafted by hand 
     as the Camaro.
       Son number 2 was by name and by necessity different. He 
     must have decided to hold back more on the built in features 
     and leave some room for exploration, for curiosity, for 
     discovery of the truth of things and how they behave in the 
     world. A son who would rather go on a nature walk or be taken 
     to a local park than sit in his bedroom reading voraciously 
     as did number 1. Chris, in this way, added quite a bit to his 
     own education and discovery. The end goal was the same: that 
     they would learn and grow and know that one thing that could 
     never be questioned, doubted, or denied: These two projects, 
     these two things, made lovingly with his own hands would 
     always be to him the pinnacle of his achievements, would 
     always be what he was most proud of or loved the most.
       In short: I feel the truth of the love he had for me, my 
     brother, and my family and it is indestructible, absolute, 
     and unending. I could never capture how I felt about my 
     father and how he viewed the world and me if I simply and 
     directly laid it all out. The sheer weight of importance of 
     just one fact: that he made many sacrifices to his own life 
     that ours might be better is indescribably massive.
       Finally, if you knew John, I mean REALLY knew him, though 
     he might not ever say it to you, you just knew he loved you 
     dearly. His love was never obvious, conventional, or easy to 
     understand. That was my dad: a man with a huge capacity to 
     love and did so, clearly communicating it is the only flaw. 
     But how insignificant is this flaw compared to the size of 
     his heart? I love you Dad. I miss you so much already. I 
     can't wait for you to hear me read it. Love, Zach

  Mr. Speaker, I ask my colleagues to join me in extending our most 
sincere condolences to the family of John Michael Anstett.

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