Dustin Robert Tattoli

Dustin Robert Tattoli arrived on September 4, 1990, missing his mother’s birthday by just one hour and twenty-six minutes, and would stick close to her—phoning daily, expressing his thanks, giving strong-armed hugs, gulping down Peggi’s delicious platefuls—his whole life. Dustin walked at the precocious age of exactly nine months, a move that anticipated his talent for (and adoration of) many sports, but especially basketball, usually as point guard. He practiced until he could dunk in middle school on the court his dad Cory had made for him in the backyard. Like that, Dustin—Duke, Dukey, Dukaroosky, and Doo Bear to his family—set goals and achieved them with uncommon grace and tenacity. As a small boy with a mop of curls (if somewhat shortened by then), he declared he would teach himself to juggle: and by nightfall, he was wheeling eggs in the air. A perfectionist, he held himself to the highest standards. Many peers benefited from his willingness to lead group projects. In 2013, he graduated magna cum laude with a degree in marketing from Miami University, a field that took him to his mother’s hometown, Chicago, that same year—where he joked that every woman was named “Cindy”. He awed and amused his colleagues with his work ethic (just like his dad’s) and fondness for steamed broccoli (not like his dad) and relished “real winter.” In Chicago he was able to lavish affection and care on his maternal grandparents—Gaga and Papa—and young cousin Angelina, and in that city, on September 25, 2015, het met his future life-love Inés (definitely not a Cindy). Inés’s aunt, Ana, stalked him on social media and broke into his apartment building when Inés disappeared after their first date. “You must think we’re a bunch of lunatics,” Ana said, apologizing: “Oh no, not at all!” he texted her. “My family is the same way. It’s a good thing that people care. You can never be too protective or worried over a loved one.” She still suspected there had to be something wrong with this “sweet, kind, hot” young man: It’s as if he’s from a movie, or “from another time when men were polite, and smooth, and chivalrous, and respectful,” she told Ines’s mom back in Spain. In fact, as was learned and constantly confirmed, Dustin was a dream boat, and Inés was his fast-talking future wife, with whom he shared an enthusiasm for food, travel, pouring rain, the Lincoln Park Zoo, the Air and Water Show in Chicago in August, and babies. She became a fan of country music. He called her the Koala to his Doo Bear, and looked forward to her “funny hour” right before bedtime, when they often spoke of the little girl they wanted, “a Panda,” he said, who would steal and wear his tee shirts like her mother and try to corrupt his healthy diet with sprinkled cupcakes. Dustin guarded and propped up his big and his baby sister. Somewhat tyrannized as a kid by his eldest sister Chantel—his Channy Whanny—he reveled in her pretend badness as they grew: “When Chantel breaks out her villain laugh, it’s time to put her to bed,” he said not long ago. He admired what he regarded as a no-formula free-birdness, as different as that was from his instincts, and knew she was cut out to be a mom before she did. He cried when she gave his niece his feminized middle name and he could not wait for her to talk. His youngest sister Chiffawn was his best friend. He never denied her tagging along at school, to the movies, and the basketball court, where they’d meet without ever having to make plans. Dustin taught her how to shoot a proper basket, and picked her up and hugged her when she finally swooshed one, but he always accepted granny shots when they played. Later, their routine was that she would call him in the morning, on the way to work as a school teacher, and he would call her every day en route to the gym. All three siblings excelled at delivering the perfect Disney GIF for any situation, and Dustin liked Disney films unabashedly, probably, without realizing it, because he was so much like the heroes. He looked forward to the small-big things like fresh seafood and Pollyanna with his paternal grandparents. He was a loyal, attentive, inspiring friend—to his lasting grammar school buddy Chase, to the blood brothers he found in Joseph, Royce, and Garrett, who will all four carry him to his grave, and to the violinist Caleb, a fellow bone marrow transplant patient, who played a concert to send up his soul. Dustin could make himself laugh better than most anyone in the world. “He would laugh before he could even get out the joke,” Chiffawn remembers. He found the humor, even in the darkness. “Do you need anything?” Chantel asked him when he was first hospitalized in Chicago for leukemia. “No, but I just farted,” he replied. “The only good thing about this? I can pretty much do whatever I want and nobody can tell me any different!” He fought. He was marked by unbelievable courageousness and sincerity and gratefulness. His family and friends remember him above all for his extra big heart. Dustin will be a bright guiding light in the hearts and minds of his family: his devoted wife, Inés Maria Tattoli; his loving, parents Cory and Peggi; his treasured sisters, Chantel and Chiffawn; Chantel’s husband, Andrew McClure; his brand-new niece Céleste Roberta; and his half-siblings, Jillian Klein and Dominck Tattoli. Dustin often volunteered at Give Kids the World, in Kissimmee, and his family’s knows he would prefer donations to that organization in lieu of flowers.

Dustin Robert Tattoli

September 4, 1990 - April 8, 2020