Life

My Father’s Eulogy

One of my favorite memories of my Dad happened in this very room.

We would usually sit in the back pews, and right when the sermon reached its crescendo, that’s when I’d take one of the welcome stickers and put it on my Dad’s knuckles.

My dad had these nice, coarse hairs—the perfect landing spot for an extra sticky sticker.

And right when the sermon was coming together, I’d place the sticker on his hand and quickly pull it off to see how many hairs I could get…

But more importantly, to see how strong his resolve was.

And in the blink of an eye, the ridge of his elbow would find the edge of my ribs because he, in turn, was testing my resolve.

Later in the sermon, he’d take that same sticker and place it on my hair, I’d retaliate, and that cycle continued… as recently as this past year.

It’s one of those things guys do when you actually like the person: you mess with them.

And in the days since his passing, it’s funny to notice where your mind wanders—to the smallest, silliest, most human moments that make us think of you.

I’ve spent a lot of time, both while he was alive and now since his death, thinking about what made my dad so special.

Was it his manners?

Sure. He had them… but he did spill on his shirt. 

Was it his outgoing nature?

Part of it. I mean, there isn’t one person alive who doesn’t like someone who’s friendly but that wasn’t it. That’s far too common.

But what I really think it was, was his subtle hint of irreverence in moments that were supposed to be reverent.

My Dad had those little flashes of irreverence where he reminded you that even in the serious parts of life, there’s always an imperfect human behind it.

It manifested in:

  • The pushing of the envelope.
  • The inappropriate joke.
  • The slightly off-hand comment at often the worst moment.

All the little things my Dad did that made people love him.

Not because he was crude—but because he was willing to show he wasn’t perfect.

And that humanity is what made him relatable.

Because none of us are perfect.

His willingness to drop his mask didn’t reveal his flaws—it revealed your reflection.

He made you feel comfortable being yourself. He demonstrated that it’s ok to say what you really think.

And he taught me that perfect is an ideal, not a person.

That’s why people loved him.

My dad had the gift of reminding you of you: the real you, the one at home wearing sweats, losing the remote and poking fun at a stupid commercial.

That was my dad and that’s what was so special about him.

 

Which brings me to grief.

Today we’re here to celebrate the life of my father. And when someone you love dies, you experience big emotions.

But in my understanding of grief, I’ve learned you tend to swing between two poles.

If you focus only on what you’re missing—the moments you’ll never get again—it can only lead to a sense of loss.

Because you can’t get back what’s gone forever.

But you can also take that same feeling and look at it from the other side.

You can feel grateful for the relationship you had.

You can remember the small moments that made you smile.

You can let those memories honor the person you lost.

And it’s only with that perspective that you truly honor both yourself and the person you’re grieving.

And I hope you get to experience this insight too.

So, thank you, Dad.

Thank you for reminding us that we don’t need to be perfect to be loved—we just need to be real.

And it’s only by being imperfect that you end up becoming the perfect friend.

And what a gift that is.

Please like, comment, share and tell me what you think. I’m going to be saying this on Thursday and want to test it out. P.S. THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR SUPPORT! It’s the coolest thing in the world and the world is a pretty damn big place!

47 thoughts on “My Father’s Eulogy”

  2. Oh, man! Tony, I’m sorry to hear about your dad. I honestly don’t think I have a moment with him, but I know how much he was loved by your family. My condolences to your family. Please give your mom a hug from me.

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  6. That is beautifully written! May courage come over you as you deliver the eulogy. No one could ever write something better than you, and I trust you’ll let joy in the moment of it override grief in duty. I can relate, as I wrote my father’s upon his passing a few years back. It is something not all can accomplish and my deepest condolences of your loss. Thank you for sharing!

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  10. I see your dad’s irreverence in your writing, Tony. Even in life’s serious moments, you are able to see the subtle humor that lies beneath. He gave you a great gift.

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  14. You had me tearing up, Tony. Your dad… I know he is MORE than proud of you.

    “And that humanity is what made him relatable.

    Because none of us are perfect.

    His willingness to drop his mask didn’t reveal his flaws—it revealed your reflection.

    He made you feel comfortable being yourself. He demonstrated that it’s ok to say what you really think.

    He taught me that perfect is an ideal, not a person.

    That’s why people loved him.”

    He just really sounded like a stand-up guy, and we get to see a bit of him (judging by your descriptions of him) in Y O U as you share your work and vulnerability with us. Peace and blessings to you, Tony. To you and your family. 🙏🏽💙

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  21. I think it is a lovely tribute and encapsulates why he was so special to you and those who knew him. Grief is a shape shifter. Just when you think you have a measure of it, it will knock you sideways at the weirdest moments. I hope it goes well for you.

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  22. What a warm and loving eulogy you wrote for your father, Tony. I loved the sticker story which took place in the same sanctuary where you gave the eulogy. You captured so much loveliness about your father in such a short space. Sending love to you and your family that all of you continue to feel the everlasting love of the wonderful man you describe.

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  24. I am sorry you lost your beloved Dad. I actually started this blog in 2010 when my mom died unexpectedly, too soon. I feel the love you have for him in your words. He was right; just be real. And this post is that. Thanks.

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  26. This is beautiful, thank you! Understanding the lessons in their actions can help with the grief… It can give you a way to share their memory with people through your own actions.

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  27. What a beautiful and heartfelt tribute to your father. The sticker story is absolutely brilliant, it captures so perfectly those small, playful moments that create the deepest bonds. You’re absolutely right that it’s the willingness to show our imperfect, authentic selves that makes us truly lovable. Your dad clearly understood that being real and present is far more valuable than being perfect. I’m so sorry for your loss, but how wonderful that you have such precious memories to hold onto. The way you’ve honoured him here, by sharing what made him special and the lessons he taught you about authenticity and humanity, is truly moving. Thank you for reminding us all to cherish these fleeting moments and to let ourselves be genuinely seen by those we love.

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