Remembering Dad

This is the eulogy I gave at my fathers funeral today...

When Mum, Jo and I met up with the assistant to the funeral director after Dad died I was given a list of things to say in a eulogy. On that list were details like date of birth, the date of passing, where Dad grew up and went to school, what his work history was and any historically significant events that Dad did while he was alive.

I'm not going to say any of those things. If you knew my Dad, and were around him for more than a few moments, you would probably be aware of many of the main incidents of his life. If nothing else, the guy knew how to talk.

Instead, I want to describe the kind of man my Dad was. I want to tell you what I would tell my kids. What kind of husband he was. What kind of father he was.

To start, Dad loved Mum and was dedicated to her for more than 30 years. (To Mum) He loved you. I know that on this day he would have wanted you to hear that. It's fitting that you were that last thing that he saw when he was alive.

As a family man he showed that he would support the decisions that you made. Even if they weren't the exact choices that he would make, or he didn't absolutely understand the conclusions that you came to, he would be there. He would back your judgement. He would drive you to rugby and watch every game, even of you weren't all that good. He would miss your only try in a dozen years playing rugby union because he was picking up your sister from gymnastics, trying to be in two places at the same time.

When i think of the kind of man my Dad was, one of the first words that spring to mind is friendly. He was the guy who would chew the ear off your mates. He was the guy who you would want to share a cubical with at work and would invite you to join him for a beer once you knocked off.

He was down to earth. For years, whenever my wife Ange came over, you would hear two things. First, my Mum would answer the door and say "Hello love," and then, Ange would meet my Dad, sitting on the couch, drinking a Diet Coke. Each time the same thing would happen. Ange would say hello to "Mr Baldock" and my Dad would reply "Call me Dave." That's the kind of guy my Dad was.

Since turning 18 I had the privilege to get to know my Dad beyond the role as my father. I'm at the age where you parents, seemingly overnight, get personalities and all these odd interests. Over the past decade I began to relate to Dad as a fellow adult, husband and potential father.

For my 21st, both Dad and I got the same gift from my mates. We both received a snooker cue. But the gift i actually got wasn't a piece of wood, but it was time with my Dad. Time to share a beer and beat him over a snooker table.

He loved sharing a beer and hearing how life was going. Delighting in your joys and helping you through the difficult times. In fact, that sums up the last meaningful conversation i had with Dad. Once Dad was told that Ange and a were having trouble conceiving, he gave me a call, and asked if i wanted to come up to the hospital and join him for an ale and a chat. When i asked him of that was allowed, he said it didn't matter... we should do it anyway.

Most of you would know that the last few months of Dad's life were pretty tough, but he always made the effort to be in high spirits. He would smile, flash that gap between his teeth and greet the grand-daughter that he was so proud of.

When describing my Dad to my kids, when telling them what he was like, the best i can do is say that i would be proud if they grew up to be just like him.