Thank you for being here to celebrate Dad’s life.
Dad lived for 99 years, requiring a lengthy eulogy.
Dad valued hard work.
He worked full-time in bakeries, starting early to deliver bread.
He was also a horse trainer, barman, home gardener, and attempted home maintenance. Mum may have had mixed views about his handiwork.
He spent his life supporting his family, leaving little time for himself.
Despite working so much, Dad was always there.
Whatever I was involved in—cricket, basketball, football—Dad was there.
Before I could drive, he was my taxi service.
He spent much of his life looking after Mum.
They were married for over sixty years and supported each other through the hard times.
Mum and Dad were careful with money, but they were generous with me.
At every Royal Adelaide Show, I somehow came home with ten show bags, and over the years there were plenty of new toys as well.
Dad believed in good manners.
“Please” and “thank you” weren’t optional at home.
Dad rarely gave advice with words.
Instead, he taught by example.
If he did offer advice, it was usually something like:
“Don’t do what I do.”
What he wanted for me was opportunity.
He never told me to buy a home, but he taught me that lesson without him ever saying it.
I’m pleased that Jasmine and Bailey, and Ben and Nikki, are now living in their own homes as well.
When I became interested in computers, Dad drove me around trying to find computers I could use.
That support led me to study information technology at university and a career in IT.
Harness racing was one of Dad’s great loves.
His best horse was Carlite, who won 27 races and three Christmas Cups.
In later years he still enjoyed talking about horses and the people he met through racing.
Dad also loved talking.
The older he got, the more he loved talking.
Listening was optional.
Typically, I’d listen to complaints for ten minutes about taxis, his GP, the shortage of good doctors, or other injustices; eventually, I might get a turn to speak.
Despite my suggesting he find another GP, he wouldn’t and continued complaining about him.
Dad and I always talked footy.
In our house there was really only one acceptable team.
Port Adelaide.
Mum came from a North Adelaide family, but didn’t have a choice but to become a Port supporter too.
I remember going to Magpies games with Dad, Uncle Ross and their families.
Dad and I helped Uncle Ross run the Mini League at half-time.
Dad was one of the goal umpires, and I had the important job of operating the little scoreboard.
On one occasion we sat a little too close to the Port cheer squad.
Dad and Uncle Ross objected to some colourful language being used around women and children and politely asked for it to stop.
The cheer squad disagreed.
Things escalated.
The police became involved and arrested members of the cheer squad.
Dad’s advice to me afterwards was simple:
“Never join the cheer squad.”
If Port won, we’d speak very quickly afterwards.
If Port lost, we might leave it a few days.
If the Crows beat us, we wouldn’t mention it.
Dad made sure Jasmine and Ben followed Port as well.
Dad loved Holden cars.
He owned an FJ, an HR, an HK, a VC and a VE.
One day his HR wouldn’t start, so he rode my Malvern Star Dragster from Marden to North Adelaide, worked all day, and then rode it home again.
When he gave me my first car, naturally it was a Holden – a Torana.
What Dad didn’t know was that the previous owner had fitted a larger engine.
Dad couldn’t understand why I kept going through tyres so quickly.
I understood perfectly well.
I only ever heard Dad swear once.
A woman in a shopping centre car park let go of a shopping trolley, and it rolled straight into his HR Holden.
Apparently that was serious enough to justify strong language.
He used the word ‘shit’.
Dad was born in 1927 and grew up in a very different world.
Some attitudes and opinions that were considered normal then we recognise as wrong today.
As the grandchildren grew older and wiser, they took it upon themselves to educate him about how the world had changed.
To his credit, he listened.
Mostly.
Dad’s approach to healthcare could best be described as optimistic.
When I was about nine years old, he fell from the bike behind a horse.
He showed me the bruising on his bum, and then asked me to sit with him and make sure he didn’t fall asleep.
Apparently, in Dad’s medical opinion, this was the appropriate treatment.
The next day he went back to work.
His approach to healthcare extended to me too.
After my first football training session for Walkerville, I had my one and only asthma attack.
Dad’s treatment plan consisted of driving me home while I lay sideways on the rear bench seat that had no seat belt.
I survived.
Soon after their marriage, while delivering milk, he broke his upper leg lifting heavy milk containers.
He spent almost a year in traction in hospital.
While there, he passed the time sewing felt animals for children.
Later he would undergo multiple shoulder operations that eventually contributed to his retirement.
Dad was resilient and fiercely independent.
He didn’t want help at home, an emergency pendant, a mobile phone or many of the things that would have made his life easier and safer.
Eventually he came around to some of them.
But not without a fight.
Watching Dad keep going through the challenges of his nineties, determined to keep living in his own home with as little help as possible, inspired me.
When I’ve faced my own health challenges, I’ve often drawn strength from his example.
Once, he became distracted while cooking and set his kitchen on fire.
His solution was to rush back inside with a garden hose.
Attempts to stop him failed.
The fire brigade later informed him that this was a very silly thing to do.
Dad’s response was simple.
The house was still standing.
When I was about fifteen, Mum asked me to light the backyard furnace.
Inside I discovered a Playboy magazine.
I carefully reviewed the contents for educational purposes and burnt it as instructed.
I think Mum discovered Dad’s magazine, assumed it belonged to me, and taught me a lesson by making me burn it.
I never told Mum it wasn’t my magazine.
I think he owed me one.
Especially if he told Mum it wasn’t his.
Another memory was when my friend Brett arrived to pick me up for a sleepover when I was about seventeen.
Dad looked outside and saw Brett standing in the driveway holding a carton of beer.
Rather than saying no, Dad raced outside and scared Brett away.
He took a similar approach to dealing with a peeping Tom he spotted looking through a neighbour’s window.
As he ran out the front door, he shouted back to me:
“Get me the gun, John!”
Thankfully, no gun was required, as we had no gun.
Mum and Dad adopted me when I was only a few months old.
I didn’t discover that until I had already been married for about a year.
I wish I had learned it differently.
For me, not telling the truth felt very much like lying, and knowing that affected our relationship for many years.
But in Dad’s final weeks, we spoke about it.
I told him that I was grateful.
Grateful that Mum and Dad chose me.
Grateful for the opportunities they gave me.
Grateful for the life they helped me build.
He nodded, smiled, and understood.
I’m thankful we had that conversation.
Dad rarely spoke about his religious beliefs.
He attended church services when he was younger, and Mum and Dad made sure I went to Sunday School.
I suspect that was partly so I could learn about God and partly so Mum and Dad could enjoy a little time to themselves.
Whatever the reasons, it helped shape my own faith, and for that I am grateful.
Dad loved spending time with Jasmine and Ben.
He was proud of the adults they had become, loved Bailey and Nikki as part of the family, and was glad they had all found good life partners.
Dad was also excited about becoming a great-grandfather.
Ben and Nikki are expecting their first child, and Dad loved that news.
I’m sure he was already looking forward to teaching his great-grandchild about Port Adelaide, and warning them about that other club that was formed in court.
Dad worked hard.
He loved horses.
He loved Port Adelaide.
He loved talking.
He taught by example.
Most importantly, he loved his family.
His final weeks were spent surrounded by family.
He was relaxed, smiling, and talking as best he could.
Although we often struggled to understand, Dad still loved having a chat.
One of his biggest smiles came after Port Adelaide defeated Adelaide in the Showdown.
That seemed a fitting way for a lifelong Port supporter to spend one of his final weekends.
We’ll miss you, Dad.