- Samantha Nutt, Damned Nations

Incredulously, we teach tolerance and peace. Yet, we hypocritically fund the war machine. Many of the weapons produced end up, at one time or another, in the hands of militias filled with child soldiers. Are we okay with this?

All in the name of our financial security…

Sometimes the best life lessons aren’t lessons at all, they are just life.

What follows is a letter I wrote my Dad a few days after his death. I read it at his funeral service.


Dad,

When I was growing up, I never listened to you. When you spoke, you spoke with authority, whether you had it or not. What could you possibly know about living in my world? It must be generational, I’d tell myself. You worked a job where you wore a shirt and tie everyday. You listened to twangy country music and scoffed anytime I wanted to spend money on anything cool. You were pragmatic and measured; all the things that made me roll my eyes when I was younger.

As years went by, things changed. Those cheesy little phrases you always said had started to mean something different. You used to always say, “Pitter patter, let’s get at ‘er.” Now I know that you were teaching me to take advantage of the day, of the immediate. There is no sense in waiting for the opportunity to come. It is my job to go make it.

You’d say, “Just skate it off,” no matter the injury. I used to think you were just being hard on me. But now I can see, you wanted me to recognize that the battle is never over on the first strike. It is up to me to get back up and carry on.

Anytime any of us were going out you’d remind us that, “I know a lot of people in this city.” At the time I thought it was a threat to us kids that you knew our every move, but I’ve come to learn that it is a statement about living with honour and integrity; about having respect for your self and for each other. It was a reminder to build community and to make connections.

When things got heated and contentious, you’d always say, “It’s not an argument, it’s a discussion.” Then, I thought it was you trying to poke the fire. But now, I see you wanted me to recognize the value of having a difference of opinion without judging a person’s character. You wanted us to accept all viewpoints, to embrace a good discussion, and to be open to learn from those in opposition.

You answered the phone, like no one else, with your particular, “And, how are you now?” You didn’t want a cookie cutter greeting; this was you having an authentic desire to know people. You aspired to form genuine connections with people; you were interested in them, in the immediate.

Each time we drove by a farmer’s field with freshly laid manure, you’d always look to Mom and say, “Whoa dear, I love your new perfume.” We always laughed and thought it was you just having fun, but you were showing us how to build and maintain a relationship with our spouse that was genuine and fun. You were teaching us to revel in love.

After every road trip, after sitting in the car, all 6 of us, you’d always end it off with, “Home again, gone again, Finnegan.” I never knew what it really meant, and frankly, I’m still trying to figure it out. But I’m sure it holds a lesson that I’ll finally learn to appreciate.

Thank you for being a great teacher, for laying the groundwork so that all four of us can see the world in all its glory. Today I celebrate the life you lived, the life you loved and the life I got to share with you.

Love,
Scott