Before I begin, I would like to thank you all here on behalf of my mother, my brother and myself, for your efforts, big and small, to be here today , to help us mark my deceased fathers. I am honored to be here. I'm honored to be here to speak to all of you. I'm honored to be here to tell you about my father. Each of you here had your own relationship with my father, each of you has your own set of memories and your own picture of words that describes this man. I don't pretend to know the man you knew. But I hope that, in this eulogy that I offer you, you will recognize a part of the man that we all knew, the man who is no longer with us, the man who will never leave until that we all died here. The father was raised in the middle generation, born in the years immediately before the end of World War II, what they call the "silent generation." A generation with one foot firmly planted in the 1940s and the other unstable in the 1960s. He was lucky, or some would say cursed, to have an independent wife, who hoped to work and not just be kept at home. His children grew up in the 60s and 70s, a difficult time for parents trapped in drug use and premarital sex, for which I believe Dad was not prepared in the lesson plan that his father had given it to him. Sometimes my father would be faced with the need to deal with behavior from my brother or me for which he had no set response, behavior that he would simply have to deal with right then and there. When my father was in this situation, he always relied on the core values ​​he learned and tried to impress upon us boys the importance of doing the right thing. My father did not read books on raising children, he relied on common sense values. My father didn't know who Dr. Spock was and would have thought he was an idiot if he did. During school holidays, I remember my father dragging me out of bed early one morning after I was at a party at my brother's apartment in Okareka. . He asked me if I had been drinking and driving.