"Saying Goodbye to My Old Man" with "My Old Man and Me"

The following is a memorial speech I wrote and delivered at my father's funeral on November 21, 2024.

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Thank you for gathering here today to honor and celebrate my father's life. Standing here, I feel sadness, gratitude, love, and a healthy dose of humor. If there’s one thing my dad taught me, it’s that even in life’s serious moments, there’s always room for a laugh.

My dad was, on the surface, a simple, charming man. He found joy in the little things: watching his favorite Westerns, filling his barn with what most of us would call “junk” but he proudly referred to as “treasures,” traveling to Palestine and the Gulf Coast with his trailer, and attending NASCAR races, where he transformed campgrounds into his court. If you’ve ever seen a man hold court over a group of RV and trailer owners, beer in hand, you’ve met Larry Presley.

For those who don’t know me, I’m Shawn, his oldest son. While I wasn’t born to him, he adopted me when I was two years old after marrying my mother. Although I have no memory of that moment, it shaped my life profoundly.

I stand here today with my brothers: Walter, his biological son, who is the spitting image of him in so many ways. Walter has Dad’s sharp wit, stubborn streak that could move mountains, and the “Presley Dance” moves that will cut a rug to the foundation. Then there’s Brent, his youngest son, who became part of our family when Dad married Carol. Brent brought a new dynamic to our family, and he had the honor and the challenge of being by Dad’s side during his final days, offering comfort and care when it was needed most.

We came into Dad’s life at different times and in different ways. Yet, regardless of how we arrived, we were met with the same unwavering gift: his love. It wasn’t always a loud or flashy kind of love; Dad’s love showed up in quiet gestures, thoughtful advice, and his unique way of making us feel like we belonged. He didn’t draw lines between us—there was no “step,” no “half.” We were his sons, and that’s the greatest gift he could have given us.

Let me be honest: our relationship with Dad wasn’t always a Hallmark movie. They were, shall we say, “unique.” There were moments of closeness and times when we didn’t see eye to eye. But that’s family, isn’t it? And, in some ways, that’s a reflection of our relationship with God—beautiful, messy, and full of moments where we shake our heads and wonder, “What’s the plan here?”

Dad loved giving advice—or at least his version of it. I’d come to him with a question, and he’d pause and then say something like, “Well, Bub, I don’t know about that, but I do know this: keep moving forward.” And then, to make sure I didn’t take life too seriously, he’d follow it up with, “And don’t forget to check your tires.”

It’s funny, but the older I get, the more I realize how much wisdom was packed into those simple words. Life isn’t always straightforward; sometimes, the best advice is to keep going and trust that things will work out—even if you’re running on fumes.

Sometimes, Dad’s humor caught you off guard, but his wisdom was always there. It reminds me of a passage from Isaiah 55:8-9: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

Even when Dad didn’t have all the answers, he guided us the best way he knew—with love and a little mischief. Of course, he wasn’t perfect, but despite his imperfections, he had a way of connecting. I remember asking him why he kept so much junk in that barn. He smiled and said, “You never know when you’ll need a spare part—or a conversation starter.” And, truthfully, he was right. Half the fun of visiting him was seeing what bizarre item he had found and why it was necessary.

At the heart of it all, Dad loved us deeply. And just as our earthly fathers love us, God’s love is constant and unconditional. As 1 John 3:1 says: “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!”

Even in the moments when Dad left us scratching our heads—like insisting that duct tape could fix anything—we knew he was always there.

So today, as we remember Dad, I find myself smiling through the sadness. He wasn’t just a good father—he was our father. He taught us to work hard, laugh often, and love one another. He left us with memories and lessons, including these pearls:

“Make sure your home isn’t built on a 100-year flood plain.”

“When in doubt, fill a Christmas stocking with oranges, a bag of nuts, and a pair of boxers.”

“You boys each get one free get-out-of-jail card.”

“All you need to fix anything in life is duct tape and WD-40. Even a sad heart.”

Thank you, Dad, for your love, your laughter, and your barn full of treasures—both literal and metaphorical. And thank you, God, for blessing us with fathers who keep us humble, keep us laughing, and remind us of what truly matters.

Amen.

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I'm not a poet, but this is a poem I wrote when my dad first passed away. "My Old Man and Me"

The world feels quiet, still tonight,

As you slip into eternal light.

Our journey was not always clear,

But still, I know I’ll hold you near.

Through highs and lows, through joy and pain,

I felt the weight of love remain.

Though we disagreed and sometimes fought,

You taught me lessons I had sought.

I’ll miss your voice, the way you’d speak,

Your quiet strength, your strong mystique.

In all our moments, both good and bad,

You were still my father, and I was still your child.

The love we shared was complex, true,

But at its core, it always grew.

I see now, even through the strife,

You did your best, you gave your life.

And though you’re gone, I feel you near,

In every memory, every tear.

You shaped my heart, for better, worse,

And now I carry you in verse.

So rest, dear Dad, your work is done,

Though we had battles, you were the one

Who held me close, in your own way—

I’ll miss you, and I’ll be okay.

November 16, 2024