I talked to her about the difficulty that I had with writing my fathers eulogy. I only had two minor problems I said. Firstly, I didn't know how to start and then secondly, what do you say?
Peter Kane, my dad
Well I consulted 'Google' and found a number of sites which were helpful in trying to gather some structure, but I didn't really find anything that grabbed me, so I started anyway...well sort of. I initially started, then put it down, then crossed it out, then put it away, then started again.....well, you get the picture.
I decided that I would just talk to Dad. It was the single most difficult piece of writing that I have ever done. By the end of the first paragraph I was in tears. I would tell my fathers story from my perspective and recognise that he was a different man to different people. Warts and all with love and respect.
Anyway, here it is. It made me cry like a baby when I read it at the funeral, and it makes me tear up when I read it now.
Eulogy for Dad, 13/07/2011
Well Dad, you were right.
At last you were right. For the last 35 years you have been telling those who were close to you that, ‘this will be the last christmas/birthday I see’. Well, at last you were right. Here’s to you.
You are unique and I’ll tell you why. Everyone who got to meet you got their own version of Peter Kane. This is about my version, my closest and dearest friend, my Dad.
Your mother died when you were in your early teens and your father in your early twenties. These significant events inevitably shaped your view of the world and your place in it. A constant sense of impending doom pervaded every part of your life from those moments onwards. During the second half of your life you became a very anxious man often gripped so tightly by fear that you were incapable of functioning. When you could function, it was aided by the facade of false confidence, bravado and drugs just so you could accomplish simple tasks. You were either on or off. But I know that it wasn’t always this way.
From the outside looking in, a stranger could be forgiven for thinking that you wasted the greatest opportunity of your life. Time.
Your life was lived as you chose it. It had its sky scraping highs as well as almost bottomless lows. It was life full of contradictions and irony right to the end.
You made a career out of observing other peoples behaviour and trying to understand it. Their behaviour was all about their freedom of choice and the results that were created. Now whilst you said that you didn’t believe in ‘fate’ or ‘destiny’, secretly this is how you viewed your own world.
Your daily uniform for as long as I can remember has been sandshoes, sports socks, white shorts, a striped polo top and your gold medallion. You looked for all the world like you were going to or coming back from playing tennis. But the last time you played tennis must have been 35 years ago.
You are a quiet man, but you love an argument. Often just to amuse yourself or test the intellect of others.
You are a thoughtful man, but you are often careless with your relationship with those who love you the most, your family.
You hate hospital and doctors, yet your local GP practice is about to notice a significant drop in revenue now that you no longer require their services.
You are a generous man, and loving man, a polite man and I don’t think that you ever missed an appointment. You are one of life’s characters and also one of its last gentlemen. Appearances are important to you and trying to keep up an intelligent, confident and civil persona when in public is always a priority. ‘If you can’t be a good cricketer, at least try and look like one’ I hear your voice ringing in my head.
When you are on, you are sociable, a great conversationalist, knowledgeable and funny.
When you are off it is like you are on life support until you were ready to get on life’s stage again.
You have a diverse range of interests but you are passionate about music, books, sport and politics.
As a trained musician, your music interests range from classical to country, jazz and blues to rock ‘n roll. Strauss, Chopin, Cash, Ronstadt, Joplin, Sinatra and Jelly Roll Morton amongst others have been your constant companions. You see no point in the fluff of pop or the faux poetry of rap and hip hop.
As the son of a journalist you learned to read competently before you were enrolled at school. Your love of a well constructed story shaped your professional life and that knowledge you have passed on to me. Start at the end, engage your reader with short sharp sentences and make your point....and then make it again.
Lately you have been expanding your knowledge of the human brain, your understanding of how and why it works. You have spent a lifetime of hours researching the subject in town and at University of QLD and without doubt it’s helped you exercise the organ that you are most proud of, your own brain.
How ironic is it then that you are currently sitting here without it. I have no doubt that you are feeling very special that you currently have some very highly qualified doctors poking and prodding your brain to find out the genesis of your aneurysm. Don’t worry, I’ll get it returned to you with a full report, I’ll read it to you and you’ll love it.
Now correct me if I’m wrong, but Cricket may have been your first and lifetime love. I’m quite sure you never tired of it even though the introduction of the pyjama game in the 1970’s and 20/20 lately has tested your relationship. Whenever I saw you, you wanted to know who was playing around the world and what the score was.
My teenage years are indelibly intertwined with your cricket passion. You spent so much time showing me how to play the game the correct way. Technique was king and if you didn’t have that then you were just guessing. I talked to Andrew last week to tell him that you died. He is shattered. He was the closest thing that I had to a brother growing up. He loved you like a father. He spent more time with you than he did with his own Dad and is forever grateful for you teaching him the real meaning of cricket. You’ll be proud to know that it’s continued to be his passion; he still plays and thinks of you whilst doing so.Golf is your other sporting passion and one that you were still playing until recently. You pretty much had your second home at the Royal Bulimba course......but I don’t recall you ever paying for a round. In fact when was the last time you paid for a round of golf? 1975? Anyway, I’ve brought your shoes and a 5 iron along just in case you need them.
Your interest in Australian politics died sometime during the Hawke/Keating years. It may have had something to do with the ‘recession that we had to have’. You had no interest in the petty factional led debates performed by a bunch of amateur intellects and failed solicitors. Your real interest lies in the circus that is the US electoral system and their power politics. Your admiration for the professional bullshit artists of US politics is not surprising. You often said that if you want to see what it looks like when the grown up’s play, have a look to the US. Your experience working with Americans taught you that. When I talked to you last, you were looking forward to the battle for the Republican Party nominations which is just about to start. I was looking forward to our heated debates.
Since coming up to Brisbane 9 years ago your view of the world improved. I watched as you became confident enough to get out and go shopping, travel into town and play golf on a regular basis. You were finally leading a life that to some would be dull and boring, but to you every time you went out, it became an adventure and one that was worth telling me about. And after a couple of false starts, you even managed to get yourself to Ballina, Lismore and Toowoomba to play golf.
You became a regular at both the City Library and the University of Queensland. You loved nothing more than to walk down to the city cat early on the weekends in summer and ride up to the UQ to watch the 1st and 2nd grade cricket and surround yourself with people who were young and enthusiastic about your passion.
You moved it up a gear when Rosie came along 4 years ago. You became her Poppy and not only did she love seeing you she loved getting books thoughtfully chosen by you. We read every night. She always reminds me of the books you have given her. It’s because of you that she loves to read books and this will influence her life forever. I will make sure that Esther shares this love as well.
I first met you in late 1969 when you were 32 and I know you had some real difficulties dealing with me for a few years early on. Well its 41 years later and I’m so glad that you chose to be my father. During this time I’ve learned a lot of lessons from you, some invaluable and some best to ignore.
The most valuable one is the one that I am passing on to my girls and it is this:
Always to tell those around you that you love them, never be afraid to show it and, never let the sun set on an argument.
Even though my half of your adventure has had its ups and downs, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. We always made a point of never saying good bye, so as always I’ll give you a kiss and hug, I’ll tell you that I love you and I’ll see you again soon.
My version of Peter Kane was my Dad and he was the best.
Anyway, there it is. I hope by putting this up here it can help guide others decide how to get started and what to say. Once I decided that the eulogy was going to be my way of having a final conversation between me and my father rather than a dry 'memorial' of his life, the writing flowed. Interrupted only by my wading through a box of Kleenex every five minutes or so.
Till next time, look after yourself and your family.
Anthony
