A Eulogy for My Father, Sidney Wilson

I'm an only child. no sibling rivalries. no competition for my parents’ attention. You could say I was spoiled, but it was how I was spoiled that explains so much. my parents took me everywhere; restaurants, hotels, jazz concerts at Curtis Hixon Hall, driving vacations across the country, to their friends’ parties, and to church, of course. My father often took me to his office, to meetings, to Civitan Club luncheons, and across the state while he was calling on customers.

I was wearing a coat and tie at a very young age. I was expected to behave because I was around a lot more adults in my youth than children my own age. Through it all, my father’s hand was usually on my shoulder, quietly guiding me in the right direction….and I have to say I felt blessed to have access to the vast collection of ties in his closet.

In his lifetime my father was a farmer’s son, a teacher, a soldier, a loyal employee, a business owner and a proud World War II veteran. He knew my mother since he was six and she was three and they shared an enviable life together through good times and bad.

What I want to recount this afternoon is my father’s quiet strength, his warm demeanor, but most of all, his generosity and grace. Everyone either liked him or loved him. It wasn’t because he was outgoing or entertaining. His presence simply put everyone at ease.

As his son, I never wanted to fail him. When I did disappoint him, he didn’t get angry or judgmental. He stood by me. He helped me to fix the problem and move on. I cannot begin to credit him and my mother enough for seeing me safely through my youth by inspiring me to believe I could become anything I wanted to be.

In the late 60s and early 70s my father and I spent four years together sharing a car and a long, grueling commute each weekday across the original Howard Frankland bridge; him to work in Ybor City and me to high school on Davis Islands. That's how I learned to drive. He took the morning shift, and I drove us home each afternoon. The sun was always in our eyes. The rule was that whoever drove chose the radio station. My father never complained about the music I listened to. Think about that for a moment.

I often wonder if that’s where he and I learned to simply be comfortable with each other, not feeling that something had to be said. I wouldn't say we never talked. Instead, I'll posit that we enjoyed each other’s company and understood plenty without having to say much. We were that way together until the very end.

My father marveled at his longevity and was unable to explain it. He was thankful to God for the life he lived and was particularly grateful that he could spend the last years of his life together under the same roof with me and Elena. I would be remiss if I failed to credit the Veterans Administration for making that so much more manageable. I will always be grateful for their support.

My father outlived virtually all of his friends and family. There's no grieving spouse, no brothers, no children but me. In fairness, he might have felt that Carol was the daughter he never had. And he so much enjoyed meeting and talking with our friends and Elena's family. I know he loved Elena dearly. He could not have asked for a more caring daughter-in-law. 

Sadly, I've had the occasion to write and deliver too many eulogies in my life. As a writer I thought the exercise therapeutic, helping me to process the loss and, hopefully, to help others to do the same. This time it’s different. I struggled for these words. I don't want to let him down here today. I know how much he loved me. I only hope he knew how much I loved him.

Thank you, everyone, for standing with us today to bid farewell to such a fine man.