Stan the man

This is a poem I wrote for my father and read it at his funeral.

In my life I have been a fan
Of many public figures and their deeds
But the one I admired most, was my father - Stan the Man
A man of modest needs

He wasn’t famous in any way
But he impressed me above the rest
For what he chose to say
Was considered, thoughtfull and for the best

Childhood memories flood my mind
Of running to his outstretched arms
A powewrfull man sturdy and kind
Carpenters trade etched on his palms

Hands that circumstances had made rough
Could also create sweat music on a bow
And remember a gentle time before life got tough
With violin he would put on a show

With a passion for singing I recall
As a child moments of song
When Stan the Man gave it his all
That moment when you feel you belong

Or listening to the classics in his car
Familiar sounds of music to his ears
Evoking memories of his youth in a land afar
Gripped with emotion he would shed a tear

Stan the man had a gift, cut short by circumstance
His full potential slipped through his hand
As war interrupted his chance
But he made the most of what he had in a new land

And his artistic instincts followed him here
Where he tackled his new life in a creative way
To support his family he held so dear
He was admired for the honest work he put in each day

Chess was his passion too
A game of tactics he loved to play
Where once again his creative side shone through
And he was hard to beat on his day

This man we’re proud to call dad
Will remain our greatest fan
Because he gave us everything he had
He was one of a kind - Stan the Man