Funeral Speech Paul Loyd

It’s harder to be remembered as a good man than a great man

I remember my father telling me about how when he was coming up he had to pick

watermelons and tobacco. And doggone if those farmers didn’t pick you up before sunrise and

drop you back off after dark and only give you a nickel for your trouble. I remember my father

telling me about how when he graduated from high school, his gift was a pair of walkie-talkies

with no batteries, and that he had to pay for half of it. Coming from big money like that makes

you a hard worker. It makes you appreciate every single dollar you earn and makes you

inventive in your ways to earn it. His ambition and determination lead him to go on and run his

own construction company- it lead him to buy a boat and rig it up for catching crabs- it lead him

to make some good bets on the stock market- he even hinted a couple times at possibly having

dealt in the transportation of less-than-legal recreational… ahem… substances (and um, oh I

want to say old but in a nice way…. If any of you fine wine family members or friends know any

more about this I am so curious to hear about it.)-BUT most of all it lead to some good stories.

When he bought his first thunderbird he talked about how it would pass everything on the road

but the gas station. When he talked about his travels down to Central America with a priest for

company he always mentioned the absolutely stunning views, and about how the land is pretty

too. He mentioned that when he was scuba diving, he used to grab on to giant sea turtles
bigger than him and just cruise around on them. (Kinda like Finding Nemo). Or that one time

when he was diving down in the Keys and pulled himself up on to a dock with some seaweed on

him, and was mistaken as a sea monster! which lead to an amusing interaction with the police.

Or when he was spear fishing he shot at a fish so big the spear bounced right back and took off

only a scale the size of his hand. This was a man with an adventure packed life, and in the most

classical sense, he was a great man. But he wasn’t such a bad one either.

He might not have been the kind of guy to hold the door open for you, but he was there when

you needed him. He taught me how to swim where I learned to keep myself afloat. He taught

me how to play baseball, never missed a game, and practiced with me 1 on 1 for hours every

week, where I learned that hard work and commitment do pay off. He dragged me to the flea

and farmers market against my will for years, where I learned it’s not important to fit in and it

can really help when you stand out. He encouraged me to pick up playing the piano in high

school, where I learned that it’s never too late to be good at something new. Through his frugal

spending I learned that if you want something, no one’s going to give it to you, you have to get

it yourself. (it doesn’t matter who he is he has to sit down to take a dump the same way I do)

Most importantly, the way he would stand up for me and go to bat whenever I was treated

unfairly (even when I didn’t want him too), made me learn to protect those who can’t protect

themselves. He taught me how to be a good man, for that he’s to thank.

I ask that when you remember him, remember the Paul that lived larger-than-life with stories

to boot, but also remember the Paul that did what he thought was best for his family.

Remember a good man.