Be yourself. Those who don’t mind will love you for it.

To the very end, and even in hospital to the nurses, I mostly called my Dad, Dougie.

That was what many of our family and friends called him, usually with a smile – as they knew him, liked him and remembered things about him – and because he was very much his own person.

Dougie knew what he liked, and when and how he liked it.

And if it ever had ever occurred to him that his preferences may have seemed a bit strange to others, it did not seem to bother him.

I thought I’d share a few quirks of Dougie’s that make me smile – and stand out the most in my memory.

While many men of Dougie’s vintage have a well-stocked garage, his will be entered into the men’s shed hall of fame.

It was a unique work of art.

From our first highchair as babies to salvaged bread packet ties, elastic bands – and wheels of all shapes and sizes hanging on a wall, everything had its own place.

He was a recycler, and an upcycler way before it was a thing.

If his storage habits weren’t a function of being born in the last depression, they were certainly setting him up for the next one.

Dad loved to tease us all – usually just the same joke, but always funny.

Mum was constantly teased that she had no gifts with Teddy the cat, that she did not understand what it took to care for him, and that Dad was the only person who could get him back inside with one quick call in the evening.

Long after I left Sydney, I used to get teased that I’d ruined my cat Harry there, as I once fed him cheese and bacon.

Dad liked suggesting that I was too slack, and possibly too drunk after an evening out, to go to the perfectly good 7-11 just across the road, to buy a can of cat food.

My sister and I used to be always asked about our nit infestation whenever we rubbed hands through our hair – or even if we didn’t.

I came home one night to find a spray can of Baygon next to my pillow. The can was from the 1970’s of course, and from the garage.

Dougie just loved his food – but unfortunately, he had bit of a talent for biting the hand that fed him.

Mum ceased all scone making, when from early in their marriage, he mentioned that our grandmother made better scones.

He almost had his last roast ever a couple of years back, when after a trip to the hospital he told us loudly and proudly he’d just eaten his best roast dinner of his entire life there.

And strangely, he’s never been invited back to dinner to our family friend Carol’s place, after telling her how many wheat bix he needed to consume after dining there.

One of his peculiarities was that he believed most food was improved with the addition of raw onion.

In these last few years, when he was losing his sense of taste, he did not lose his sense of what he wanted – which was ice-cream, jelly if possible, but with exactly 2 almonds, 2 walnuts and 1 dash of sprinkles.

The coffee mug had to be warmed before the coffee was put in. He could tell if it wasn’t. His westend beer needed to be poured a certain way and drunk only out of the tankard he received as a retirement gift.

And his ginger beer bottle needed to be inverted before it was poured – as these were the instructions on the bottle.

The last thing I’ll mention is that most people have a certain special part of the day that sets them up to manage the stresses of the week. They may meditate, pray or spend time exercising.

Dougie’s special time was at 7.25 pm when the weather came on the ABC TV news. I’m not sure why – but we had to watch it with him in awe and in absolute sacred silence.

One of the biggest things I take out of my relationship with my Dad, is that there’s no use pretending to be something that you’re not.

You may as well be straightforwardly you.

The people who mind won’t matter and the people who matter won’t mind.

In fact, they’ll love you for it.

Thanks Dougie.

You are well loved.

You will be sadly missed.

And yes this eulogy paper will be recycled.