Here’s to the man who could silence a room with just a wave of his hand.
Who was the kind of person who didn’t have to introduce himself.
But was always a humble, generous man.
Here’s to the man who could never get through the 6 o clock bell rings without a drink in his hand.
Who actually gave me my first drink, without even thinking.
But who never lost the love of it.
Here’s to the man who made fun of my grooming.
Who mocked me every year for packing an extra bag.
And who lost track of the days thanks to my outfit changes.
Here’s to the man who made the dinner noises.
Who never failed to entertain a crowd after a meal.
And who never wanted to visit a different restaurant.
Here’s to the man who didn’t tolerate silliness.
Who never humoured his grandkids.
But who was always humours to his teenage fan club.
Here’s to the man who was always right.
Who radiated wisdom and knowledge.
But who would always be easy to verbally understand.
Here’s to the man who could throw a tantrum.
Who won many cases and brawls.
And who never could get a moment of peace.
Here’s to the man who had a heart of gold.
Who had a scary reputation of being the best.
And who thrived off it.
Here’s to the man who would probably laugh at me writing this.
Because I could never recite poetry for him.
But that’s the thing about his complements.
When you get one, they actually mean something.
So here’s to the man with the weirdest family connection to mine.
Because it’s not every day you get such a complex character as your uncles ex-wives partner.
And it’s not every day he actually liked you, as insignificant as your role in his life seems.