Today, I sat and wrote an eulogy for my dad who passed yesterday.
Good afternoon everyone,
Thank you all for being here today to honor my dad.
My dad had just turned 74.
He was born in China, and at just 11 years old, he made the journey to Trinidad.
Life wasn’t easy for him growing up-and in many ways, it didn’t suddenly become easier when he got there. But what he did have, even from a young age, was strength. A quiet kind of strength. The kind that doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask for recognition-but just keeps going.
At 17, he got married to my mom. And from that point on, everything he did was for his family.
Together, my parents worked tirelessly in their businesses. Long days, late nights, early mornings-it was constant. Their love wasn’t loud or showy. It showed up in their work. In their sacrifice. In the way they built a life, step by step, for their three kids.
And they didn’t just work hard to survive-they worked hard to give us something more. They took us from Trinidad, to Texas for a couple of years, and eventually here to Toronto. That journey wasn’t easy. But because of it, their legacy now lives on in their seven grandchildren-seven lives shaped by the risks they took and the sacrifices they made.
That’s who my parents were. Builders of opportunities. Providers. Parents who quietly changed the course of our lives.
That’s the life they built for all of us.
But when I think of him, it becomes something much simpler.
He’s my dad.
Even now, I still call him Daddy.
He was a quiet, smart, kind-hearted man. The kind of person who didn’t say much, but when he did, it mattered. He grew up being independent and resourceful.
He had a way of not just fixing things, but building them-basements, sheds, interlocking driveways. He took pride in doing things on his own. A true Do-It-Yourselfer.
And I see now, as I’ve gotten older, just how much of that lives in me too.
Some of my favorite memories of him are simple ones.
Sundays were the only day my parents had off, and we’d go to the beach. Those days felt special-not because of anything extravagant, but because we were together. We also had family trips to the drive-in theatre.
As I got older in Trinidad, Sundays became something else: movie days.
My dad introduced me to movies. Double features every Sunday.
And I remember sitting beside him in a packed theatre, both of us completely absorbed, watching The Terminator for the first time-just sharing that sense of awe….
Or rewatching Spaghetti westerns or Kung Fu movies….
Later on, when my parents added video rentals to their store, I’d go with him on Thursdays after school to pick up the latest releases and I got to help pick the movies.
Those were some of the moments I looked forward to most, sharing in our mutual love of movies.
My dad was not a man of many words.
But I’ve come to realize something important.
Every time we sat side by side, watching a movie together… that was his way of saying, “I love you.”
And even in his final days, that never changed.
In the ICU, we watched Avatar 3 together-a movie he had been waiting months to see.
Most days, he would drift in and out of sleep, but during that movie, he gave it his full attention.
We sat side by side, just like always.
And at the end, I saw it in his eyes-one last “I love you.”
That was how he showed up. Quietly. Consistently. Fully.
Later in his life, he worked as a dealer in a casino. And in a way, that felt fitting. Not because he was a gambler-but because his whole life was about taking chances. Leaving home at 11. Building a family at 17. Moving across countries to give his children a better future.
He took risks-not for himself, but for all of us.
And those risks paid off in the most meaningful way.
Today, when I look at our family-at my siblings, at the seven grandchildren-I see his legacy everywhere.
In our opportunities. In our values. In the quiet strength that he passed down to all of us.
My dad may not have said “I love you” often.
But he lived it.
Every single day.
In his hard work.
In his sacrifices.
In the life he built for us.
And in those quiet moments we shared, sitting side by side in the dark, watching a movie.
Daddy, thank you-for everything you gave, everything you built, and everything you were.
I see you in me.
I see you in all of us.
And I’ll carry you with me… every time the lights go down and a movie begins.
I love you.