Benjamin James Carr

Dad,

We are gathered here this morning to celebrate the life of Benjamin James Carr, our father, grandpa and friend.

I first met dad when I was about 5 or 6, when he started dating mum, we called him “uncle Ben” for a few years. though he wasn’t my biological father, the moment he came into my life he became the best father in every sense of the word, so much so that Fiona and I chose to take on his surname when he married mum in September 1981. I remember that day Fiona calling him dad, mum nudged him, he turned around and she said “just practicing” and he’s been our dad ever since. Never once feeling like a step family in any sense of the word. In the early days he would drive us to Girl Guides, Art classes, whilst entertaining us regularly with many of his numerous antics. When his sales manager job at Tolley’s would send him on business trips he always bought home 3 roses, one for mum, one for Fiona and one for myself. He was always so thoughtful.

Apart from being a father, Dad was exceptional in other areas of life too; on the bbq & making curries, gardening and really anything to do with plants, whilst literally being the rock in all of our lives. He was a very loyal husband to mum, always backing her 100% even if he disagreed, as a great husband should, though it could frustrate Fiona and I at times if we knew we were right. He always showed his love through acts of service, every morning with his routine he bought her coffee, her tablets, cleaned her glasses and got her a clean ashtray, and doing any running around to shops and appointments for mum.

Most days he would do the morning dishes and read the paper with his coffee, retreating to the garden in the afternoons where he would sit in his shorts no matter the weather with a red wine, listening to jazz or port power games and talking to his birds, “wingy and family”. i believed these birds could sense his warm character as every year they would bring dad their babies to show him. Or maybe they just liked the tasty cheese he fed them.

When he wasn’t fattening the birds, Dad started to get a little bit cheeky. Regularly sneaking off to the pokies in the afternoon, telling us he forgot something on the shopping list for mum, though she always knew what he was doing. At the end of the day Dad would always retreat to his tv room “the dog house” with his wine, curry he had made for himself and a heap of chocolate where he would watch one of hundreds of his collected dvds. I remember Georgia saying when she slept there all she could hear while trying to sleep was his war movies, loud enough the entire house shook. This would continue till he fell asleep and tottered off to bed.

Dad always supported me, he took care of Georgia for 3 weeks when she was little so Mum and I could go on a holiday so i could have a break from her chaos. To my disbelief Georgia was as good as gold for him and loved every minute in his care. This would continue whenever it was just her and Dad. he used to spoil her rotten, taking her to playgrounds everyday on way home from school, letting her eat whatever she wanted for dinner and stay up well beyond her bedtime. Once she got her licence and he “gave up” his, he gifted her his car as her first one as he wanted her to have a car that was reliable and easy to maintain. He was always selfless like this, giving up his garage for me when we moved in with them, just so I could use it for my craft. spent the afternoons going around the house to survey what the builders had been doing that day and took a keen interest in that process. He quickly became best friends with Georgias cat milo, who would sit outside with him and run in and out as Dad would always get up and open the door for him.

Dad was a kind, decent, caring, honest man who lived his life caring for those he loved. He was a wonderful husband, great dad, caring grandpa & good friend. I will miss him dearly and I will find comfort he’s now back with mum. They along with nana and John or Magee as he used to call him, are most likely all together sitting in a pub somewhere in the afterlife enjoying their “happy hour” once again.

Dad I love you and will definitely miss you, Paula.
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It’s funny how, as you get older, childhood memories become harder to recall.

But with Dad, what I remember most is how he would chase us down the hallway to bed, wearing Mum’s wig, arms outstretched, making strange noises I can’t even describe—pretending to be a monster. We would scream, run to our beds, and collapse giggling like typical girls.

I remember the day he made us cut down an old Hills Hoist using one of those two-person saws. It felt like the bluntest saw on Earth and took forever. I’m pretty sure there was a bribe involved—something that made it worth it in our young minds. I can’t remember what the reward was, but I do know this: Dad was always honest. If he promised something, he followed through.

Dad had the most eclectic taste in movies and TV. He wasn’t religious, but every week he had to religiously watch The Muppets. He’d laugh out loud to his favourites, Animal on the drums and the two grumpy old men in the balcony. He also loved Tim the Tool Man and Al Bundy in Married with Children. Then, just as easily, he’d switch to footy, the world news, or old classics.

His taste in music was just as diverse. And after a few glasses of wine, he’d start singing—and cracking dad jokes. One song I’ll always associate with him is Born Free, which he’d sing in this overly serious voice before joking, “My father’s a doctor,” leaving me to roll my eyes. That was just one of many. The rest… well, I’m still trying to forget.

Dad loved gardening. He could turn any pub courtyard into a tropical jungle oasis. His plants always seemed to thrive. He claimed it was because he talked to them—I just think it’s because living in a house full of three strong-willed women, he couldn’t get a word in edgewise and the plants were the only ones who really listened. Then the cats listened. Then the dog. Then the birds. Honestly, life was probably more peaceful for him out in the garden.

Dad also had adventurous taste in food. We refused to try the crunchy fried chicken legs from his favourite Chinese restaurant, and when it came to curry, the hotter the better. He’d sit there, red-faced, sweat beading on his forehead—but he’d clean his plate. Even when chilly started turning up in chocolate, he gave that a go.

But one of the most special things Dad always did—something so simple yet so meaningful to me—was bring me a coffee when I was getting ready for the day. No matter what time I got up, there he was, delivering coffee while I was at my dresser, hairdryer in hand. Subtly, he was probably trying to improve my wake-up mood. Dad really was a smart man.

The truth is, Dad came into our lives and took on three strong-minded, stubborn women—and he never ever let us down. He was always there for us.

Dad, yes, we had our differences, but you know I love you, Fiona.
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Grandpa,

From driving me to school and waiting hours out the front for me to finish and picking me up, to giving me $10 to get myself chocolate at the shops when I’d go to get your things, sitting outside and talking to milo and your birds, picking up all my grandparents on grandparents day, or letting me stay up late when Nana wasn’t home. And now watching over us all I’m sure.

Grandpa is the most loyal, selfless and calm man I know. Growing up with him guiding me and shaping me from my morals to my weird humour, I have always had a firm belief that family doesn’t come down to blood, and you carry traits of someone that you’re not genetically related to. Now science may disagree, but in every joke I make with my weird humour, every time I do something for someone not because they asked me but because I knew it would help them, in all my aspirations, goals, and through my strong loyalty and righteous morals, there is proof that grandpas traits are alive in me and all of us, and will honourably continue down the family line.

Grandpa your presence in my life was so strong and meaningful in more ways than you probably knew. When you look up what it means to be a father you will read: taking on the significant responsibility and privilege of raising and nurturing a child. Despite the legal title of my grandfather, you fit the role of my father so clearly and I am forever grateful that you stepped in where others lacked. You are such a big part in who I am today.

I can only hope that I continue to honour you with the rest of my grandparents, achieving everything you wished for me, and going on that post registration Europe trip we talked so often about. Can’t wait to meet with you one day to share and catchup over a block of chocolate and a bottle of red wine (that i’ll hopefully enjoy by then).

Rest peacefully Grandpa, Love Georgia
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