My Eulogy of My Father

My dad’s stories will serve as guiding principles and an inspiration to help me carry on his spirit throughout my life.

👋 Hello, I’m Kevin Ferguson and welcome to 🍷 Rain on the Monte Bello Ridge,🍷 a memoir about health, aging and winemaking. (Book summary)

Again, this post is another deviation from Grandma Kay’s centenarian journey and the Gemello wine book. Instead, I’m sharing the eulogy of my father, Bren Ferguson, I gave on March 25th at his memorial service. I previously shared this tribute to my dad.

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My Eulogy of My Father, Bren Ferguson

My dad grew up in Los Angeles. He moved to the Bay Area in his twenties. He tried to raise my brother and I as Dodger fans. That brainwashing lasted until we were about 6.

One life-altering experience happened when we were barely in grammar school.

I was about 5. My brother was 7. We were at a Giants-Dodgers game at Candlestick Park.

I don’t remember anything about the game. But what I do remember was a harrowing experience as we left the game.

There was a drunk man yelling at my dad.

“Hey you! Dodger fan! Take that Dodger cap off! Don’t walk away from me!”

We hurried into the car. Before we knew it, the drunk was staring into our windshield as he pounded on the hood of our car.

“Windows up, boys!” My dad demanded.

We hightailed out of there.

I was frightened. I remember thinking about my 5-year-old bubble: It’s a tough world to be a Dodger fan.

That fall, I started kindergarten. I scraped me knee playing kickball. And I realized, what my dad had told me was a lie. I didn’t bleed Dodger Blue.

My older brother, Mike, laughed.

“I can’t believe you fell for that.”

It didn’t take long for Mike and I to convert to Giants fans, like the rest of our classmates at Cipriani School.

So the tradition began. For my dad’s April birthday, we’d get him Giants-Dodgers tickets.

My brother and I would wear our Giants gear. And my dad would wear a nonthreatening hat, like Stanford baseball or USA Olympics.

My dad loved the Olympics. Countries unifying peacefully for the love of sports. That’s probably because he taught history for 35+ years, mostly at juvenile hall in San Mateo.

In 1984, my dad took my brother and I to the Summer Olympics in Los Angeles. He was so thrilled to be able to share the Olympics with his sons.

But well before that, he ran a mock Olympics at the Belameda pool in Belmont, CA. That was in the early 1970’s, when he was the pool director and swim coach for hundreds of kids in the area. The Belameda Olympics even included the ceremonial lighting of a torch.

My dad retired from swim coaching in 1980, but never lost his love for the sport. Even as recently as five years ago, I’d come over to his home in Redwood Shores and catch him watching college swimming on his computer.

“Dad, the Lakers game is about to start on ESPN,” I said, referring to his favorite NBA team. “What are you doing?”

“Dad, the Lakers game is about to start on ESPN,” I said, referring to his favorite NBA team. “What are you doing?”

“I’m watching Stanford women swim against Cal,” he replied happily.

One day during the pandemic, my dad and I were talking about his swim coaching days in the 1970’s. He told me how he’d agreed to split the program with Tom Holman, a friend and teacher at San Mateo High School. 

Holman would coach the boys. My dad agreed to coach the girls. 

As he said this, a flood of understanding washed over me.

Title IX, which gave women athletes the right for equal opportunity in sports, had passed only a few years earlier, in 1972. With its passage, Dad became passionate about helping young women compete in this new era.

So he was not only a history teacher for troubled youth at juvenile hall. He was also a swim coach and advocate for a segment of the population that often struggled for equality.

I was only eight years old when Dad stopped coaching. Sometimes I feel sad that it took me until now to understand the deeper relevance of something so important to him, like completing a puzzle with one of the bigger pieces last. 

After reading comments in sympathy cards I’ve received from friends and family who have been touched by his life, it’s made me realize that we’re always learning more about the people we love from stories we hear about them. That’s just part of life’s journey. 

And as such, Dad’s stories and teachings will serve as guiding principles and an inspiration to help me carry on his spirit throughout my life.