Today I laid a rose on a casket that belonged to the father of a good friend. I hadn’t had much contact with him in quite a while, but he played a significant part during some of the best years of my life.

Jim was the kind of man who kept an open door policy. He didn’t judge people. He was quick to give you his opinion, and you could rely on him to be honest about how much of a dickhead you were being, but he always let people make their own choices. And he was always there to lend a hand whenever it was needed, from offering a place to crash for the night to picking up a ute-load of stuff.

I practically lived at his house the summer of 1999-2000, during a crazy time in my life when I was making the weird and wild choices only the young can make. There were many nights of pizza and gaming, watching movies and shooting the breeze. And after more interesting pursuits like trying to turn an aerosol can into a rocket and hooning around the streets singing “what’s the colour of a 2 cent piece?” at every cop we saw, we always somehow ended up back at Jim’s. I doubt my parents could count the amount of times they heard, “Yeah I’m still at Jim’s… I’ll be home tomorrow – probably.”

Sure, there were times when Jim had had enough. He’d look at me and say, “Haven’t you gone home yet?!” And I knew it was time to disappear back home for a few days. But Jim always welcomed life and people into his house, was always quick to tell a joke and make you laugh, keen to show off the latest game he was playing or berate us on our lack of musical taste. The house where Jim and his sons lived seemed to attract a happy group of strays who just needed a place to be themselves. And as I said, for me the few years I spent hanging out there were some of the best and happiest times in my life.

I know Jim is proud of the legacy he left behind in his kids, and the turnout at the funeral today is a testament to how many other lives he has touched. Rest in peace Jim, and stir up a few angels for me!