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A Son's Goodbye, eulogy
Pour la traduction française -entrez ici
Music - Massenet (style midi)
Friends, Romans, Countrymen . . .
I was about six years old when I went on my first official
trip. I was going with my father and my grandpa Sinclair up to
the North Pole.
It was a very glamorous destination. But the best thing
about it is that I was going to be spending lots of time with
my dad because in Ottawa he just worked so hard.
One day, we were in Alert, Canada's northernmost point, a
scientific military installation that seemed to consist
entirely of low shed-like buildings and warehouses.
Let's be honest. I was six. There were no brothers around
to play with and I was getting a little bored because dad
still somehow had a lot of work to do.
I remember a frozen, windswept Arctic afternoon when I was
bundled up into a Jeep and hustled out on a special top-secret
mission. I figured I was finally going to be let in on the
reason of this high-security Arctic base.
I was exactly right.
We drove slowly through and past the buildings, all of them
very grey and windy. We rounded a corner and came upon a red
one. We stopped. I got out of the Jeep and started to crunch
across towards the front door. I was told, no, to the window.
So I clambered over the snowbank, was boosted up to the
window, rubbed my sleeve against the frosty glass to see
inside and as my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw a figure,
hunched over one of many worktables that seemed very
cluttered. He was wearing a red suit with that furry white
trim.
And that's when I understood just how powerful and
wonderful my father was.
Pierre Elliott Trudeau. The very words convey so many
things to so many people. Statesman, intellectual, professor,
adversary, outdoorsman, lawyer, journalist, author, prime
minister.
But more than anything, to me, he was dad.
And what a dad.
He loved us with the passion and the
devotion that encompassed his life. He taught us to believe in
ourselves, to stand up for ourselves, to know ourselves and to
accept responsibility for ourselves.
We knew we were the luckiest kids in the world. And we had
done nothing to actually deserve it.
It was instead something that we would have to spend the
rest of our lives to work very hard to live up to.
He gave us a lot of tools. We were taught to take nothing
for granted. He doted on us but didn't indulge.
Many people say he didn't suffer fools gladly, but I'll
have you know he had infinite patience with us.
He encouraged us to push ourselves, to test limits, to
challenge anyone and anything.
There were certain basic principles that could never be
compromised.
As I guess it is for most kids, in Grade 3, it was always a
real treat to visit my dad at work.
As on previous visits this particular occasion included a
lunch at the parliamentary restaurant which always seemed to
be terribly important and full of serious people that I didn't
recognize.
But at eight, I was becoming politically aware. And I
recognized one whom I knew to be one of my father's chief
rivals.
Thinking of pleasing my father, I told a joke about him --
a generic, silly little grade school thing.
My father looked at me sternly with that look I would learn
to know so well, and said:
"Justin, never attack the
individual. One can be in total disagreement with someone
without denigrating him as a consequence."
Saying that, he stood up and took me by the hand and
brought me over to introduce me to this man. He was a nice man
who was eating with his daughter, a nice-looking blond girl a
little younger than I was.
My father's adversary spoke to me in a friendly manner and
it was then that I understood that having different opinions
from those of another person in no way precluded holding this
person in the highest respect.
Because mere tolerance is not enough: we must have true and
deep respect for every human being, regardless of his beliefs,
his origins and his values.
That is what my father demanded of
his sons and that is what he demanded of our country. He
demanded it out of love ? love of his sons, love of his
country. That is why we love him so. These letters, these
flowers, the dignity of the crowds who came to say farewell ?
all of that is a way of thanking him for having loved us so
much."
My father's fundamental belief never came from a textbook.
It stemmed from his deep love for and faith in all Canadians
and over the past few days, with every card, every rose, every
tear, every wave and every pirouette, you returned his love.
It means the world to Sacha and me.
Thank you.
We have gathered from coast to coast to coast, from one
ocean to another, united in our grief, to say goodbye.
But this is not the end. He left politics in '84. But he
came back for Meech. He came back for Charlottetown. He came
back to remind us of who we are and what we're all capable of.
But he won't be coming back anymore. It's all up to us, all
of us, now.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. He has kept his
promises and earned his sleep. |
Je t'aime Papa
Décès de Pierre Elliott Trudeau
Jeudi le 28 septembre 2000
Pierre Elliott Trudeau, sans contredit l'un des politiciens les plus marquants
de l'histoire du pays, est décédé à Montréal
en après-midi,ce 28 septembre 2000, À trois semaines de son 81e anniversaire, l'ancien
premier ministre qui a dirigé le Canada pendant plus de 15 ans souffrait
du cancer de la prostate et de la maladie de Parkinson. En début d'année,
une pneumonie avait mené à son hospitalisation. Selon des proches
de M. Trudeau, il ne s'était jamais vraiment remis de cette infection,
pas plus que du décès de son plus jeune fils, Michel, survenu
dans des circonstances tragiques il y a deux ans. Il laisse dans le deuil
ses enfants Sacha, Justin et Sarah Elisabeth.
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