They call me a talker, say I have the gift of gab, whatever that means. Well, if ever there was a time for some loose talking this was it. Look at all these mooks, milling about so somberly. A few jokes, maybe an innuendo, and then straight into a humorous yet touching story.

People make talking out to be more complicated than it is. Open mouth. Say what you’d like to hear if you weren’t talking. Await riotous laughter and applause. I’ve done it thousands of time; school, church, family gatherings, work. Mom says I should do something important like politics. Dad always said…well, he said a lot of things.

“Son? Son?” That’s not my dad talking. Nope, it’s Uncle Dave, a nice guy all the same. But he’s not my dad, but he’s still talking, not that he ever had a gift for it, “Son, would you like to say a few words? No? That’s okay. Really, it is. You let me handle this, alright.”

Oh jeez, he’s going to talk. I feel for these people I really do.

He starts, “My brother…was a good man.”