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 northern most point, 
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 gray 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 kinds 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 our 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. 
We can be in total disagreement with someone without denigrating 
them 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 there with his daughter, a nice-looking blond 
girl a little younger than I was.
     He spoke to me in a friendly manner for a bit and it was at 
that point that I understood that having opinions that are 
different from those of another does not preclude one being 
deserving of respect as an individual.
     This simple tolerance and recognition of the real and 
profound dimensions of each human being, regardless of beliefs, 
origins, or values - that's what he expected of his children and 
that's what he expected of our country.
     He demanded this with love, love of his sons, love of his 
country, and it's for this that we so love the letters, the 
flowers, the dignity of the crowds, and we say to him, farewell.
     All that to thank him for having loved us so much.
     My father's fundamental belief never came from a text book. 
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 return 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 we're all capable of.
     But he wont' 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.
     I love you papa.