Uncle Brent 1931-2020

The poem was done by Stump's youngest son, Blair Macnab

July 1st, my Uncle Brent crossed that big divide and joined his parents, his first wife, and my Dad and brothers in that other place.

It is hard to describe how much this man meant to me, he was my hero, a professional hockey player who like any good Canadian boy had turned down an offer from the the Yankees to play Canada's national sport. He was an all round athlete, a scratch golfer, a switch hitting baseball catcher and a solid defense man on anyone's blue line. He came by his nickname, Stump, because running into him on the ice was a lot like hitting a stump, he wasn't moving, so you might be able to go around him, or over him, but you sure weren't going through him.

But that was only a small part of the man, although playing hockey took him away from school at an early age, he was one of the wisest people I knew. He knew the value of a good day's work wasn't measured in dollars. He parlayed that wisdom and hard work into a pretty successful farming business after he hung up his skates when his kids started school.

I spent many weekends and a few summers on the farm, living with my grandparents, and hanging around with my cousins down the road and credit him with a lot of life long lessons, about life and important things, like how to set a solid gate post, how to treat people.

I will miss his quiet wisdom, his chuckle that rumbled quietly from deep in his chest, the sparkle in his eyes, and that "you can do it" attitude of his.