Thank you all for being here today to celebrate my dad.

My dad was many things. He was hardworking, generous, stubborn, loyal, protective, incredibly opinionated, and sometimes completely ridiculous. He was also the person you called when you needed something. He was the person who would figure it out. He was the person who showed up.

And I think the best way I can tell you about my dad is by sharing some of the little moments that have become the biggest memories in my mind—the ordinary moments that I didn’t realize, at the time, would one day mean so much.

When I was little, we were playing catch in the front yard. I held the glove up in front of my face, the ball rolled out of it, and somehow hit me directly in the front tooth. My tooth turned gray and became loose, so naturally, I wanted my dad to pull it.

He did.

Except my dad had very large fingers…and accidentally pulled out both of my front teeth.

This was around Christmas, so for the next several weeks, my mom and dad would sing, “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.”

That is one of those stories I’ve probably heard a hundred times, and now I would give anything to hear him tell it again.

There’s another story from when I was about three that my dad loved to tell.

Up until that point, he had always had a full beard. But one day, for whatever reason, he decided to shave it off and go completely clean-shaven.

When I saw him, I apparently looked at him in complete shock and confusion and started crying, “You’re not my daddy!”

And apparently, that was the end of that.

He never shaved his beard again.

When I was little and sick, my parents would take turns staying home with me. I always wanted my dad to stay because he didn’t believe in lying around feeling sorry for yourself. He would take me to McDonald’s or somewhere else to get a treat, because apparently, the cure for whatever illness I had was a Happy Meal.

But really, he just wanted to make me smile.

That was my dad.

When I had my first sleepover, I needed a sleeping bag. My dad had a perfectly good black sleeping bag that he used for hunting. I was horrified. It was boring. It was black. It was, in my mind, absolutely unacceptable for a little girl.

So sometime in the middle of the night, my dad went to the store and came home with a Little Mermaid sleeping bag.

I used that sleeping bag until it was completely worn out.

He could be incredibly practical, but when it came to me, he had a hard time saying no.

And then, of course, I became a teenager—and suddenly my dad had a lot of opinions about my clothes.

He did not always love my outfits, and he was never shy about letting me know it.

Although he really had no business giving me fashion advice, he regularly wore tall white socks with shorts.

So maybe his fashion opinions weren’t exactly something I took seriously—but I always knew they came from a dad who was looking out for his daughter.

When I was 15—before I even had my permit—my mom was out of town for a school board conference. My dad took me car shopping, found a car he thought would be a good fit, and decided to buy it.

Just because.

That was my dad.

But some of my favorite memories weren’t the big things he bought me. They were the ordinary routines we had together.

My dad loved a late-night bowl of cereal. Every night, we would sit together, eat cereal, and watch silly TV shows until I fell asleep. Then he would carry me to bed and tuck me in.

One morning, he grounded me for smarting off and told me I wasn’t allowed to watch TV for two days.

That same night, he asked me what I wanted to watch.

And we went right back to our normal routine.

I now do this with Carter, and I will cherish that simple tradition even more, knowing where it came from.

Not everyone knows this, but my dad could draw and sketch just about anything. When I was little, we would sit at the coffee table for hours, and he would teach me how to draw anything and everything.

For some reason, one of the things I remember most clearly is him teaching me how to draw a mallard duck.

Little did I know that those afternoons at the coffee table would eventually lead me to become an art major in college.

He was also a talented woodworker and welder. He loved building benches, tables, and memorial pieces for people, many of which are in my home. We tried for years to convince him to turn it into a business, but that wasn’t really his style.

He just liked creating things—and then giving them away.

That was another thing about my dad. He gave generously, often without anyone asking and without expecting anything in return.

I also grew up camping with my parents and cousins. And by camping, I mean a fifth wheel—because my mom and I were probably a little too high-maintenance for actual tent camping.

We traveled all over the country, and my dad gave me experiences I will always be grateful for.

He also taught me some very important survival skills.

We would go hiking, and my dad would walk down a path with me, then tell me he was going to run ahead into the woods, and I needed to figure out how to get back to him.

At the time, I thought he was just being mean.

Now I realize he was teaching me not to be afraid. To think for myself. To figure things out. To trust that I could find my way home.

That lesson has stayed with me.

My dad worked incredibly hard. He spent more than 40 years at AMD, and that work ethic was something I watched my entire life and now mimic.

He also had a love for cattle that led him to start a venture with his dad, and became a big part of our family life. He had cattle on various land leases around Florence, which meant there were many gates.

And I became the designated gate opener.

At the time, I hated it.

But looking back, some of those drives and endless gates were some of the best conversations we ever had.

And later, he sold those cattle to help pay for my college tuition.

There is probably nothing more Texas than your dad selling cattle to help pay for your college education.

When I went to UT, I was lucky that my dad worked nearby. Every Thursday, he would pick me up and take me to dinner or the grocery store.

And, of course, he would make sure I ate enough food.

Eventually, some of my college friends started joining us, so my dad would sit at a table surrounded by a gaggle of college girls and listen to us tell him all about the chaos of our week.

I am so grateful for those Thursday nights.

Because when I look back now, I realize those weren’t just dinners.

They were time.

They were my dad making sure that even as I was growing up and becoming an adult, I still had a place to come home to.

And then there was Chicago.

I had lived in Florence my entire childhood and went to college only about 45 minutes away. Most of my family was local, and while I loved that, it was also easy to stay comfortable and never really venture too far from home.

In my junior year, I learned about an internship program that let me choose a major city in the country.

I became fixated on Chicago.

My mom’s response was essentially, “Why can't you find an internship here for free?”

So, being the daddy’s girl that I was, I called him, knowing he hadn't talked to her yet.

I pitched my case.

And the next week, he helped me sign up.

Little did either of us know that decision would change my life.

I fell in love with Chicago. After graduation, I moved there.

And thank God I did.

Because that is where I met my wonderful husband, Matt.

My dad didn’t love having me so far away. But he always wanted to give me the world.

And he did.

He gave me the confidence to leave home, experience things, make my own choices, and build a life that was mine.

He also gave me an incredible example of what I should look for in a husband.

My dad was not perfect.

But he loved my mom, his mom, and me more than anything in this world. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for us.

My dad gave me an incredible foundation for understanding what a life partner should be. He raised me not to settle. He expected the best from me and from anyone who wanted to be part of my life.

I had boyfriends in high school who were absolutely terrified of the man who would casually sharpen pocketknives or clean his guns when they came over.

And then Matt walked in and somehow won him over almost immediately.

My dad was incredibly proud of the man I chose, and I will forever be grateful that the two most important men in my life loved and respected each other.

My parents gave me the wedding of my dreams.

I wasn’t nervous about marrying my best friend, but I absolutely hated the idea of everyone staring at me as I walked down the aisle.

I told my dad how nervous I was.

And he said, “Don’t worry. No one is going to be watching you. Everyone is going to be so shocked I’m wearing a suit that they’ll be looking at me.”

That was my dad.

He could always make me laugh when I needed it most.

And then he became a grandfather.

The twinkle that appeared in his eyes when he looked at his grandson is something I will never forget.

They were two peas in a pod.

My dad always got down on Carter’s level. He talked to him like a person—not a baby, not a kid. And he loved him fiercely.

And I loved watching little pieces of my dad show up in Carter. Carter’s middle name is James, after my dad, and whenever he was being particularly ornery, stubborn, or just throwing a fit, I would look at him and say, “Your James is showing.”

My dad and Carter would both just smirk at me, because they knew exactly what I meant.

My dad knew that Carter was, in so many ways, his mini-me. And loved seeing a little bit of himself in him.

Although his time with Case was short, he loved him just as much and was so tickled by his blossoming personality. Just last week, he was teaching Case how to climb the stairs at the vacation condo—which, of course, was exactly what I needed him to learn on vacation. Thanks, Dad.

He was also helping Case walk all over the condo, holding his little hands and following him around as he explored. I’m so grateful they got those moments together, even though I never could have imagined at the time that just days later, they would become some of the memories I would hold onto most.

Not everyone knows that, between my boys, I lost two daughters.

Along with this, those are some of the hardest things I have ever lived through. I was physically broken, emotionally broken, and trying to somehow keep going while also figuring out how to help Carter understand what was happening.

My parents and Matt were my rocks.

He didn’t always have the perfect words. He didn’t need to.

He helped honor my daughters in the way he knew how. He created and arranged Conley’s resting place and gravestone, built a memory box for our other baby girl, and he and my mom made sure Carter was distracted, loved, and secure while Matt and I were just trying to survive.

Those who knew my dad will miss everything about him—his silly jokes, his stubborn streak, his colorful cursing fits, his stories, his opinions, and all of those little quirks that made him unmistakably James.

And now, for the first time in my life, I have to figure out how to live in a world without him.

I don't know how to do that yet.

I don't know how my mom is supposed to do it without her best friend.

I don't know how Matt and I are supposed to explain to Carter and Case that Papa isn't coming back.

But I do know this:

He spent my entire life teaching me how to find my way.

He taught me to work hard. To be independent. To be generous. To take the trip. To help people. To speak my mind. To love fiercely. To never settle. And, most importantly, to show up for the people you love.

So I will show up for my mom, Matt, Carter, and Case.

Our family will recount the funny stories, the ridiculous stories, the lessons, the adventures, and I will make sure they know that they were loved by him beyond measure.

I hope I can give my boys even a fraction of what my dad gave me.

Because the greatest gift my dad ever gave me wasn't a car, or a college education, or a wedding, or all the things he built with his hands.

It was the foundation he gave me to build my own life.

He taught me what it means to love someone, to take care of your family, and to be the person who shows up when it matters.

Dad, I hope you know how deeply you were loved.

I hope you know how proud I was—and always will be—to be your daughter.

I hope you know that every good part of me carries a piece of you. I will spend the rest of my life making sure that the love you gave me, and everything you taught me, lives on.

I am so proud to be your daughter.

I love you, Dad. And I always will.

Chuck Norris, Mr. Incredible, the man that never sleeps…these are all ways that many of you have described Jim Wiseman. And he was all those things, but to me, he was Uncle James. I’m Taylor Wiseman, his brother Jon’s daughter.

I’ve tried to figure out how to start this for days…and nothing seems to fit. It’s hard to sum up the life of a man who seems to have done it all. He had a family he adored, countless hobbies and a work ethic that could only be rivaled by a few.

Uncle James was the oldest of four siblings - and had the personality of an oldest child, we have that in common. Each of his siblings are similar yet incredibly different. They are similar in that family is everything. I know many of you in here heard about all of Jess’s accomplishments or saw multiple photos of his grandsons. And I know his sharing about family didn’t stop there. Over the years, I’ve met Uncle James’s friends and they’ve said, “you’re Taylor! We’ve heard so much about you.” He was everyone’s biggest champion and you’d hear how special others were before he told you about himself.

Four siblings is a lot (grandma you’re a saint!) but that didn’t mean there wasn’t room for more. Him and his siblings created friendships and relationships with many people. Especially Uncle James. He’s got a group of hunting buddies, antique lovers, gun and knife collectors, and many more. With that said, when you became part of Uncle James inner circle, you became part of the Wiseman family inner circle. And I apologize if you’ve ever been around all of us at the same time. We are a lot. But what you quickly learn is that we will be there for each other and we will be there for you. And that remains true.

Something we all know is that Uncle James helped any way he could. And, to me, that sums up who he was at his core. A helper. It didn’t matter who you were, if you needed help, he was gonna help you - whether you liked the way he helped or not. He was there. He instilled that in all of us.

Uncle James was also stubborn (as you’ve heard from many of us today). He got that from his Mother and his Father, my Grandparents. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask this in his honor, “Momma, you drink any water today? Didja eat breakfast?” “Pooh, did you take your vitamins?” “‘Nita can you scratch my back?” I could continue with 20 more questions he’d want me to ask, but I’ll spare y’all.

But really, if he set his mind to something, he was doing it and you better be on board, on time and ready for whatever.

Back in 2016, I decided I wanted to hunt. I’d always seen and heard about uncle James’s hunting escapades and I wanted to partake. I managed to get a buck - after letting it walk out of my sights twice. (Uncle James thought he’d taught me better than that.) When I shared a photo of the buck, uncle James was proud of me and quickly agreed to help design a mount for me to display the antlers. He told me all I had to do was clean up the fur & skin around the antlers and he’d help me with the rest. Oh, and time was of the essence because if those antlers were left too long, they’d smell awful and we didn’t want that. I, someone with a WEAK stomach, procrastinated on cleaning those antlers, but you best believe I wasn’t gonna let him down. I stayed up late the night before I was heading to his house to finish up the mount and those antlers were clean of any and all fur. Uncle James had already sanded, stained and prepped the mount. We placed the antlers in their spot and used his router to add the date and location of my hunt. I’ve treasured that mount - it’s moved with me from Texas to Louisiana, Tennessee, Chicago and back here to the Lone Star State. It’s always found a spot on my walls and will continue to hang forever - what’s even more special, the memory and time spent with Uncle James in his shop. If you have one his pieces, I hope you know how much time, effort, detail and love went into that piece.

As was mentioned in his obituary, we had to be careful what we texted to him since it was a “work phone”. This meant jokes, “I love you’s” and anything that may be construed as fun was NOT allowed. Remember when I mentioned he was stubborn? The rest of us are just as stubborn as he was, so we REALLY listened to his rules.

While we’re on the topic of technology, I’ll share a couple stories. Just last week on our family vacation in Destin, he called himself a “tech genius” while explaining to me that he knew how wired earbuds worked. You heard that right, wired earbuds. Genius.

And when you received a text from Uncle James, you knew it came from him - not because you have his number saved in your phone - but because he’d sign off on each text “all the best, Uncle James”, “thanks, Uncle James” and on the INCREDIBLY rare occasion, “love you, Uncle James”.

In all seriousness, he LOVED hard. Even if he didn’t say it all the time. He also laughed hard…mostly at his own jokes, where he’d be the only one that seemed to get the punchline. He’d get so dang tickled and just giggle. (I hope you’re all imaging him giggling - quite the sight…the only other time I heard him giggle like that was when I heard him on the phone with his buddy Jeff. This was on our way to one of those famous Thursday nightdinners! But while talking to Jeff, you’d have thought he was talking to his grade-school crush with how high his voice got and the joy emoting from him.) if he knew I was sharing this info, he’d get serious and say “shut up, Taylor!”, to which I’d respond, “make me”. He’d then giggle…again.

I know he’s up there swearin’ at me right now. So while I’ve got him all worked up, let me share another story with y’all. One year around Christmas we were gonna head to a farm that had lights, decorations, all the things. We were meeting at my parent’s house then carpooling. While waiting, Uncle James mentioned he had something in his eye that was bothering him. My dad grabbed some eye drops and told him these should help. Uncle James acted as if he’d never seen, let alone heard of, eye drops. Somehow we convinced him he should try them. Remember when y’all saw him as Mr. Incredible? Keep that in mind. So Jess grabbed the bottle and put a SINGULAR drop into his eye. Before it even touched his eyeball, he was hollering, “ow ow owwwwww!” and then some form of “gosh dang that burned, what’d y’all do that for” came out and he swore off eye drops for life.

I hope some of you are seeing a different side of Uncle James, or as many of you know him, Jim. I always laughed when I heard him called Jim, that was so professional and buttoned up. But he was so much more than that - he was the guy who showed up to work and a pair of his daughters panties dropped out of his pants leg as he was walking down a crowded hallway - he was mortified…couldn’t have happened to a nicer person, he was the guy who crawled out of his skin at the slightest mention of PDA - I did see him holding Aunt Anita’s hand during a sunset walk on our trip to Destin - he’d tell you I’m lying, but I saw it, he’s also the guy that hopped on one of our Honda 70s out in Llano, slammed the heel of his boot into the ground and thought he broke his femur, turned out he’d just pulled a muscle. And those tall white socks…that remained on his legs even when the socks were off. That tan line y’all. Woof. These are just a small snippet of moments I’ll remember and as we begin to navigate this earthly world without him, I pray we remember all he was. A gentle giant, an old cowboy, a friend, confidant, uncle, brother, husband, father, son, papa and a helping hand. Let your people know they can count on you, love hard and show up.

At this point, he’d be asking if my “story” was ever going to end and letting me know y’all don’t need all these “details”. So with that, I’ll end it…RIGHT THERE.