Things That Completely Suck About Attending Your Father's Funeral

1. It means your dad has died.
2 through 8,932. See Number 1.
8,933. Leaving a fantastic beach house in Charleston, SC - three days into your trip - and finding an airline that will deliver you to Sioux Falls, SD (in a hurry, one-way or multi-city, for less than a gazillion dollars).
8,934. You end up back in your teeny-tiny hometown, with spotty cell service, even spottier blackberry service, and internet through your mother's ancient computer.
8.935. It is logistically impossible for your family to join you, so you spend most of the time answering the question "Where's your husband and kids?"
8,936. No, that's not my husband. That's my brother.
8,937. That's my uncle.
8,938. That's a woman. Dude, are you blind?
8,939. The social morons who want you to guess who they are. They approach you with the words "I bet you don't know who I am" and then just stand there, expectantly. [Note: It is perfectly acceptable to say "I bet you don't know who I am," and follow that immediately with "I'm Firstname Lastname and I know your mother/father/family through…" But if you just stand there waiting, imagining that you are a) so astoundingly memorable and that I will recall that one time your daughter and I went to the swimming pool together and b) so age-resistant that I can recognize you from twenty years ago, then you are seriously drinking too much of the local nitrate-laced water, my friend.]

Things That Don't Suck About Attending Your Father's Funeral
1.

I got nuthin.