Sean McAllister, born May 31, 1969, in St. Paul, Minnesota, departed this world on August 27th 2025, following complications from diabetes. Sean lived as he wished— boldly, and with a sense of competition that could turn even a friendly board game into the Olympics. While we mourn his passing, we celebrate a life that was unapologetically large, loud, and, above all, unforgettable.

Sean was preceded in death by his father, Archie McAllister, and his uncle, Charlie McAllister. Sean is survived by his mother, Susan Nelsen, who never missed a chance to remind him that he needed Jesus; his loving children, Mason E. McAllister (daughter, who inherited his wit and stubbornness) and Camden A. McAllister (son, who will no doubt carry the torch of his competitive spirit); his sister Cayla McAllister, his brother Jason McAllister and many nieces, nephews, and cousins.

Sean was a true entrepreneur, diving headfirst into numerous ventures—often with nothing but a dream and a cocky grin. From bars and restaurants where laughter and live music echoed, to a successful DirecTV installation company that kept the Twin Cities TVs blaring. Sean's creativity was matched only by his confidence. If you told him he couldn't do it, you'd better believe he'd do it twice just to prove you wrong. And he would gloat the whole way.

He had a passion for boating, whether it was a lazy afternoon or a long trip down the river. Music flowed through his life, from 90 hip-hop to some Mark Farina. His favorite pastime, however, was "one-upping" everyone he knew—family, friends, and complete strangers alike. If you climbed a mountain, he'd climb two (and would probably build a business at the summit while he was there). Though his ego was legendary, he loved with equal intensity, and his children knew there was nothing he would not do for them. In his eyes, they were extraordinary, and he made sure they believed it too.

Sean's cockiness was unmatched, and his need to always come out on top was part of his charm. He was the kind of guy who never missed an opportunity to declare, "I told you so."

Beyond his bravado and competitive fire, Sean was the first to step in when someone needed help—often before they even asked. He had a knack for sensing struggle and never hesitated to offer a hand, whether it meant lending his time, his tools, or his opinion. But anyone who knew Sean understood that his unsolicited advice wasn't sugarcoated; he didn't believe in telling you only what you wanted to hear. Sean gave it to you straight, no frills, because he genuinely wanted you to succeed, not just feel better for a moment. His guidance was the kind you remembered—not because it was comforting, but because it was true. Sean was the rare soul who gave real answers, even if they sometimes stung. As we gather to remember Sean, let us do so with a smile, a story, and maybe a bit of friendly competition—he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Rest easy, Sean. We love you, and will think about you everyday.