OSCAR

OSCAR

I've written about my father more so in the past than I had any time prior, but I guess I should write some more about it. Yesterday was the anniversary of his death.  Five years now. I'm still pretty much in awe, or at least some word that is like that towards how much of a mess he left behind that to this day, while thinking I had it all down cleaned up and everything in order, wouldn't surprise me that another shocking piece of information comes out.

He would have been 69 this year, given his lifestyle and his actions, I'm sure Senor Ojo would have been making light of that a lot. He drew. He was a city redevelopment project manager and an architect. He designed the lay out of my building. He also was a very conflicted man who I never really feel I got to get to know all that much because he hid so many secrets.

Last night I was sitting at  Bob's Big Boy eating a big boy combo. To be honest, Bob's is the dining experience I had with him. Not just that one time. Several locations. I guess he made the attempt to connect with me over a hamburger. I knew so many different locations all over SoCal because he took me there. When you talk about eating a memory or taking a bite out of something and just getting that sudden rush of nostalgia, getting some salad with blue cheese dressing on it from Bob's is pretty much that. The ketchup based sauce on two patties with a bun in the middle... yeah, that strikes the nostalgia chord super hard.

Anyhow, I'm sure this will just sound like a mess of a blog post. It's a rant one. Not much to gain other than a little insight or a nugget of pointless fact here about me. I guess that's something worth gold given how reserved I used to be about a lot of what I was thinking.

But my father died at age 63. Two months before he reached 64, which I feel is always your Beatles year. You know, on account of that song. Yeah. I worry that I won't make it to that either. I have had two uncles die already. One of a lung issue due to the chemicals he worked with and the other of a heart attack outside of the Hollywood bowl post a show going to the buses. At least he did what he liked in his final moments - see lives hows. But both of them died before reaching their 50's. So to me, this seems like a big worry. I'm already reaching 40, that means I don't have much time to really go out and live those dreams if I have those fears of death.

I mean, we all don't know when we'll die, and any day could be the last, but I did want to reach the age of at least 64 so I can happily play that Beatles album and feel like I hit something. Whoa, that will be strange if and when I do that. At that point I'll have out aged my father. The memories I have of him will be him locked in a younger age window than me. That in itself is a strange concept to grasp.

I should talk more about my father. The man loved jazz. He loved music as a whole. He also really loved to sneak handles of Sailor Jerry and drink it with coke, but I mean, who doesn't. He also was a pretty big pothead. I mean, it's hard not to fault him given the era he grew up. But you know, a man hiding a giant ass bong at his age is a little silly. Just be up front with your vices. I know I am about drinking. It's not the worst thing and I keep it in check, but you know, I'm not going to be ashamed to say that I enjoy myself a good drink or two in moderation or to unwind. It's all about being honest to yourself, and if you can't do that, then who the fuck can you be honest to.

My father wasn't honest to himself or anyone else. He kept secrets. Lots of them. Stupid shit that wouldn't even matter. He called me son instead of my actual name because the few times he actually used names, he called me my half brother's name by accident. Go figure, I know that if you're just going to live your life entirely with shields up, then you're not really going to be all that happy. That is no way to live. I also don't think I ever met any of his friends until the funeral, when they spoke highly of him. But to me, I didn't think he had any friends. He had meetings and work. And, well that's it. So yeah. I guess the whole compartmentalization of your own life in order to not get caught really does fuck you over.

I mean, the man provided. Even though he did sort of screw me out of going to USC and later throwing it in my face on why I didn't go there, that he had the connections since that was his district to redevelop and what not, I always felt like he just didn't like me. And ultimately it was that he didn't know how to open up to me. He didn't know how to lower those defenses with me to actually let me in.

In truth, I learned a lot from him. A lot of good, shit I talked about before. Stuff that has carried me through to be the person who I am and how I am towards my seeking out adventures. But sadly, for the longest time I did have the walls up like he did. Mainly because that is what I saw growing up and that's basically what I learned and soaked up even though it was not what I wanted and it did not benefit me in my past relationships. 

I worked very hard to take down those walls and try to open up. Some days I'm better than others. But it's a bit of a process to not just go default defensive like he would have and not want to have the conversation. More to the point, I don't know when I'm just rambling on and when I'm not. So with that, I'll just leave it at this.

R.I.P pops.