Standing outside staring at another sunset with my head thrown back, welcoming the spring and return of warmer weather it is impossible not to hear my neighbor’s music.
Takes me back to high school and college and makes me wonder if there is a particular reason for these tunes or if it is just a playlist.
Later on I’ll wander through my garage to clear out some junk and then decide I don’t have the energy to spend much time on this, got other things I want to focus on.
So I walk inside, click on the computer and in between reading come across stats showing someone has been roaming through the secret garden.
It is not who I expect but no one I recognize so I move back to focus on other things and come across Jimmy Page talking with Jack White and The Edge.
I have seen it before but damn, there are moments where you think about how cool it must be to sit with masters of a craft you love to share ideas and learn from them.
Walking A Dark Path
“You aren’t going to like this, but you don’t understand what it means not to have a father. I don’t blame you for it nor get upset that you don’t know what it’s like on this side because I didn’t until I got here. It is one of those things you just don’t get.”
I refused to engage further because there was no point. It is similar to arguing whether men can understand the pain of childbirth in that we’ll probably never agree that we can.
The only distinction is eventually we all join this club so there will come a time when there is a chance for getting it but again, until you reach that point you just don’t.
Anyhoo, several of my friends have faced the tragedy of having had their fathers die during the pandemic. So in addition to not having been able to see them in months there has been no traditional funerals or mourning rituals.
I am sorry for their losses and I am sorry they haven’t been able to grieve like others and hope they find peace.
Given it is different for all of us I don’t know if their situations are better, the same or worse than others. I can only speak for myself.
Dad went downhill pretty damn quickly, but he made retained agency and always knew who we were.
The last time we looked each other in the eye there was never any doubt he recognize me and that is a gift that I am grateful for.
Someone told me a short while ago they think my generation had too much exposure to toxic masculinity.
I dislike the term for a variety of reasons and might blog about it one day, but for now I’ll share some brief comments.
When I was a kid if you got hurt playing sports you were absolutely told to walk it off and you didn’t cry.
But if you were seriously hurt there was never any doubt that people would come running to help you.
A couple of things jump out about my dad. He told me never to throw the first punch but if I had no choice to defend myself and to finish it.
And I remember him telling me if I let the dark scare me it would win and that some point I would need to be able to walk through it myself.
I took his word to heart and have some vivid memories about walking some dark paths with the flashlight at my side. If I was concerned about tripping or falling I might turn it on, but otherwise I would leave it off.
Eventually I got pretty comfortable doing it I remember feeling a sense of satisfaction.
Granted when a guy got shot in a parking lot I had been in I grew a little less comfortable but still kept rolling through it. Just kept my eyes open and figured the odds were ever in my favor.
Seems to have worked, I am still here right.