FAH3

It's November, much to my dislike. On the 24th of this month, it will officially have been a year since my father passed away. I'm not crying as much, but I still have my moments. One minute I'll be dealing with his absence and then all of a sudden I'm a mess again. It's hard to believe it's almost been a year. I still miss him everyday. Until he died, the longest I had been away from my father was two weeks. He had his flaws, but everyone does. But that man sacrifised so much for my mother and me. And I don't care that he never had the fame or money, but my father was one of the best self-taught musicians that ever lived. That man would practice the bass guitar until his fingers bleed, and still then some. He taught me a lot in my life, including a deep respect for music. I wish he were still here. If you were hid friend, he'd give you the shirt off of his back. If he didn't like you . . . let's just say you stayed out of his way.

Years ago, my grandfather owned a gas station, where my father was forced to work since he was 13. In his first year of college, my father had to work the graveyard shift. During the night, an old junker pulls up with two people in it. One guy comes into the gas station, points a gun in my father's face, and demands all the money in the register. My father was smart and didn't try anything. He gave the guy the money. As the guy walked away, my father got pissed. My father grabbed the gun under the counter, walked outside, and shot the robber in the back. The other person in the car speeds away while the robber is screaming and moaning about being shot. My father goes back inside, and brews a pot of coffee. He then pours himself a pot, and sits outside with the robber still moaning. As he sips his coffee, he tells the man who robbed him to just shut up and die. HE finishes his coffee, and the robber is still alive. So, my father goes back inside and calls my grandfather.

"Dad? Listen, the station just got robbed. I'm fine, but I shot the guy and he's still alive."

My grandfather and grandmother rush to the station. My grandfather checks the man, and then rushes inside to call the police while my grandmother is freaking out.

"You won't shoot a deer, but you'll shoot a man in the back?!"

"Mom, a deer never pointed a god damn gun in my face."

Well, the robber lived, but he wouldn't have if my father had just aimed two inches to the left. It turns out the man had robbed two or three other gas stations, and had shot the clerks. The reason he didn't shoot my dad? Out of ammo. This is how my dad told me the story, so I don't know how much of it is true and how much of it is a tall tale. But it's still a good story.

Well, life goes on. Yesterday was what would have been my father's 61st birthday. It's weird not having him here to celebrate it. I'm not crying as much, but the pain is still there. I was going to plan a party with friends to celebrate my dad's birthday, but life get in the way as it sometimes does. In the later half of August, my elderly neighbor slipped on her back porch and fell down her back steps. She's in her eighties, so her bones are very fragile. She broke her righ shoulder, right ribs, and her left hip. The hospital was going to do surgery, but she was in poor health. Her salt level was dropping, so they gave her fluids. This caused liquid to build in her lungs and it was a whole mish mish for a while. But, her levels were becoming normal. However, my neighbor had broken both of her arms, her back, and had a double bypass within the time frame of seven years. So the doctors were saying she wouldn't survive the surgery. In the last week of August, my mother paid her a visit in the hospital and she was doing better. Sadly, I don't have a happy ending. My neighbor, Karlyn, died late that night in her sleep.

We still try and push on. It's just weird when everything you know gets turned upside down.

It's been rough, I won't lie. Some days I have it together, and other days I don't. But everythign was going good until someone asked me this question that I am so sick and tired of.

"What are you going to do with your dad's ashes?"

For the love of God, I am so sick and tired of hearing that question. Everybody who asks that keeps telling me, more like demanding, that I bury my father's ashes. They won't even entertain the thoguht of spreading them. WHY CAN'T THEY TRY AND UNDERSTAND THIS?! MY DAD DID NOT WANT TO BE BURIED!!!!!!

The idea of being sealed in a box and buried underground scared the living crap out of my dad. I know he's dead now. But everyone keeps acting like his last wishes don't matter. But doesn't anyone understand? My dad wanted to be at home, with his family. Even in death, he didn't want to leave mom and me! He wanted to be with his family! WHAT'S SO WRONG WITH THAT YOU RIGHT-WING, SHIT EATING, SO CALLED CHRISTIAN WHEN YOU'RE NO WHERE NEAR CHRISTIAN HYPOCRITE MOTHER FUCKERS FOR YOU TO UNDERSTAND?!

He wants to be home, and he is. End of story. You don't like it? Then never talk to me, and make sure I don't shove my foot up your ass as you leave me and my family alone.

It's almost been five months since my father passed away, and the pain still hurts. I won't lie, there are days when I feel okay and fon on. But then there are days where I just can't stop myself from crying all day. I took a month off from work to try and adjust, and it did help. But the one thing I am sick of is some of these people who act like I should get over it already. Get over it, just like that?

Well, let me tell you something you God amn shit eating mother fuckers out there. I don't give a flying fuck what you pricks think! I had a father that did his fucking best to raise me! There would be days where he wouldn't eat just to make sure my mother and I did! He was a musician and he was a mechanic. there would be days where he would work in the morning, go straight to a gig, and sometimes not come home because he had to go straight back to work. Why? To make sure we had a home, we had clothes, and we had food. And even though he was tired and hurting, he did his dmandest to spend as much time with me as he could.

This man taught me how to play baseball, who taught me about music. He taught me how to stand up for myself. He taught me that there was more to music than just words and notes. He and my friends treated me like I was one of them. My grandparents keep saying he was a horrible father because I was exposed to musicians, drunks, drug users, drug dealers, strippers,and assholes growing up. But because I've seen what that shit has done to people, I don't want to use it. I didn't stay out late, I didn't run away, and I treated my parents with respect. When I was being picked on and beat up in school, he came to the school to chew out the principle's ass for not doing anything to stop it. He even threatened the bullies who harassed me when he saw them making my life a living hell.

Unlike other fuck heads out there, my father didn't want to avoid me. He wanted to spend as many days with me as he could. For years, we went to an Astgros game for father's day. During Summer vacation, we would play mini golf at Garner State Park, go swimming in the Frio, or share a chocolate malt at the drug store. On weekends, we rode our bikes through our neighborhood, saw movies at the dollar theatre down the street. And for my birthday every year since I was six, we went to the Rennaisance Festival. We talked about books, movies, music. He taught about the Texas Revolution and how much it matterd. I remember trips to San Antonio, and he would walk me through the 13 day seige and tell me, and show me, who fought where. Who died where. He even took me to see the reenactment at the San Jacinto Monument. I even miss when we would just walk the mall on weekends and not even buy anything or browse the stores. When he became a Mason, i did the best I could to help him.

Anyone can be a father, but it takes a real man to be a dad. My father was a dad! In every since of the word. He had his faults, and he won't win father of the year. But he was a better father than most mother fucking assholes out there. I learned more from him then what I would learn from any fucking school out there. So don't you dare tell me to get over my father's death! I hate the fucking attention, fuck it! It doesn't bring back my dad! My closest friends are in Crosby, and I'm having to be strong for my mom. So how about all you mother fuckers just back off, and let me grieve for a man that was more than a father than over half the people on this fucking globe will ever know!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sorry it's been so long since I've updated. The simplist explination is that life got in teh way. But it may be longer before I update again. I regret to inform everyone that my father passed away on Thanksgiving morning at the age of sixty. I'm not sure when that will be. Thank you for being patient with me.

FAH3