"In the world which is upside down, the true is a moment of the false."
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| rock and roll means fuck "In the world which is upside down, the true is a moment of the false." |
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Thursday, January 09, 2003 my father died two years ago today. it didn't really dawn on me until a few minutes ago. i spent my first day back catching up on work shit and generally concerning myself with other things. then it hit me. today is january 8. fuck. it's been two years already. i'm at a loss. i was living in nyc on january 6 2001 when i got a phone call from my aunt annie bess (my dad's family is from east texas, y'all.). she said, "you need to come. you need to come right now.". i had spoken to my dad on new year's day and, though he didn't sound great, he didn't sound as if he were on death's door either. he told me he was feeling a-ok. i know now that he just didn't want anyone to worry. before i hung up, annie bess told me that my dad wanted to say something to me. he got on the phone and tried to say something that i just completely couldn't discern. then he said it again. then he said it once more and i pretended that i understood. when my aunt got back on the phone, i asked her what he was trying to say. "he says he loves you." , she replied. within a few hours i was on my way to la guardia to catch a plane to san antonio. it was snowing like hell and my flight was delayed so they could de-ice the wings. i ended up missing my connection in st. louis and spending the night in the airport. when i finally arrived the morning of the 7th, my dad was pretty out of it. he knew me, but couldn't really speak. he was medicated to the point of incoherence. i spent most of the next 24 hours with him and with assembled family and he passed away, with most of the family with him, at about 10:30 am on the morning of the 8th. it was the most profound moment in my life until that moment. (little did i know that i would have a similar such experience just 4 months later when my grandfather passed.) 4 days later i eulogized my father at a beautiful little church in the texas hill country. it wasn't something that i wanted to do at first. it was something i felt i had to do. then i wrote the eulogy and i knew it was the right thing to do. i was right. i don't know why i am doing this. perhaps, it's because i still have it here on paper. maybe it's because this was how i remebered him on that day and the way i remember him now. regardless, the eulogy i wrote is as follows: "ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, my father was a sailor, as am i. my father caught the saling bug in his late teens while spending some time in north florida, where i was eventually born. he loved it so much, the act of using ones's wit and skill with that of the wind to get from here to there, that no one could teach him fast enough. so, he taught himself. soon sailing with others on their boats wasn't good enough for him. he had to have his own boat. being a young man with a family, he couldn't afford one. so, he built one himself. these days one can buy a kit and put a nice little sloop together in one's garage in a few weekends. my father bought some plans at for one at a marine supply store and started from scratch. it took two years. but, she was worth the wait. she was the most beautiful little cubby cabin daysailer that you ever did see and she turned heads everywhere we took her. people would stop my dad on the dock and ask what kind of craft she was and who built her my dad would reply, "she's a hundley and i built her." they then would ask, "how much do you want for her?" to which my dad, pointing at me, five years old at the time, would answer, "well, sir, she belongs to my son and i don't think he's sellin'." my faher passed on his passion for sailing to me on the wonderful little boat and it is an obsession that i have never shaken. my sister was too young to sail and the boat frightened my mother. so, the time spent on the boat was for he and i. some of the fondest memories of my entire life are those of sailing with my father on that amazing little boat. soon my father's passion became to make whatever craft we were sailing at the time go faster than anyone else on the water. he got bit by the racing bug and my infection followed shortly thereafter. we quickly became the racingest fools on the gulf coast. which brings me to the story that i most want to tell today. it is the story of a race that seemed as ordinairy as any other at the time, but has grown to have a very significant resonance in the story of my life. it was a race around corpus christi bay with a finish in port aransas. we were sailing the boat of a family friend that was big, slow and ill suited to the task.she was a great boat, but she was a cruiser that wasn't exactly built for speed and we had a crew that seemed much more interested in suntans and cocktails than in winning this particular race. at the beginning of the race we had a good atart and seemed to be at least holding our own. but, at each mark we were losing time. a lot of time. at each turn we were falling further and further behind. our not so interested crew was losing more and more of their interest and motivation every minute. the last leg of the race consisted of one long down wind shot due south across the bay all the way to port a. we were the last boat to turn the last mark. we were quite literally the last boat in the fleet at that time. it wasn't even close. at this point what was left of the crew's get up and go had effectively got up and went. my father, being a stubborn disciple of the "if you can't do it right, don't even bother" school of life insisted that we put all the sail that possibly could at that moment. we raised everything we had, the biggest spinnaker, a staysail, everything. the analogy for all you non sailors here today would be that of spreding five wide receivers out for that last desperate hail mary. as luck would have it, the wind stiffened quite significantly right about then and, because we were at the very rear of the fleet, we caught it before anyone else.that old tub took off like a rocket. we caught the next boat and the next and the next. the wind change had had found the rest of the fleet unprepared and it was fast becoming too late for them to adjust. soon we were moving throught that fleet like a knife through warm butter. and though we did not cross the line first, we did win that race thanks to the enormous handicap afforded that big, slow boat. it was the sailing equivalent of the famous "immaculate reception". at one point that evening my father said to me, "you know son, we're getting pretty good at this." the cup we were awarded that day became one of my father's most prized possessions and the story of that day's events became one of his favorite yarns to tell. one day, should i be fortunate to have a son of my own, i will tell that tale as well. most likely i will tell him that story as i teach him to sail, much as my father taught me." i hope all is swell on the other side, pops. goddamnit if i don't miss you down here. here's to you. posted by downtown | 4:48 AM |
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