Cars, Bands, and Death.

                In 1993, I was in a death metal band. It was weird, because I didn't really like death metal all that much. At least, not death as these guys liked. I'd rock out to Obituary, Death,  Sepultura, Fear Factory. Sure, there was the occasional Cannibal Corpse song that ruled, but a drummer playing blast beats typically lost me. It's just sort of a personal preference I guess. At the time, there was a lot of other music in my collection of CD's and tapes which got more play. Either way, all that changed when one night after death metal band practice, we decided to go hide under an overpass on Old Hammond Hwy and throw glass YooHoo bottles at cars.

                I was grounded for the summer and my band career was derailed until early 1996. We played 3 or 4 shows in garages full of people with bands we all knew. Later that year, we played our first bar show to familiar faces. Years went by, bands broke up, and bands reformed. Shows were played out in cow pastures on flatbed trailers, in storage rental units, in bedrooms. But one recurring theme was that we usually played with other bands we knew and hung out with.  It seemed like there was some collective of the same people that would always come out, and the shows started to reflect that. After several years of drunken antics, parties, sharing members, caravans to out of town shows, and late nights sitting around a dining room table, we decided to call ourselves Love Affair Records.

                There was nothing special about us. We were just one social circle of college kids from the same couple of old high school cliques and other similar peer groups. A tribe of 20 year olds that went to a few of the same parties as the thousands of other hordes of kids. They all had their bands. Their shows. Their bars. Their art galleries. Their skate parks. I guess they just didn't come up with dumb names for their groups of bands. Either way, we all just kept playing music at different bars and drinking ourselves into oblivion. Looking back, I don't remember a definitive night I can say it all officially started. But there's one recurring event that always swells our group of friends to their rawest and deepest cores: Death. And never through disease or old age. Just tragic, accidental death.

                My buddy Brett was driving down Airline Hwy, coming back from some trashbag strip club in Prairieville, when he lost control of his red, 1994 Pontiac Sunfire. We always kind of assumed he passed out, but I never really asked all that many questions. His car slowly drifted off the road, eventually crashing into a ditch in between the north and southbound lanes, flipping and rolling, and throwing him right through the windshield. The day after, a bunch of us drove out to where it happened. Before Bayou Manchac, across from the vacant state fairgrounds. There were a bunch of dents in the grass, marked by spots of orange spraypaint from the investigation. We found broken cassette tapes, notes, one of his shoes, and some of those little, circular white sticky things the ambulance puts on people they're trying to revive. It was April 7th, 2000. He was 20 years old.

                It was the first time that we'd all had to deal with this wave of emotion.  Suddenly, that guy from your band is gone. That guy you wrote songs with, the guy you talked to about girlfriend problems. He's dead. What do we do now? I remember he had a black Stratocaster with this weird, glittery pickguard. Used a BOSS distortion pedal and a DOD stereo flanger. During practice, he'd always have to borrow somebody's tuner. I remember seeing his guitar leaning against the wall when we were all in his room, after his funeral. His mom was giving away a bunch of his t-shirts. We were all standing there and she was handing them all out. We took this big, group photo in the backyard. We're all standing there, wearing shirts and ties, smiling big smiles. When I look back on all this and where we all are now, that event seemed like the first bookend. Music started with death metal. And music collective started with actual death. An odd way to think about it, but that's pretty much the long and short of it.

                From there on, we were off. Band after band. Beer after beer. We rented storage units to practice in, and tore up every rental house we could get our hands on. I'm pretty sure if you poll everybody in that picture in Brett's backyard - I bet none of us ever got a single security deposit back. Just like every other group of kids in America, we were living the dream. We'd drag around boxes and boxes of 4-track cassette tapes, broken guitar cables, and our Love Affair Records sign from house to house. It was all we needed. It was all we wanted.

                At some point, groups of people and what draws them together start to diminish. Of course, there's a wide variety of factors as to why that is: Marriage, babies, jobs.  We all started to find ourselves at different crossroads. The band I'd always considered my musical home slowly splintered off to Seattle, Shreveport, St Petersburg, Nashville, New Orleans, and Atlanta. Even more broad, the people in that picture started to drift away. From New York to California, some people refused to stop writing songs, but probably more than not, guitars got stashed in people's closets. It's probably the natural order of things, really.

But then one day, the roof caved in.

               

                Getting a phone call at 6 in the morning is never good. Especially when you look and you realize there are a few missed calls from a certain group of people. You just know.  There are really no words to express it, but you'd think that almost a decade later, there would be some internal preparation you could manifest. There's not. You basically count the people who called, and you realize now you know that at least all of them are still alive. But who didn't call?

                Eventually, you  get the bad news. Another vehicle. Another windshield. Nine years later. The world kind of stops spinning and you try to make sense of things. I took a shower and went to work. I called three people to tell them, and then I stopped answering the phone. Justin was in Illinois somewhere when his truck flipped over. Inside were his girlfriend Molly and some guy whom I haven't ever gotten the story of who he was, and why he was in there. Everybody walked away except Justin. I don't know what happened. I have no authority of guessing what happened and it's never been any of my business. All I did know is that we had to prepare. There was going to be a revival.

                In my mind, I think of the things that occurred in those 9 years. There are sounds I have archived, CD's I have, and whole albums available on bandcamp. Sometimes you have to get a little crazy and dig up an old myspace link. But there's whole lifetimes of projects that spanned that near decade. Some songs about dying. In fact, some songs Justin wrote about Brett dying.

Life's kind of funny that way, I guess.

On the day I moved out

My mom told me one day, probably without really thinking about it or really just having it come out in passing, that on the day I moved out of my parents house and into my first apartment, my dad cried. She told me this I think a couple of weeks afterwards. Now, we had an amazing time living in that apartment. It was probably some of the cornerstones of my adult life. That part of life sandwiched between being a kid and being an adult. It was necessary. All of it. It was probably time to do it, but I don't know for sure. Who's to say?

That thought has stuck with me.

Maybe I don't think about it every day, but I think about it probably every couple months. Maybe 2 or 3 times a year. But I think about it. It's part of living - when a baby bird leaves the nest. And I remember really only half leaving. I only moved a couple of things, took a couple of clothes and probably stayed there 3 or 4 days a week. My bed was still at my parents house. My TV. Pretty much all my stuff. But it was more or less this passage that I think all parents have to go through and it pains me so much today, that I made him feel like that. He was 44 years old. Today I'm 35 years old. I'm 9 years from the point he was at when I moved out. His dad, my grandfather, died at 68 years old. My dad is 60 now. He's 8 years from the age HIS dad died. These numbers constantly flicker through my head. And it's sad that I spend really any time thinking about that kind of stuff but it's really just part of life, I guess...

Every day I get home from work, my kids run up to me. "DAAAAAAADDDDYYYY!" They're so excited. Screaming uncontrollably. But I remember being that little boy. My Dad would come home, all dirty from work. And I remember screaming uncontrollably. I guess one day that kinda stops happening. It's why we bottle time up. It's why remembering this stuff is so important.

I need to write in this thing more. I know my kiddos are gonna see it someday. That's the goal. When you're reading it, remember THIS time. It's 2014. I love seeing my kiddos run up to me. It's the highlight of my life.

I hope I don't cry too much on the day that they move out. But I almost tear up thinking about it TODAY. So I'm probably toast for when it happens.

Guess only one way to find out.

My Kids Are Growing Up. And I don't like it.

   The other day, I set up the swimming pool in the backyard. Cooper of course asked about 10,000 questions while we were swimming. Mostly questions that he knows the answer to "Are we in the pool?" "Are we swimming?" "Am I swimming?" "Is mommy swimming?" I love that kiddo. I try to slow him down as much as I can, and ask for hugs and stuff. Tell him he's a good boy. We're trying to get him potty trained, so that's a hoot. But regardless, I just look at him all the time and I can't believe he's growing up so fast.
   Conner too! He's 9 months old as of last Thursday. We had his 9 mo check up at the doc and he's in all the big boy percentiles (75% for height, 50% weight, 95% for head circum). He's so close to crawling, it's scary. Gonna be mobile soon. He pivots onto his hands, gets up kind of on one knee, and then sorta just wilts back to the ground. I'm worried once that kid is able to get around. He's already a terror in the walker. Lord help us when he's able to get around even easier.
   We went out to MeMe's the other Sunday while Aimee was throwing an Open House at Missy and Patrick's. It was cool to be able to see her and both my babies together. Con wasn't really having any of it, but Coop is so great with her. She had a stroke back in May and she can't really say what she wants to, when she wants to say it. But she gets the point out, and Coop just stands there asking questions and genuinely being loving with her. That's rad. I'm so lucky to be able to see these generations able to interact. I remember my MawMaw Neal and MawMaw Galloway and talking with them. I'm glad my kiddos will be able to hopefully one day say the same.
   Life's great. Thanks be to God.

Aimee's kissing those babies.

I just walked in from watching Adam, Mikey, and Glenn play in their cover bands first gig and I walked in and, of course, having a couple beers makes me super sentimental.
Aimee was feeding Conner a late night, impromptu bottle. He'd waken up 3 hours to the minute since his last bottle. I walked in and talked to her a few minutes while he finished his bottle, and tiredly looked up and down at both of us, nodding off. I kissed them both and walked out, but right as I pulled the door shut, I paused and peeked in the door crack and looked at them both. Aimee was just looking right in that baby's eyes, as he was looking up at her.
She smiled, and pulled him up, kissing his forehead. It was deeply moving to me. She's so awesome. And our babies are so awesome.

Just wanted to write that before I forgot it.

Conner turns 6 months old today

   It's amazing to me how fast time flies. It seriously seems like yesterday that Aim was going into labor and we were on our way to the hospital to meet our newest addition. Unbelievably it's been 6 months. He's now old enough to pretty much stand on your lap when you hold him, facing towards you, and he just smiles and coos and laughs... The friendliness in his almond-shaped eyes, his forehead and eyebrows kind of scrunching upward as he just has this happy little look on his face. It melts me. It just hits you sometimes, looking at this little baby boy, and watching him start to develop these traits that you know will shape who he is. Watching a personality grow in this baby that, just months ago, was getting his first spongebath under an incubator lamp at 3 in the morning, in a room filled with a very tired mommy and grandparents and sisters and aunts...
   I'm lucky enough to be able to read to these kiddos almost every other night, and I remember rocking and singing Coop to sleep, though now he wants to stand or sit on the floor while you read - and he's getting very good at stalling when it's time to actually get in bed. We've moved onto bigger books, more words, more pages... And his little Sesame Street Beginnings books have inevitably been passed down to his little brother. Conner can now grab the books, and light up with excitement when he sees Big Bird or Elmo, following page to page and using his hands to swipe at the large colorful figures who smile back at him.
   Cooper lately has been taking note of the time when his whole family is in a room, and he'll say "We are all together...". He's said this at least 10 times since we've been at Mom and Dad's while our house is being remodeled. But it's such a huge statement. He's right. We are all together. It brings me back to when we were all together in my family, and when they were all together with their Moms and Dads, and so forth and so on. I know one day these kids will grow up. It's happening right before my very eyes. But right now, we are all together. And that's what matters the most.

I am the luckiest man on the earth, and being a daddy is the highlight of my life. The tears in my eyes are the testament. Thank you, God. So very very much.

Babies Babies Babies

   So we baptized little Conner over the weekend. He was perfect up there - smiling, laughing. He even looked at Father Mike while he was anointing him with oil or something or other, and gave him this big smile. It was sweet thing. Little guy... I mean Conner, not the priest. He was somewhat portly. But still...
   Last night he fell asleep in the swing like he does all the time, while me and Aimee were swiftly flying through the 5th season of Mad Men (gotta hurry, Season 6 starts in like a week). We picked him up and carried him to his crib and he never even stirred. Aimee changed his diaper and held him up to me to unfasten his little bib from the back, and then laid him down and he went right to sleep. I looked down at the bib and it was a Winnie The Pooh bib with him sort of skipping, with the words "Hello Little Friend" on it, or something like that, and I folded it and set it on the armrest of the little rocking chair... and it sort of dawned on me how special this time is. It's so great. That room being dimly lit with the sound machine making little wave noises. I spent many a night rocking Coop in that same room and now I get to rock Conner in there while these little babies sleep in your arms and you just look down at them and just, you know.. It's a great thing.
   But all in all, Baby marketing is weird. It's all soft and cuddly animals and pastels and soft colors. The blankets and jammies are soft and down, and there's little bunnies or ducks or little dogs on things. And they're always smiling. I guess in our lives, you have plenty of time to get desensitized to all the horror and shitty things in the world. But as a little baby, you have time to just soak in all the warmth and softness and love. It makes you realize that as little babies, we're all so innocent. Everybody is, literally. Everybody needs a hug, and to be cuddled, and loved on, and bottle fed, and have someone sort of stroke their little baby head, and dote on them. And I don't know when that stops. Or why at some point, we just move on. But wouldn't it be great if we could just hold on to it a little bit longer? I know there will be a time when I miss it. I just hope I can remember it perfectly... and God helps me get past the point that it ends. But while there's time, I'm gonna enjoy it. It's the greatest thing ever.
 

35

I was just brushing my teeth and thinking. A couple of days ago, I was changing out of my work polo and into a tee shirt for band practice with the fellas. I grabbed this old Metallica shirt out of the drawer I've literally had since 1992. Wore it and jammed out. Never even thought twice about it.

I was thinking about when me and my family went to Disney World in 1992 and I wore that shirt in the park... the rebellious 14 year old shithead teenager I was. My bangs all hanging in my eyes like I was Kurt Cobain or whatever.

I finished brushing and looked at myself in the mirror. My hairline has receded back well past the curve of my scalp and past my forehead. And my hair is graying. Sort of salt and peppery (though thankfully much more pepper for now). I turn 35 on Sunday. The same day my 5 month old is getting christened and the day after my 2 year old's birthday party.

And my life is more perfect than I could have ever dreamed of.

So fear not, parents who's kids are walking around Disney like a bunch of little motherfuckers. There's hope for them yet.

:)