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PT 3: Fang Bang


Quiet room.  Cops in the house.  Tears overflowing.  A piece of my life ending and beginning in one fell swoop.  Sitting in his room as his eyes focused on the open window.  No signs of struggle or pain.  Just a man that had met three quarters of a century of his life and decided it was time to go.

The kids were taken to their grandparents and fathers house while personal matters were handled and everyone tried to pull it together.  I was so fucked up.  The day had drained me.  And I was the only one that could gather the strength to take care of him one more time.

This house was drenched in grief.  I had called everyone I needed to from my sister to my job.  And called people that I felt would be there for me.  Like a robot, I went through  the motions.  Carrying out his wishes.  He didn’t want a viewing, he wanted to be cremated, given to my sister and that was it.  I couldn’t accept that even though his life had ended, that I could just keep it movin’.  He had died watching the metal channel on his big ass 72 inch television with Slayer rocking out.  He didn’t want a service, so that night, I sat my ass in this chair, pulled up the playlist, and at 11PM eastern standard time, 8PM Second Life Time, I celebrated my fathers life with what was the best fang bang I had ever done in 5 years.

The speakers were cranked to max.  I wanted the whole fuckin neighborhood to hear the music.  So loud that I wanted it to pierce the dark skies of heaven to the front gates of hell itself.  It was riding a Harley at 140 mph, jumping from a fuckin plane at 15 thousand feet, hurling my body in a mosh pit and just knocking someone out with steel tipped boots.  Because that was my father’s spirit.  What he couldn’t do because his body wouldn’t let him, he expressed through music.  And I wanted to share that with the people that I had loved.  I remember the end of that show, speaking to the people that had gathered; thanking them for letting me share my fathers love with them.  The voice cracking, ready to break.  And saying “I love you all, I love you Dad: One Blood.”

Had I known then what I now know.  Had I foreseen the events that would quickly follow suit, I wouldn’t have shared a fucking thing.

This year, I celebrate My Father through the things he loved to do.  He loved The Ozzman, so I’m watching “God Bless Ozzy Osbourne” which airs on his birthday, Friday, July 13th.  He had a hardon for prime rib, so Im gonna take my ass to the best restaurant in NYC and indulge.  He loved his tattoos, so I’ll ink myself up one more time for him.  He loved his grandchildren, so I’ll take them out for a trip to the park which is something he always wanted to do.  He served this country in the Korean War, so I’ll be  visiting the memorial park to pay respects.

And he loved his music.  So I’ll blast his favorite tunes one more time behind these four walls, for no one else but him. Knowing that somewhere, somehow, He can hear me one more time.

No Regrets.


One response to “PT 3: Fang Bang

  1. Brenda ⋅

    Sitting here with a cup of coffee to wake me up and reading your words once again with tear filled eyes. Close to speechless I just want to say I have no clue of the events that followed after that Fang Bang but I was there for it and I for one am glad you shared that with me. No regrets mamacita. I love you.

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