Dads

Recently,  I dug through the stuff of my dad's that I've kept. I made an effort to keep the things where our interests over lapped. I kept some of his well-worn cookbooks because he liked to cook and I like to cook. I grab them from the shelf in the kitchen and think about him. Stir, cry, mix. I like that more than storing boxes and boxes of things that I don't really want. And kicking them and tripping over them and getting angry at them. I like that the items I kept get used. A legacy of sorts. 

So, I dug out the two signed albums of his that I kept-- a Clash album and a Nick Lowe album. Surprisingly, I managed to get off my ass and get them framed. More surprisingly, I even managed to hang them. And now, I look at them whenever I leave the house.

Still, that ain't shit compared to how my friend Phil choose to remember his father. Phil, a friend from college and beyond, is an immensely talented artist. When his father was killed, he did an elaborate piece made from leather. It sounds lame when I type that, but it's awesome. And then it hung in the Oakland Museum as part of their dia de los muertos exhibit. I saw it there and was blown away. I sat by it and took it in for a good chunk of time before wandering around to the other displays.

Recently, Phil has unveiled a You Tube video that shows him making the piece. I know you have five minutes to spare. Go look.