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Difficult not to feel a little bit
Disappointed and passed over
When I look right through,
See you naked but oblivious
And you don’t see me
But I threw you the obvious
Just to see if there’s more behind the
Eyes of a fallen angel,
Eyes of a tragedy.
| — | A Perfect Circle |
| — | Lil Wayne |
Today is a difficult day for me, just like February 21. Today is Scot’s birthday, his second since his death in 2010. Today is a day that I watch apprehensively as it creeps closer on the calendar. I hope I’ll forget it, that it’ll pass me by and I won’t notice that today Scot would have been 54, but instead he will forever be 52.
It’s hard to grieve the father of my little brother, because he was actually a much better father to me even though he was “just” my stepdad and there was no blood relation.
To my little brother Sean, I want you to know the good about your dad. I know things got bad and I know you were probably too young to remember the good things that I do.
I want you to know that your dad called you “Buddy” all the time and called me “Sugar Plum.” I want you to know that he called people “knuckleheads” when he was joking around.
I want you to know that when you were born, your dad was delirious with happiness. When he told me you had 10 toes and 11 fingers, I thought that was the delirium talking but it turns out you actually did have an extra finger. I remember he wanted to go see you but the nurse told him “you stay here” about 10 times before he finally comprehended her statement through his excitement.
I feel like I have to write down as much as possible because I feel the memories slipping away with time.
I want you to know that your dad loved music. Aside from engineering platinum and gold singles, he just loved it in his free time. When we would play music in the car he would drum along with it and say things like “Do you hear that bass in the background?” and would point out some technical sound aspect that blended into us but was important to his trained ear. Even when digitization reduced the need for actual sound engineers and your dad had to move into being a car salesman, he still loved music. I’m sure you do remember you guys blasting “Enter Sandman” over and over.
Your dad lived in Venice Beach for a while before either of us were born. One of the happiest days of my life that I can distinctly remember is when he took us both on a day trip there. He let me go into the warm water with all my clothes on and we were both drenched. That’s something I loved about your dad - he was a child like us in a lot of ways and didn’t try to hold us back. He was spontaneous, up for anything fun. He was known to like our TV shows and movies, and remained a child at heart (which frustrated mom but overjoyed us). That day he bought me a carved cherub artwork made by one of the street artists. I still have it in my room.
When he and Mom divorced, both of us would go to his place and watch Pokemon and eat junk food. He always had snacks around, the kind that are terrible for you, and he especially liked those maple cookies. That was something that hurt the most, when we went to organize his stuff after he died. Seeing those chips half open in their bag, like he expected to come back to them in just a minute. Like his life was paused. I couldn’t wrap my head around where he went.
For a long time one of your dad’s best friends was a dog named Mugsy. That dog went everywhere. People were afraid of him because he was a Staffordshire terrior but everyone thought he was a pitbull. But he was smart & loving. When your dad moved from LA to Danville with us, we rented a U-haul trailer and Mugsy stayed in the car that was being pulled behind us. Your dad got a “911” page on his pager (yes they still had those back then), and it turns out Mugsy had jumped out and ran back to the recording studios where both he and your dad spent so much time. Your dad thought his coworkers & friends were playing a joke on him when they sent that 911, but it turns out they had Mugsy. We laughed for days and Mugsy had to come sit with us in the cramped front seat of the U-Haul.
Your dad was always bringing us back little trinkets (matchbox cars for you, beanie babies for me). He was the one that took us to amusement parks and took just as much happiness from them as we did. He and I took turns watching you so one of us could go on the rollercoasters while the other took care of you.
He wrote in all capital letters and especially enjoyed writing on yellow legal notepads, most often in blue ink.
He took us all to the plant recording studios a lot, where you could tell he felt at home and at peace. Surrounded by music and his friends in the music business with his family there at the same time… You could tell he lit up inside when we were all there.
Your dad had an affinity for cologne and was always very careful with how he presented himself. He was worried about going bald and took extra precautions. I think he took pride in looking way younger than he actually was. He had dentures and was embarrassed by it.
Mom wasn’t at my high school graduation, but your dad was. Your dad gave me my first car to get around in when neither of my actual parents could or did. Your dad loved presents (giving AND receiving) and got excited when Christmas rolled around. Your dad was kind of a ham sometimes.
Maybe I’m not writing this for you, maybe I’m writing this for me. I’m writing this for the person who was a second father to me, who told people he had two kids, a son AND a daughter. I’m writing this to remember the person who was gone long before February 21, but who I still miss dearly. I’m writing this because I’m so scared I’m going to forget.
Happy birthday, Scot.
