Songs to Play at my Funeral

I’ve always been jealous of people who can write autobiographical stories and remember periods of their lives with such visceral clarity. I thought I would try to pick a point in my past that was stuck in my mind that I too would be able to pull up with the same precision of thought that I could put down on paper. Immediately came to mind a trip I took with my girls to Wyoming to see my dad when Hailey was just old enough to drive and Hannah was not yet a teenager. They had met my dad, their grandfather, only one other time. To say he had earned the right to be called “Grandpa” “Papa” or any other sweet, sentimental title would be a lie. He barely knew them. This was a feeble attempt at formally introducing them to him. Hailey had taken an interest in photography in high school and was starting to show a real talent for it and dad for all his flaws, was always a really good artist in his own right, specifically at taking photographs. So there was a part of me that was still holding out hope that dad would still show some real interest in someone other than himself and God forbid boost up Hailey and her shared artistic abilities. Who knows, maybe show her some pointers.

This trip sits in two spaces in my memory. In one space it is one of my fondest memories of real one on one time with Hailey and Hannah. Sitting for hours in a car, listening to their music and them listening to mine and all of us appreciating the songs. In fact to this day we have a playlist called “The Bomb Diggity” that I believe might have been born from that road trip. It was at least a seedling from that time. Beyond the music, we talked about what Hailey could do with her photography and how far she could take it and talked about their friends and what was going on in their lives. We just got to know each other better and frankly, I felt like I already knew them pretty well, so it felt like an even bigger gift. We even got a speeding ticket (Hailey) and avoided another (Rich). There is a much longer funnier story here but let’s just say 16 year old attitudes are not particularly helpful when avoiding speeding tickets. So yeah, that was one great trip in my memories. However, the other space is not so happy. The visit to see dad ended up a grim reminder that dad is 100% all about dad. From the moment we walked in the door, he said to Hailey, “So, I hear you are into photography?” Hailey said, “Yeah, mostly into portraits right now”. That was all he needed to run off with the rest of the “conversation” to tell us all about what he has been doing with his photography and his art. Never once did he come back with a follow up question of Hailey or Hannah or myself. That set the tone for the visit. The only other story I will tell before I get into this poem/spoken word/song I wrote for this entry, is this; and this is a prime example of how my father steals the energy from every room he enters.

Believe it or not, my dad is married to a lovely woman named Cathy. I say believe it or not, because you rarely hear from her. She sits quietly in the corner and really only speaks when spoken to. One of the nights we were there my dad goes into the bathroom so I saw a window in which I could finally engage Cathy and show her some love and attention to prove to her that she matters to someone. So, I turn to Cathy and I say, “So, tell me Cathy, how did you and Dad meet?”. I knew the story, by the way, but I wanted to hear her perspective and thought it would be a fun conversation to have. She lit up like a Christmas tree and started to tell me about her corporate job in Florida and how she was burning out and just as she was getting into the story dad comes out and I could see him getting physically uneasy. He says to Cathy, “Hey Cath, can you make me some tea?” She says, “Yeah, Frankie in a sec, I am telling Richie the story of when we met”. He says, “I know, I just want a little tea, my throat is dry..” She says, “ok” gives in and gets up to go make his tea. He finishes the story and we never hear from Cathy again, essentially. That is the perfect example of how the visit in Wyoming went. When we left and were driving away I asked the girls if they had a good time and they said “Yeah, we did. Did you?” I started to cry and said something like “I can’t stand that man”. I think they were surprised because from their vantage point they just got to meet their grandpa. I had bigger goals for the visit (consciously or subconsciously) and they were clearly not met.

So, I tried to put this into a story song and could not come up with a melody so I finally just said you know what, why not just strum a few chords and speak the lyrics over the music. There is more emotion in it that way anyway. I like the way this came out. Happy with the lyrics. After hearing the story above you will realize there is not much hidden symbolism here.

DON’T KNOW WHY I DID IT

The road was long, but we drove it anyway
To see a man I knew from yesterday
The girls were young, just twelve and sixteen
But the old man, well he just had to be seen

Don’t know why we did it
Don’t know why we came
Don’t know why we did it
Just to hear his name

We get to the house, right about noon.
We’re told get ready, we’ll do some shooting soon
I ask his wife, “How you been? How are you?”
He says, “She’s doing fine, there’s nothing really new.”

Don’t know why we did it
Don’t know why we came
Don’t know why we did it
Just to hear bout his fame

We drove away after three long days
I ask, “Whatdya think of the old man and his ways?”
They say “He was nice, but sure had a lot to say”
Through tears I whisper,  “I knew it’d go that way”

Don’t know why I did it
Don’t know why I came
Don’t know why I did it
Just to play his game