fromthemouthofmoi

(L-R Craig Horton , Tom Boyd, unknown, Tano Ro , Sam Myers , Big Bob Deance .  Milano, Italy, October 6th, 1981. Photo rights to Tano Ro). Dear Daddy, Each year that passes since your death I've learned increasingly more about you as a man. Not as my father, but as a man, and I am coming to understand that you were one pretty wonderful dude. I recently received a letter from a man in Norway, Jan Erik Moe, who wrote to tell me of your influential impact upon his formative years and how much you meant to him. The letter was quite heartwarming, uplifting, inspiring and for me, a little bit sad. Jan had two memories of you that I share. He mentioned all the postcards he received from you over the years that had been written by hand, that I am sure where written with your Mont Blanc pen. That pen was a permanent fixture in your breast pocket and I have the fondest memories of your penmanship. It was beautiful; the blue black ink flowing freely and smoothly from the end o...

Dear Dad, I find myself thinking about you more and more the further removed I am from your death. You are in my thoughts in particular ways most of which, right now, seem to be from the perspective of others. I get a lot of people dropping me lines asking me if I am your daughter. They stop to tell me they performed with Mississippi Delta or knew you in some way. Many tell me that they are mad in love with your recordings. Your work has been catalogued in Germany and is actively rejoiced in Japan. YouTube has you sprouting up all over with young people sharing your music. I wish that part of you had been more recognized in your life but I'm glad to be telling you now that your legacy lives on. I wish I had known you better. I wish things had been different, but you should know that I understand. What may have been limited towards me was a fulfillment for you. I miss our many phone conversations. I liked that they were always late at night and when you were on a phone call  j...

There was a moment in time when I witnessed my father vulnerable. He had rented a car and parked it outside my apartment in Brooklyn. He was not feeling well and had asked to stay with me and my then boyfriend, Eric. He slept for days on end and I really don't have any recollection of talking to him while he was with us. This is important to this narrative because I have always lamented the fact that I seem to have spent relatively little time with my father. I have snapshot memories of being with him - here and there, here and there. I am a teenager and he drives me into San Francisco, hands me money while he waits in the car, and I go in and buy some shoes. There are the times we drove the few blocks necessary to get to Baskin Robbins for ice cream over on University Avenue a few blocks up from his home in Palo Alto. There were lots of family reunions but I don't have any memories of being alone with my father, having a conversation or discussing anything. He did however ca...