How life brings us to the depressed state we are in amuses even the hardest of skeptics. Here is my parable.

Dad and I were never the best of friends; hell we even tried to kill each other a time or two. But I know that he had love for me, how do I know this? Well he let me go to the Metallica concert after I got busted by my little brother, who caught me and my girlfriend, who is now my wife in the glorious act of sex. My brother decided to tell my mom and dad even after I tried to bribe him with some money. This didn't work. But dad in his if she's pregnant speech, still paid for my ticket to see Metallica after much begging by myself.

Memories leave us when we lest expect it. I got out an old picture of the 1956 chevy, and I remember how I hated to help you in your garage. But I remember when we would drive to Poplar Bluff and you blasting Born on the Bayou full blast. When I mean full blast, I mean full blast. In a Wal-Mart Pioneer stereo a recorded tape of Credence and other music of the same period. My friend Brian and I just sat in the back wishing some Slayer was playing, but instead we got Strawberry Fields Forever.

Since you died dad, I have gotten into trouble with drugs again. I know you hated me using, but I hated your drinking, so I feel we are even on that matter. I didn't have much feeling after you died, so now I am expressing to you how I feel.

I remember you waking us up to Lynryd Skynrd's Free Bird in the mornings. You put the record One more From the Road on and played the 20 minute solo part to wake my brother and I up. We woke up that's for sure. I mean the system with the 2 12 inch speakers was very fucking loud. So we woke up and you let us appreciate music.

I do miss you dad and I wish I could talk to you to settle our differences, but I guess this will have to do. I love you and I wish you was here playing Jimi Hendrix's Fire as loud as the stereo would go. That is what I miss.