There is a lot of shit that goes through your mind when thinking about someone that is no longer physically present.
That shit is unique to each person and their experience. I am not going to speculate on all the possibilities for one’s mind, but will break down this video in hopes that you might better understand its’ purpose.
I decided to create this video because a big part of The Bo-Hawg™ is storytelling. I have mentioned the voicemail from my dad in the post “A Brand Born From Grief” as well as the Our Story section of the site. Words can only take you so far, though. Hearing his voice and seeing him throughout his life holds an entirely different weight.
I am not on the level of doing a video breakdown like Bo Burnham, but I wanted to take time to write about the video, and my thought process, and share some memory nuggets you won’t find in the short flick.
First act, opening sequence
I am sitting on a bench in New York where I live. This is where I returned in October after leaving my family who all reside in lower Alabama or Louisiana. It was a bizarre feeling leaving them. My wife of course was/is an amazing support system, and has experienced this same loss earlier in her life; however, it is just the two of us in NYC for the most part. I don’t have any friends here, except Crusty (a ride-or-die), but we don’t get to see each other much.
I don’t mention not having friends to make you feel sorry for me. I had only lived in NYC for two months before my dad died, so when I returned I wasn’t looking to get out there and meet people.
The shot of me sitting alone is representative of what it felt like being in NYC in the immediate aftermath of his death. The aftermath is an isolating and exhausting time. My wife says over time things settle, but that waves always come. I believe her. It took me four months to make this video which is just over 1 minute.
With the loud sounds of wind rushing off the East River, people walking past, and car horns honking, it is a cacophony that is just background noise when you are in the headspace of thinking of someone. Missing them. Making a continued effort to hold on to them.
After sitting still on the bend for a second, I start putting in my earbuds. This is because I listened to a lot of music (and still do). I would play my dad’s favorites: “Ramblin’ Man” by the Allman Brothers, “Don’t mess around with Jim” by Jim Croce, “Soulman” by the Blues Brothers version, and “Cheese Burger in Paradise” by Buffet.
I have some GREAT memories of my pops and those songs. Riding in his old Isuzu Trooper with the windows down, the sticky air of Alabama blowing in on the way home from the ballpark sipping an ice-cold fountain Coke we scooped from the Uncle Sam gas station.
“I LIKE MINE WITH LETTUCE AND TOMATO,” my pops would scream the lyrics to Buffet’s “Cheese Burger in Paradise” and then point to me. “HEINZ 57 AND FRENCH FRIED POTATOES,” I’d reply finishing that line of the lyric before moving us into the second-to-last line of the bridge. “BIG KOSHER PICKLE AND A COLD DRAFT BEER,” my pip-squeak voice belted. Pops would swerve the car like we were pulling into a fast food joint that sold burgers and finish it off, “WELL, GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY WHICH WAY DO I STEER!”
I’m telling you, music is something that roots me into memories. It’s like a time machine and time capsule rolled into one.
Littered among my pop’s favorite songs were some of my own that I selected. An assort me of great songs, but once that ripped my guts out. I would be balling as soon as the first second of a song played. Some notable singers were “Sweet” by the Dave Matthews Band, “In the Meantime” by Spacehog, “Red Bird” by The Bailiwicks, and “Here it is Christmas Time” by Old 97s feat. Kevin Bacon.
“We’re both headed in the same direction. We’re both fading in and out. My ears were ringing when I came into the astral, but my eyes were clear enough that I could take a look around. Yeah, every day has its afternoon, and everybody has to die to come unglued.”
Those are some of the lyrics from Redbird. I should note that those are not the actual lyrics, but they are what I heard during that time. I imagine me and pops headed in the same direction even though he isn’t on this earthly plane. I imagine memories fading in and out, just like those waves I mentioned earlier and you see in the video. And I thought that if I was able to get to an astral plane or my dream, it would be the closest I could get to see my pops.
There is this fantastic line in the Apple TV show “Shrinking” where Harrison Ford’s character suggests putting on a song that makes you “sad as hell” for 15 minutes and just cry. That’s what I would do. Listen to music and cry.
In those moments when the music was blasting I would think about my family. I would catch glimpses of moments in times when pops was here. Some came fast, usually fast, and others slow. That is why you see those quick flashes of old photos while I put in the left earbuds and then the right. You’ll notice that the first set of photos are pictures of him with his family and every one is young. The second set is from milestone moments in his kid’s lives, mainly weddings.
He wasn’t here for my wedding, so I put the closest thing I could think to a milestone in my life — getting my Ph.D. I also did that as a f*** you to all the people who say, “He’s not a real doctor.” I think that pissed dad off more than it did me. If you are reading this and are one of those people, no shit I am not a medical doctor. But guess what? Medical school by itself does not provide training in how to do research, allowing professionals to focus on medicine and care. A Ph.D. — That is all about how to conduct research.
After I put in my earbuds, the outside environment is muted, a recognizable sound for those that have earbuds or noise-canceling headphones. I pull on the back of my beanie and then look directly into the camera, locking my eyes on you, the audience. This is intentional, as I wanted you to see my face, feel the power of eye contact, and have the chance to notice little details.
You might see the slight resemblance I have to pops, especially those eyebrows — always out here trying not to look like a barn owl. yikes. Then the lines of my face that have come over the years. And lastly, my eyes, which have a story of loss embedded in their brown hue.
My dad would tell you that my brown eyes because I am full of shit. He loved to say that, so I wanted to break up this serious breakdown with that tidbit.
Once I’m staring into the camera, there is another quick cut to videos of me and dad. If you think music triggers emotions and memories, the sounds of silence can put that shit into hyperdrive. The first is a fragment of a memory I have from a trip to a zoo. The second is a snowball fight we had…in ALABAMA. I don’t know why those stood out to me, but they did.
Before moving into the second sequence, there is a shot of me taking a deep breath in followed by a heavy exhale. I am preparing myself for what is to come. I close my eyes and everything goes black for a split second and the unexpected comes in.
“Hey dude, this is your pops.”
This is one of a three-part series I will be releasing. The Voicemail, Part 2 will be published on March 21, 2024
