*Author’s note:  The events of this story take place immediately following the events of the story, “The Longest Day” also published in this blog.

Voices drifted through the darkness, it was now night time, but I could not tell what time. As my awareness rose I wanted to shut it out like a black curtain of darkness, wrapping myself within and never leaving it. From somewhere, strength surfaced, and reluctantly I pulled my feet to the floor. Time to rise and face what I know has happened. 

In sleep, I escaped my new reality, my new normal. Everything is a new normal these days. My new normal was a world that is a much darker place today than it was yesterday. It was now my job to walk and function within this new darkness.

This couldn’t have happened… I can’t possibly be where I am right now… This Is Just Not Possible! 

I walked over to the door that led to the kitchen. Behind the door, I heard the voices of Brooke, Amy, and Bobbi. Opening the door, I found them all seated around the table smoking and talking. I needed coffee.

“How do you feel?” Brooke asked me. “I feel better” referring only to finally getting some sleep. Alone is what I really feel. I never knew how joined you can be to a parent.  

I relish the coffee that I am provided gratefully. I can feel the mild night air. Port Aransas is outside beyond the door. This is the place where I really came of age. I arrived as a child and left a man. I left because I couldn’t get back here by being here already. I destroyed the worst of my demons here. This was the place in which I completely rebuilt a life that I had so expertly destroyed. In these memories, my father was as much of Port Aransas as any other part of it. Today, for the first time in my life, I was in Port Aransas, Dad was not.

I consumed easily half a pot of coffee in a short time. Bobbi gave me something to eat, but I could barely eat. What had happened was weighing down on me and what lay ahead was overwhelming. We all talked as long as we could and then it was time for more rest.  There was so much ahead.

When we got up Monday morning, it was April 1st, it seemed weird that this was the first month in over 50 years that Dad did not exist. I took a shower. It was time for us to finish Dad’s life here. We would assume his steps for a short time, almost living for him. I walked outside. I could taste the dense salt in every breath, as always. I crossed the lawn to the truck and got in. It was like Dad was still here. Tears welled in my eyes. Memories of a June afternoon in 1984 came to me. That was the beginning, this is the end. 

That was June 29, 1984. I had just followed Dad in my 72 Dodge over to his small cottage-style house that sat a stone’s throw away from the dune line of the county beach. He conducted a brief introduction to the animals, Duke (a beautiful Doberman) and Noble (an orange tabby cat he adopted on Nobel Peace Prize day, noted from a calendar that had a legitimate holiday from somewhere in the world for every single day of the year so there was always something to celebrate). We each grabbed a cold Milwaukee’s Best (he promised me Lone Star on the phone!) and headed out to his 1974 yellow and wood grain Chrysler wagon. 

The car was a 5,100-pound monster, add a couple hundred for sand and salt.  It’s heartbeat with a mean 440 cubic inch engine that could power an ocean liner. It was loud. There was little exhaust left on this car. But this was Port Aransas and no exhaust was simply a geographical hazard. The salt content in the air made me wonder if humans could possibly rust.

I am certain that a decade ago, when Nixon was president this car, in its day was a beauty. Leather, power seats, cruise, motorized-self tuning radio, power windows, tilt, a/c, and size to beat all. Today it was an obscenity compared to its once magnificent self. The windows did not all work so some were down. Didn’t matter Dad told me. It hadn’t rained in Port A in months. The interior was now embedded with the sand and salt that is so much a part of life in Port A. I could feel its grit everywhere I touched and everywhere on me. The A/C in the Chrysler did not work. The salt air was blissfully hot. Dad sat next to me driving. I thought. Life will never be the same.

Although I could see out the windshield, it was definitely carrying with it a glaze of salt. It amazed me how thoroughly this place can consume everything, including Dad. He looked so good. He had put on a little weight and it looked good on him. He was laid back. He of course was my Father. But as we drove down the beach, the hot Texas sea breeze breathing in through the left windows of the car, I
knew that the twenty years between us were really not there. We were the best of friends. I knew it would be this way forever. This afternoon, we drove down the beach. It was a constant hot, yet the sea breeze off the gulf was forgiving. There were girls and cars and I was eighteen. Dad and I were reunited. We have all the time in the world now.

I drove down Gulf Street and took a left on Cut Off Road. When I came to the traffic light I drove across the way to 7/Eleven for a coffee. Part of me felt elated in some strange way. This 7/Eleven was the first stop I made on the island back in 84. The rest of me felt like I had been shot to pieces. 

When I walked out of the store with the largest coffee I could buy there was a blonde woman of about 30 years on a six-foot step ladder. There was a good offshore breeze and she was struggling with a 12-foot-long banner. She was trying to fasten it over the door to no avail. I admit, under any circumstances, I would have done something to give her a hand with this clearly, two-person operation, but I found comfort in remembering how Dad always went out of his way to help others. Instantly I stepped up on the edge of the windowsill and balanced on one foot. I lifted the runaway end of the banner and held it in place while she fastened it. She smiled and thanked me. Thinking of Dad at this moment, and imagining him doing this made me feel closer to him.

I knew what was coming next. I drove the 2 blocks over to the city maintenance shop. Ironically, this was the same point A to point B drive I made minutes before reuniting with my father in June of 1984 after not seeing him for four years.  Today it was to confirm the worst possible news. Time felt severe.  As the small crew in the public works department arrived for a typical Monday morning, they were about to learn that this was no typical Monday morning. 

I was there to see Dad’s boss, my former boss, Crockett. I used to work with many of the people here. I had so many memories with most of the folks who work here.  We prepped equipment in the winter for painting when it was blustery outside, we prepared the island for hurricanes together.  It was pretty diverse. I even worked for and lived with the girl who runs the beach crew. All of whom worked with Dad for the last sixteen years. This quiet yet sometimes untamed stranger from somewhere else had not only been a comrade but also rewrote history for the development of this island of 2,000 people. 

I pulled the truck into the usual employee parking area. I met Crockett and the City Manager, Tommy out on the side of the Building. Crockett handed me a deposit slip. “When Joe went to the hospital, he gave me his check and a deposit slip. He said all the bills were paid for this month.”

A car pulled up and I saw my former girlfriend Debbie get out. She was a good distance away. She did not come over and I could see by the look on her face she knew it wasn’t a good sign that I was suddenly in Texas, driving my Father’s truck. She held her hand up to wave. I did the same. I felt bad for her, this was a sad way to find out about Dad. 

Crockett excused himself so that he could tell everyone inside, now that they were all there. Tommy leaned against the truck. You could tell that he genuinely liked my Dad. I easily saw that this was by far the finest City Manager Port Aransas has had in my recollection. Tommy’s view of Dad differed from mine. Tommy saw a quiet, slow-moving bear of a man that was very intelligent but of few words. I saw Dad as a man of 31 or so. Slim. Sleek. Witty. Cool exterior. Strong physically and mentally. He was a great conversationalist and a pleasure to talk with. His sense of humor could cut like a knife.

Tommy asked me why I left. I told him that I grew restless. I told him that I had longed to write during those days and believed I would realize that goal somewhere else. Looking back on it and this beautiful Island, that seemed ridiculous now. 

I viewed life off the island as reality instead of what life was here, Island Time. “Island Time” is what happens to you when you live here in Port A. You lay back. You forget about the rush hours, the accidents, the murders, and the crimes. Your car rusts into a pile of crap, the muffler falls off and the electrical system shorts out. 

The local paper only has news from the island and the sports section is nothing but pictures of fish. Standing with pride next to the fish are couples with severe tans wearing “Woody’s Sport Center” hats, wearing the same style shades, holding cans of beer in cozies in their hands. All sense of the real world vanishes. You become a part of a family here. Words cannot describe how it happens or what happens. If I had to find a synonym for Island Time it would have to be Twilight Zone. 

Tommy asked how Dad felt about my leaving. I told him that my Dad would rather see me set my sites on something bigger than staying here pumping out skid-o-kans on the beach for the rest of my life. The words hit Tommy like a slap. “There are guys who pump those out. They are important. They are just as important as say the Mayor. I am a regular guy like them. I stop and see these guys every day at some point. They are my kind of people. Every one of them is important to the success of our home here.” I was right. Port Aransas finally had a City Manager they could be proud of. 

I held up a hand to Tommy. “Please understand, I meant no disrespect. I did that job for a year and a half, It’s pretty awesome to spend your work days on such a beautiful coastal bend beach every day. I was only saying that my Dad wanted so much more for me like any parent does.” 

As we talked. Tommy lit one cigarette after another. He told me that he had stopped at Dad’s hospital room yesterday morning only to find no one there with him. The time that Tommy said he was there put Amy and me down in the cafeteria with the Doctor.

I told Tommy about the desperation in Dad when I was going to the desert. Dad had only wanted one thing if there was no way to stop me from going, he wanted to go with me. I felt for him because of it and thanked God that he couldn’t. Everyone important to me could remain in the US where it was safe. We, (the military) would keep the chaos away from our families. 

Crockett returned to us. You could see that making this somber announcement had really worn him down. All of Dad’s co-workers now knew. Mondo, who has been there since I was working there back in the mid-eighties, came out and shook my hand. “I’m really sorry about Joe, Mike”. Although they never conversed outside of work because Mondo lived off the island, I could see that he was really shaken. 

Red, a former came outside and greeted me. Back when I was there he was our heavy equipment operator.  Now he worked in the office of the public works department. He too expressed his sincere sadness. Crockett and Tommy both told me to let them know if there was anything that they could do.

I drove down to Station Street and took a left on Ruthie Lane. I pulled into the yard. I walked up the steps and unlocked the door. It amazed me how some things were exactly the same as I had left them in 1986. Some other things undisturbed from 1989 and some others from 1993. Something about this house seemed determined to remind me of my deficiencies and my greatest struggles.

 All of this was too much a reminder that time the predator was on my heels and was beating me. I wanted to scream. It couldn’t be over. I never thought it would end so soon. There were times back in the 1980s when I seriously thought I would be greeted by the police at my door at four o’clock in the morning. They would tell me that they found the body of Joe Jackson in a motorcycle wreck that would appear to have had the 1981 Harley Sturgis moving more than 185 miles per hour. The crash never happened, fortunately. I now think it is strange how I could expect that outcome so much but never this one. 

The smells of this place brought back memories of 1989. This was not the best time in my life. It was the time in which I made some of the most drastic changes. It was a turning point of tremendous consequence. After the explosion resulting from my self-inflicted hell, I looked for real answers and was humble enough to hear them.  I often drove out to Station Street pier after 11 PM and stood at the railing. I looked down at the water. I had really messed things up. Now I was learning that there indeed were always possibilities. I would search for answers night after night. Because there was such a shift in me, Dad began to ask interesting questions about quitting drinking. He could see that the changes in me were real.I felt like I was born all over again. I was radiant now, but in the weeks prior I belonged to the living dead. The healing I experienced was unimaginable. 

Although that was a humbling journey, I took all the worst of myself and challenged it all head-on. I had to.  I could not be afraid of my past, it needed to be in my face, so that I could outright declare that I was not choosing that. If Dad wanted to go out to the bar, I went with him, I drank coffee, and when things started getting rowdy, I had so much control of seemingly everything, It was amazing. As it happened, he was really watching.

How I now wish I had stayed in 1989. I believe that Dad probably would have tried to quit drinking had I stayed. After all, my marriage to Kim did not survive. In October of 89, we reconciled only to have it end in 1993. Many years later I now know that there were people up north who really needed me. Going to New Hampshire changed the direction of not only my life but the lives of so many other people. 

Here in Port Aransas, things for Dad  may have been very different had I just stayed. The night I told Dad that I was moving back to New Hampshire to try things with Kim again, I saw him age 10 years instantly before my eyes. The pain I gave him at that moment appeared lethal. All Dad said was, “You have to do what you feel you must.” 

As I walked through our house, I realized what lay ahead was no easy task. Dad lived in this quaint little place for a few reasons. As we unraveled his existence here, it felt to me like we were betraying him. I had to leave. I went back to Bobbi’s house and everyone was up now. We had coffee and talked about Dad, about what to do about the house, about what Brooke was going to do. 

This was a tough time for Brooke and Jamie. Jamie just left the Navy. They moved from California three weeks ago and were staying with Jamie’s sister Laura in
Austin. They found a place in Spring, Texas just outside of Houston. Jamie was working his first day up there today. There was so much going on. Jamie was upset that he had to work and not be down here in Port Aransas. He has never been the type of person who wasn’t all-in for his family. 

At around 10:00 am Crockett showed up with donuts and muffins from the Island Cafe. Crockett and I went back a long way. He used to always say, “One day Mike, you’re going to come to work and there will be a surprise for you.” He often threatened to fire me for my chronic tardiness. When I was 19 and 20 I was not good at getting up in the morning. The late night partying likely was responsible.

Crockett sat at Bobbi’s kitchen table. He told us everyone at the shop took up a collection to buy donuts. We talked about Dad. “We will never find anyone like Joe. We are really going to miss him.” I was trying to tell Crockett a story about how Dad told me once how they were cleaning out hazardous materials from the landfill. Crockett instantly finished, “And hazardous. No one kept better control of what got dropped than Joe. No one will ever be as good at that job as he is.” Brooke and Amy broke into tears as we talked of Dad. Crockett was clearly fighting visibly breaking down himself. When it became clear to him that he could not keep it together anymore, he excused himself. He said there were things he had to get to. I knew he would just be taking a ride on the beach to regroup and check to see how the beach crew was doing.

In the afternoon we drove over to a funeral home in Rockport. Dad’s friends Gayla and Tom had recommended this one to us. The director Jim, was a friend of Gayla’s. He and his staff treated us very well. We explained to Jim that after cremation, Dad requested his ashes be spread in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. They told us fine, but to keep it to ourselves since these days the EPA discourages doing this. 

Returning to the island just as we pulled onto the ferry with Dad’s truck, I could feel the brake pedal sort of snap then start fading all the way to the floor.  I knew we had broken a rear brake line. This was mostly a minor problem because we had too much to do right now and I had driven vehicles with 50% brakes before. I know how to do it. I would fix them later on. Crockett would allow me to use the city maintenance shop for that. 

Of all of the many tasks on our list, the one that was the most unpleasant was to notify others of Dad’s passing. We drove over to Shorty’s Place. This is where Carol worked. Carol was a longtime friend of ours and the live-in girlfriend of Glenn a very longtime friend of Dad and myself. 

Carol was behind the bar. Recognition began to cross her face. By the time she recognized Amy, and saw the look in our eyes, she knew something was about to come down. “Dad passed away yesterday”, Brooke told her. Carol cried. She hugged us. “Oh no. Just wait till Glenn finds out. He is at his sister’s in Arizona.” I told her the memorial service would be at the community center on Saturday. Carol said she was sorry but she could not do funerals. She told us that she never could and never would no matter who it was for. Port Aransas always had its share of people who are running from something, and I am no exception. We were all just misfits in some sort of way I guess. We all loved each other for who were were and the way we were.  In this way, Carol’s not being at the Community Center this Saturday will be a respectful tribute to Dad when you consider her the person we love.

That evening, we went to see Tom. Tom was Dad’s longest-time friend on the island. Tom moved here from Canada in 1971 and still ended all of his sentences with” eh”. Tom was the second-best dart thrower on the island. He used to be on the same Tuesday Night Dart Association team as I was. Another man named George held the number one spot, at least this seemed to be the verbal agreement. 

Tom was always full of quick wit and wisdom. Tom was famous because he was the only person I ever knew who drank Schlitz. Tom washed his false teeth in the dishwasher. Tom was also well known for buying filet minion steaks, overcooking them on the barbecue, and covering them with ketchup and A1 steak sauce. He always enjoyed telling us this because he knew how much it hurt us to hear it.

Dad has not had a phone since 1988 he would use Tom’s telephone to call us when he wanted to talk. He would pay Tom on the phone bill when it came in. They had a great relationship. Tom was devastated by Dad’s loss, just as much as we were. He sat at the table and cried. “I will never go to the hospital to see a friend again,” Tom said as if this somehow caused Dad to pass away by going there. Brooke hugged Tom. He was like an uncle to us. He cried some more, “I have lost my only friend, what am I going to do now?” Tears welled in my eyes. 

“Monday nights, your Dad would come over driving the Ford. Bring a bottle in and maybe a six-pack. We’d sit here and solve all of the problems of the world. Where I come from we are a bit more liberal. I always say things to Joe just to piss him off.” Tom laughed. “’ That’s the stupidest bullshit I ever heard, Joe would say to me. He would sit in that chair, look down at the table, and shake his head. ‘What an asshole’”. 

Tears streamed down Tom’s face. “We’d call each other assholes, he’d get mad and walk out. I’d see the truck pull back in Tuesday night. Joe would walk in and say, ‘I get a little carried away sometimes Tom.’ Me too I tell him.” Tom laughed again. “I can’t tell you how many times we have done this.” I’ve had a lot of friends here, but I’ll never have one again like Joe.” Tom’s voice broke. He took his glasses off. His eyes were red and swollen from crying. He had been drinking perhaps more than normal.

I first met Tom at A Auto Supply in the summer of 1984. In 1984 I was working at A Auto in the tire shop. It was a very laid-back job. The majority of the time we were drinking beer and throwing darts. Tom would come in every day around 4:00 after his job as the refrigeration, and A/C man for Island Retreat, the local best-known resort. Tom would drink his Schlitz and whip all of us at darts with no effort. He was a lot of fun and all he did was in good humor. 

At 5:00 we would all go over to Station Street Pub and drink Tecate Beer and eat pickle chips. This place like so many in Port Aransas was gone a decade ago. The Texas afternoon blowing through the screens. While all of our early 1970s car grilles faced us through those screens. The ceiling fans futilely beat overhead. A history was being etched in my mind and in my heart. Dad sitting next to me, so invincible. Life was only a dream in those days. God himself had given me a ticket to a place that existed on the edge of imagination and reality. I would sit at a table with many friends. I would wonder, just how did I get here? Just how did Dad get to Port Aransas, Texas when he started in Bristol, Connecticut? It was a valid question since Bristol was on the other side of the galaxy. Many things had changed over the last 12 years since those Station Street Pub days and Tom remained a friend to Dad and our family over the years. 

In 1985 and 1986, I spent a good deal of my spare time in Mariners Inn. During these days I worked for the City of Port Aransas. Don’t be fooled by the word City in the name, we were just a town of 2,000 people. Dad also went to Mariners but not quite as much as I did. I pretty much lived there. I did not have A/C at home and since I worked outside all day I saw little reason to have air conditioning. I also liked my $9 electric bills. Mariners being right in the dune line of the beach, there was always a steady offshore breeze and the best company. Rick and Sherrill were the owners and they were from Wisconsin. They were trying to hold up this bar/motel. They were good.  They had spent their whole lives in hospitality.  This business somehow could not shake its old name in everyone’s minds, Beach Lodge. Whatever happened there, seemed to cast a shadow on the success of this unique place. It was clear to us that the business was slipping, but those of us who came there loved the place, I think mostly because of the people at our regular table.

As I sat here at Tom’s table, I recounted a story about a night years ago in which Tom had more than usual to drink. He did not remember going home. Tom was fortunate. Island Retreat was a small foot trek through the dunes directly behind Mariner’s Inn. Tom had a Bic lighter with a silver case and a turquoise design in it. 

The following day Tom, Dad, and I sat at our usual table as the southeast gulf breeze blew in through the windows. Tom was upset because he lost his lighter the night before. Suddenly Rick, walked over to the table with cigarettes and Tom’s lighter. “Where did you find them?” Tom asked. Rick replied, ‘Well after you called this morning about the lighter I decided to take a walk back towards Island Retreat along your usual path. About halfway there I found a large imprint of your body in the sand and roughly where your hand was, I found the cigarettes and lighter.” Of course, this was Dad’s cue. to ask the obvious question. Dad held up his arms, waved them at his sides, and smiled. “Did you make an angel while you were down there?” Tom replied, “yeah man, I did the whole deal, eh.” 

As we sat there at Tom’s table, so many short stories about Dad were recounted. One of Tom’s favorite stories was when he gave Dad our cat Noble.  As the jack of all trades maintenance man at Island Retreat, Tom had many nebulous duties too.  A stray orange tabby cat started hanging around the retreat.  He needed to find a home for it.  

Tom had convinced Dad that he needed a cat.  At the time, Dad lived alone in the little cottage on 11th Street with his Doberman Duke.  Dad came to Island Retreat, put the cat in the car without any carrier.  As they headed down the road for about a 2 mile drive, that cat began to freak out and was running and climbing all over the car and was clawing Dad’s arm. Reflexively, just like when we were kids, he smacked the cat to snap him out of his frenzy.  The cat jumped and landed on the ceiling, upside down, and hung there that way for the rest of the ride home. At home, Dad peeled Noble off the ceiling and opened the front door and threw the cat into the house with the dog.  He left for a few hours.  He decided to let them figure out what their relationship was going to be without him in the picture. The adoption was a success.

The story did not end here though.  On Sunday, it was customary for Dad to take Duke down to the beach and let him run.  Most of the time, Islanders let their dog out of the car, then slowly drive down the beach.  The dog runs behind the car and gets lots of exercise. Dad had done this, when he saw Tom on the beach.  He parked next to Tom and as they sipped their coffees, they talked while Duke ran and played.

As they were talking, Don, the police chief pulled up and greeted them.  Dad said that he was giving Duke a run on the beach.  Tom, having just given Dad the cat said matter of fact,  “The dog always beats the cat. The cats legs are short.” Don looked at them.  Tom said, “Yeah, the cat needs exercise too, he just has a hard time keeping up with the dog and the car.”

The whole time they were standing there with Don, you could clearly see him straining to see if he could spot an orange cat come running up the beach.

Then as I knew it would, stories about me in my younger and more irresponsible days were revealed to my sisters. Brooke knew of most of them. She lived in Port Aransas most of the time that I did. Amy on the other hand was new to this information. I knew that the favorite story Tom would tell would have to be the Sunday night in early December 1985 when I went into Tom’s bathroom and went to sleep on the floor since I had drank too much. Tom woke me and managed to get me to the couch where I remained until the next morning. Debbie, whom I lived with at the time was very unhappy about this.

Tom asked that Amy and I stay there at his house. We were torn as we were already being extended hospitality at Bobbi’s house. Tom brought up an old contention my Dad had with Bobbi, but years had passed and Dad and Bobbi were fine these days.  I knew Tom just wanted us there to be able to live those memories with Joe’s kids rather than have them haunt him while he sat alone at the table he and Dad only sat at a few nights ago. 

We told Tom that Amy and I would stay with him for part of the time. Tonight we would sleep there. Tom’s modest apartment at the Retreat was only one very large room but he had two queen-sized beds, one of them a water bed. He brought in a quality roll-away bed from Retreat Supply. Tom decided that he would sleep on the roll away Amy would sleep on the regular bed and I would use the water bed.

We went back to Dad’s house and started to sort through his life. Many things we found, told us more about him. Grandma Jackson always said that Jackson men only truly love one woman all of their lives when they find the one. My grandmother put strong emphasis on this because her father had been the opposite of this.  My Dad’s one love was my mother Sandy. For a short time in the late eighties, after I had returned to the north, Dad had a live-in girlfriend named Dot. We found a couple of her letters that signified the near end of their relationship. She told him of how she knew there was so much love within his heart but saw no way to ever get to it. She told him of his kind soul and of the indestructible wall that defeated any hopes of them ever being happy within him.

My mother had a hold on him that was really his doing or at least he seemed powerless to resist.  I do recall though a period of time in 86 when he had claimed his life more than I had ever seen before, he started envisioning himself as liberated from the bonds that held him.  Dad always did better when he had his family with him. Brooke and I had been there for 1 and 2 years respectively.  Amy had come to visit, the effects of this on him were remarkable. He relayed a dream one Sunday to me.  He said that Mom had no place to stay and that she came to Port Aransas. She asked him if she could stay with him.  He told her, “I think Mike has some room over at his place.” You had to know how he felt about her to know how revolutionary this was.  He would have never said no. This was his kryptonite, but here he was dreaming that he was free from it.

We found postcards from the early 50s that his father had written to his son, “Joey.” Amy told Brooke and me about a story Dad told her. Dad was about 12 and he had acquired a knife from a friend of his. My grandmother spotted it in his back pocket as he passed him in the living room. “Joe,” she asked. “What is that in your pocket?” “I don’t have anything in my pocket,” he told her. He quickly retreated to his bedroom and hid the knife. “Your father is going to talk to you about this when he gets home Joe,” she voiced through the door. Dad put a comb in his pocket where the knife had been. When his Dad came home, young Joe stood in the living room before his father. “Joe, take out what is in your back pocket,” he told Dad. Dad removed the comb from his pocket and showed it to him. “It’s just a comb,” Dad defended himself.

“Don’t you see what I did?” Dad asked our sister Amy so many years later. “I should have kept the knife in my pocket. I should have let him find it. Maybe he would have spanked me or maybe he would have sat there with me looking at it saying ‘That’s pretty cool.’” Dad’s eyes were like glass. “Maybe he would have told me about his first knife or even showed me some of his. By replacing the knife with the
comb I denied myself any kind of interaction with him. Anything would have been so good. It seems I always chose to deny us any interaction. I don’t know why.”

In less than a year from that day, Dad’s father went to work and never came home. A blood clot struck him down at 52 years old at work. On the day before he died. Dad was mad at his father for something that he could not even remember. He did not kiss, hug, or shake his Dad’s hand goodnight. He ignored him. At thirteen years old, our Dad was suddenly alone and even worse, filled with guilt that he could not get over. His one older sister and a mother who loved him so, much but overwhelmed him with protection and kindness to the point of penalty from his point of view.

I worked my way back to the master bedroom and sorted through things back there. Everything back there was from days gone by. This was because Dad only used the kitchen/living room area where the air conditioner was. The heat was intense now. The air conditioner is broken, never to be fixed this time. I found that sad somehow. What only mattered days ago, now did not matter at all, just like that. 

Sears extended warranty had fixed a 200-dollar air conditioner probably a dozen times. They really should put some small print in their warranty indicating that if you live in Port Aransas, it is terminated the moment you turn on the unit for the first time.

Brooke and Amy were in the living room. They called me and I met Brooke halfway down the hall. In her hands, she held a couple of zip-loc. bags. In them, I could see a large amount of quarters. She told me to look at them. When I did I cried hysterically. I knew what was in the bags. Something so simple was here and yet it is a true testament to the love Dad had for his children. 

In each bag were quarters that were made in the years 1965, 1969, and 1970. I couldn’t stop crying. Here Dad sat alone. As alone as anyone could be. He would sift through the coins he had acquired and collect them from the birth years of his children. He loved us so much. Anything to acknowledge how he felt. I cried as hard as I did when I stood by his bedside after he was gone. This just said it all.

Tuesday, April 2nd materialized from the large water bed at Tom’s house. He had already gone to work and had returned. I used to sleep on a water bed. This should have been no different except this one’s heater was not on. I had to admit, it was not a good night’s sleep. I woke with stiff joints and a peculiar listlessness. 

Amy and I went to Bobbi’s. We put the kids in Bobbi’s car and all went to see Esther, the city secretary. I had known Esther all the years I had lived there and she worked for the city for longer than Dad had. Esther greeted us with the tenderness of a favorite aunt. We sat down and talked about Dad some. About 5 minutes into the visit Brooke and Amy were crying. Esther broke down and began to cry too. I fought so hard not to cry myself, only half succeeding. Esther went over the insurance and retirement. Dad worked so hard for so many years. Here, now, was the count. What was it for? I was certain that had he lived to retirement age, he wouldn’t make ends meet. 

As we neared the completion of the meeting, I grew somewhat shaky as I used to, when I was underweight and had not eaten in a long time. I decided that I would go out into the lobby and watch Taylor and John while Brooke and Amy finished business with Esther.

I sat in the chair out in the lobby as Taylor and John told me stories, jumped on me and played as children should. They were 2 and 3 years old.  Such fun ages! As each second passed, I lost energy. I started to get lightheaded and weakened drastically. I looked at the sore wound in my hand where the rusty hook from the door spring injured me 2 days ago. No sign of blood poisoning, but what about tetanus? Did I know what that would do?

Brooke, Amy, and Esther emerged from the office and Esther gave me a hug. I gave Brooke the keys to Bobbi’s car because I could no longer drive. Brooke and Amy looked at me with concern. Brooke decided that we needed to go over to Rosie’s house. The eighty-degree day just drank even more energy out of me. 

We arrived at Rosie’s house a few minutes later. I now felt like I weighed twice my normal weight. Walking became a tremendous effort. The girls steadied me as we went up the three steps to Rosie’s porch.

The house bused with life. Rosie’s teenage daughter was there with a friend, they giggled over things that seemed to only make sense to them. Rosie took charge instantly as I knew that she should. The television played the afternoon news. They placed me in a chair with a footstool. I was starting to feel like I was slowly disconnecting from the environment around me.

Brooke asked me what I thought it was. I didn’t want to mention the hand injury thing yet and panic everyone. I told her that maybe I needed to eat. They brought me some leafy green salad. The amount of energy that it took to just try to eat scared me now. I had never felt like this before and it was progressing so fast, there did not seem to be enough time to figure out what it was before… Yes. That was it. I knew that I was fading away. Not sure if it was losing Dad or the rusty hook that was driven into my hand that had poisoned me. 

Thinking about it, I realized that as each moment went by my mental abilities were fading fast. I could not even remember the armory’s phone number anymore. I was no longer in the military. But I knew that they should have my medical records and tell us if I have a valid tetanus shot. I decided that if I did not pass out some information now, within 10 minutes I would not even remember who I was. I was sure of this because reality was already slipping now. The sound of the afternoon news from Corpus Christi had me fading into the 80’s when I lived here with Dad. Within a short time after that, I was going to die. I had no idea why I knew this, but I knew it was true. 

I was dying. First Dad, then me, in Port Aransas of all places. Why not? So many things have happened here for me. I gave Gayle’s work 800 number to the girls so that she could check with the armory on the shot records. I could hear them talking to Gayle but they sounded so distant. 

I was being pulled away from the world and I had no idea why and no strength to fight for my life. It seemed like I was pulled to the very bottom of a tall silo and the people around me would look down inside and talk to me. My comprehension of their words was greatly diminished. I tried to tell them that I wanted to lie down. Dying was now my only choice and all I wanted was to do it as comfortably as I could. They helped me to the bedroom and covered me up on the bed of Rosie’s son. 

Time passed and I listened to the background voices talk about me with concern, but I did not understand what they were saying. I felt as though my mass was made of lead. The blanket felt good on me. I listened to the voices. My own mind created music just as it does every second of my life. Well, it didn’t a little while ago, but now it was again. The blanket felt wonderful. My own body heat fed the blanket. The blanket fed it back to me. The voices in the background slowly began to clear. I could make out what the television was saying now. The blanket continued to feed my own heat back into me. I produce good amounts of body heat. I always have. I could feel my strength surging back into me as though it had been injected into me. 

I suddenly understood what was happening! I called Brooke in. I told her what it was. I asked her for some soup. They gave me some. Just as fast as I was fading, I was now improving. 

I nearly succumbed to hypothermia on an eighty-degree day in South Texas after spending eight hours on an ice-cold waterbed that had drained me of so much heat I could not reproduce it fast enough to recover. It was a sobering thing. Something that I respect now. I know what it is like to just fade away. Imagine those people who are lost in the wilderness. They just fade away and do not even understand that something is happening to them. The mind slowly ceases to process, and then you die. Just the thought of it still chills me.

We went over to Ruthie Lane to continue cleaning out Dad’s house and packing. The movies that Dad recorded would be divided into three ways. Dad’s extensive cooking library would go to Brooke. Dad’s Stephen King Library to Amy. His CD collection would go to me. We each kept something that we had shared as an interest with Dad.

In 1994 I sent Dad two white audio cassette tapes with voice messages on them. He never did send me replies. He explained to me that although he recorded some, he would listen to them the next day and hate the way he sounded on tape. He would then erase them. He said that he found he talked way too slowly, sort of like John Wayne. His words. For this reason, the audio tape letters were just a one-way thing. I actually found my two tapes and decided to listen to them. I thought it would be neat to see what I was telling him back then. 

I quietly hoped inside of me to find not my voice on those tapes but his. Upon playing the first one, there he was. Dad had recorded over an hour of audio that he never sent to me. As we went through everything in the house we listened. Dad did have to get very good and drunk to do these tapes, but it was all right. This was Dad. His words. His love. It was so incredible to hear his voice just talking away, knowing that two days ago, he left us for good. 

That night we stopped at Tom’s house. We told him about the water bed thing. He just laughed it off. This irritated me but was irrelevant now. I would just not sleep on the thing ever again.

Earlier in the day, I found Dad’s address book. In the book was a telephone number for Jeri. The same Jeri that had gone to Bristol Eastern High School with my Dad. The same Jeri that invited Dad to move to Port Aransas, Texas to begin with. The same Jeri who trained me in the Texas oil fields in 1985. The same Jeri that now lived in Florida. 

It was a call that I knew, must be made. I dialed. A teenage girl picked up. “Is Jeri in?” I asked. “He’s busy right now,” she said. “It’s very important that I speak to him,” I told her. Irritated, she told me to hold on and I heard the call waiting put me on hold. This was no doubt, Nina. Nina was 4 years old the last time I saw her. She was beautiful at four, and Cyndi Lauper was her idol. Now, a typical teenage girl for sure. 

The line came back alive and I heard her yell to Jeri. “Dad! You have a call!” “Hello?” “Jeri, it’s Mike Jackson.” “Oh my God!” Jeri was disbelieving. We had not spoken in ten years. “How are you? Where are you calling me from? How is it that you are calling me?” “I have some bad news, Jeri.” It was all I had to say really but I finished. “My Dad passed away on Sunday.” “Oh no,” Jeri barely said with a whisper. “No. I was coming to visit Joe next month.” I told him what had happened and we briefly caught up. Jeri told me that if I ever wanted a vacation I should stay with him. I thanked him, but I was sure it would never materialize.

Wednesday arrives. It is what you would call Dad’s “Sunday”. He ran the transfer station and it was closed Tuesdays and Wednesdays. This was on our minds as Crockett had told us that when the dump was open we had free access to take whatever we needed there.

We continued packing boxes and labeling. Some real progress was being made. Saturday was coming quickly which was the day of Dad’s service and we wanted to have most of this finished by then. What to do with the house weighed in on me. So far, there have been no solutions.

In the early afternoon, we were hungry. We went to the Whataburger drive-thru for lunch. As we sat in that line, I looked at the broken windshield in front of me. I stared out beyond it and across the road to Cline’s Landing. Port Aransas is everywhere. Brooke, Amy, and I were in Port Aransas. Dad was not. The idea seemed horrifying! I suddenly felt that a critical mission, a last resort mission to save the world had met with miserable failure and now there was no hope. This was the end. It seemed so twisted, it really overwhelmed me. 

It was moments like this I wondered if I could really go on anymore. Inside, I knew that the real question was, “Am I willing”. Am I willing to go back to New Hampshire and step behind the Dartmouth Service counter again, smile, and solve people’s problems? At this moment in time, I hardly thought so. I didn’t WANT to go on and pretend this didn’t happen. The world should acknowledge the passing of my Father by just stopping! It just needed to stop!

Thursday happened and with it came the opening of the Transfer Station.  A week ago today, my Dad went to work out here, like it was any other day in his life.  Today, we were throwing his things away here.  I wanted to scream!  We filled the truck and took furniture to the dump. We did this several times. We found ourselves being sentimental about so many things. In the videotape boxes, I would throw miscellaneous items to be found by each of the three of us later. Dad was like his mother. He saved everything. This made throwing things away so difficult. 

I noticed that after a while logic set in and junk was junk and memories were what counted. It was around this time that I developed this incredible headache. It was enormous. It was emanating from a toothache which I knew of no problems until now. I went to the Family Center IGA and bought some medications that I thought would help. This did not do anything. The toothache created a pain that went straight down the back of my neck. 

Brooke was not with us on this day because she had to be at their new house that she and Jamie had just rented when their furniture arrived from California. Brooke admitted that this was the first time ever that Taylor and John were without her for any time. Brooke having to go up to Houston was a stark reminder that no matter how much of a tantrum I wished to throw, no matter how much I wanted the world to stop because my Daddy was gone, it still had to continue. Babies would continue to be born and others would continue to die. The sun would rise tomorrow and would do so every day thereafter.

Friday, April 5th happens to us. This morning, a cold front came down from the northwest, the bottom dropped out on the temperatures and it rained very hard. My task today was to find a cap for the truck. I just needed a used one for say one hundred dollars. There were many junk yards in Corpus Christi. 

I had been to every one of these junk yards back in early 1985. Back then I was on the hunt for a 3-speed transmission for a 1973 Dodge pickup. It had taken me three weeks to find one. As I combed the South Texas junkyards on this rainy day, it seemed like weeks had passed since I had last been through looking for the transmission. For brief moments, I felt like I might be 19 years old again and Brooke and Dad would be back home on the island living in the old 1950s trailer on Avenue J. In reality, eleven years had passed. It seemed like 3 decades had gone now.

The better part of the day had passed and I still did not have a cap for the truck. I needed it to protect Dad’s belongings for the ride to Connecticut and New Hampshire. I finally did what I knew I had to and pulled into Pleasureland which sold campers, caps, and other recreational pieces. When I left, there was a brand new cap on the truck which had cost me, $400.00 plus tax. 

I then headed to the Padre-Staples Mall. Bobbi had taken a picture of Dad a couple of weeks ago when Brooke, Jamie, Taylor, and John came down to visit. It was a neat picture so I had the mall photo shop enlarge it to almost poster size for the service.I drove back out to Flour Bluff and headed north on Park Road 53 toward Port Aransas. Everyone loved the picture of Dad. We built an anthology of pictures that showed him over the years. 

The headache screamed inside of me. There was nothing that would stop this thing. By evening time I began to think maybe a self-inflicted gunshot was the answer. I was sure this was the result of the stress of losing Dad. Now his service was tomorrow. He needed to be remembered honorably. I had not figured out yet just how the spreading of the ashes would go where exactly it would happen, or when. Jamie returned to the island around ten o’clock tonight. It was good to see him.

He was glad to be back with his family. I could tell he didn’t like leaving us with everything we had to do over this last week. This was his first week on his first job after leaving the Navy. I could tell, this had to be one of the longest weeks of his life. He had no choice.

While we sat at the table my headache screamed. Brooke tried to massage the pain out of my neck. As I thought it couldn’t get worse, it just kept getting worse all of the time. It really felt like my head would explode at any time. Jamie tried to work on my neck, but the relief only came when working on it, like a burn, the pain returned immediately when left alone.

I slept on the couch in the spare room that night. As the night wore on I cringed under the pain of this thing. I barely slept at all. I buried my face hard into the pillow. I pleaded to God, “PLEASE, PLEASE, take this thing away from me.” This headache/toothache was now so bad that I could no longer talk.

I lay on the couch watching the red LED numbers on the alarm clock throughout the night. The pain was searing. Like someone digging into my right upper jaw straight through to my skull.. I asked again and again and again. I envisioned the pain being lifted from me The pain continued. It began to occur to me that Dad’s service would probably fall very short of what I wanted for him. It was up to me and now that I was incapacitated, I would fail him. The clock turned 4:14 AM. I pressed my face hard into the pillow. The pain would not lift. I tossed and turned. I tried not to moan out loud. “This is a load of crap!” I thought. Why can’t it just go away? The pain was so bad now that I could no longer tell where it was coming from. It seemed to be everywhere. 

Dying now seemed like a relief. How was Dad’s suffering? His suffering lasted 24 hours a day. We know he couldn’t sleep. The doctor had told us that at 50, Dad was physically 20 years older. While cigarettes and alcohol contributed to this, the thing that really does this is chronic insomnia. He put up with it for time unknown. I thought about that. How was it for Dad? I felt sad. It was a strange feeling when we went to the Transfer Station office that he worked in to get his personal items. The Stephen King novel Insomnia sat there almost telling us of his personal prison. Poor Dad. My heart melted. I wanted to pay him the respect a good father deserved. I wanted him and everyone that would come to his service to know that I loved him with all of my heart.

The clock struck 4:15 AM. It was then like someone had turned off a switch. The pain stopped, just like when someone shuts off a noisy machine and the silence suddenly whispers at you, soothing you. The pain did not return again until next Thursday as I was climbing the mountains of West Virginia. Sleep finally came.

The daylight of Saturday the 6th comes. When we got up the temperature was even colder than yesterday. An icy wind blew. Down here the cold is always severe. Since the humidity was always around 100 percent the cold cut through you. It was a very different cold from the New England dry arctic air.

We got dressed up and headed for the community center. The funeral director brought the box that contained the remains of my Father. He talked about what would happen. He said he would say a few words, and then ask if there was anyone else who wanted to speak. After this, he would ask everyone to join in the Lord’s Prayer. 

Esther and company came in with food and drink. Her husband was the proprietor of the Island Cafe. Port Aransas sure had some good people in it. Jamie’s sister Laura walked in with her boyfriend.  Jamie didn’t really care for Scott but tolerated him. He seemed very out of place here in our little common island world.

Tomorrow was Easter Sunday so the family was all together as they always were. Tom walked into the center. He was in tough shape. He looked weak and ready to break down at any second. It was so hard for me not to just burst out crying. I figured I would never be able to keep my composure during my talk. I saw people from the public works department all seated together. Former director Carl. Current Director Crockett,  Mondo, Red, Rene, No Debbie, but Debbie’s mom Laura was there.

The service started like I knew it would. Some kind words were said by Jim the funeral director. He then announced that City Manager Tommy Brooks had some words. Tommy walked up to the podium. “I first met Joe some years ago as I assumed my new job as city manager. I decided to visit the facilities in town. When I went to the dump, I saw the big ramp and dumpster. I drove right by Joe’s building and up the ramp. I saw this big man with a long flowing beard approach from behind. ‘Who are you,’ he asked. I’m Tommy Brooks, the new City Manager I told him. ‘All right’ Joe said and turned and went back down the ramp.

Joe was a quiet man but that quiet man served this city for 16 years. He has done several jobs for us and most recently manned the Transfer Station maintaining the standard for what we are answering to BFI standards. The EPA governs every move we make in our transfer station. Joe made us all behave as a community. 

In 1981, Port Aransas did not have the money in the budget to buy the expensive cages for our police cruisers. Joe put his mind to it and designed his own. He then showed us how to manufacture our own for a fraction of the cost buying them would have been.

I didn’t know Joe as long as many of you in this room. But I liked the man I did know. He was proud of his town and the people in it. I speak for all of us in the City Of Port Aransas, Joe will be missed very much. Thank you.

I watched as a man I never met, limped up onto the stage. He had long black hair and a beard. He wore and Harley Cap on his head. I could tell this was probably the only time he EVER publicly spoke. He stood right in front of us and said. “There are few people in the world who would give you anything they have if you needed it. Joe was one of those. Joe was good people and a true friend.” 

As quickly as this stranger limped upon the stage, he was back off it. Good for him. That was beautiful. My turn. How do you say thank you for a lifetime of love? I was about to find out. I rehearsed nothing. I wrote nothing. Only love could tell this story. I stood in front of the town I once called my own. They looked up at me. Brooke and Amy sat in front next to Tom and Jamie, Laura and Scott, Bobbi, and the kids. I stood in front of the microphone. As I spoke my voice was strong and a little deeper than normal almost in itself sounding more like that of my Father. There seemed almost a massaging effect to my voice that I had no idea where it was coming from. 

“I am very proud to be standing here before you today. This is because when you have had the honor of having Joe Jackson as your Father as Brooke, Amy and I have, there is nothing to feel but pride. He really understood the responsibility of being a Father. His ‘yes’ meant yes and his ‘no’ meant no. You could bet your life on either.

Dad was the kind of person who always thought of everyone else before considering himself. He loved his kids with all of his heart. I remember when I was still very young, my Dad had just removed the training wheels off my bike. My Father told me not to leave the yard. He meant it. A little while later, Dad drove out of the yard. I assumed he would be gone for hours. 

All of the older boys in the neighborhood had this brilliant idea to tie their larger bikes together in a big train. There were like eight bikes in all. I convinced them to tie mine to the end. We all went up the road. I was loving every minute of it because I had never gone this fast on a bike before. As we got up near the end of the road we passed the Pontiac Dad was driving back to our house. I could see it in his eyes, I was in so much trouble. I had to get back to the house. The group of bikes turned around and headed back. Only this time they decided to pedal as hard as they could. I couldn’t control my own bike. Just as we neared my house I crashed into the curb. I tore the knees out of my pants and skinned my hands and knees. Dad was there in an instant. The first thing that he did was to spank me in front of every kid in the neighborhood. Then out came a buck knife and he cut the bike away from the others. He walked back to the house, a crying kid in one arm and the bike in the other.

This is why I think he really understood. Most parents will be deterred from disciplining their child after they get hurt. I know Dad didn’t want to spank his hurt child right then, but it is what a responsible parent has to do. The whole meaning of him telling me to stay in the yard would have been lost. He loved me enough to know that the damage done on the sidewalk would heal in a day or two. He knew that if he failed to show me there were consequences to my actions, I may never heal.”

My overall talk lasted twenty minutes. I emphasized Dad’s selfless nature. I recall how it closed. “I will not use the life of my Father as a gauge to measure how I interact with others but as an inspiration for showing everyone the better things in life. The lighter side. He had a magic about him. Of my Father Joe Jackson, I can only say this. If we are truly blessed with the way that we treat others, then my Father is in the best of all places. And please-” All through this speech I held it together and yet suddenly my release signified closure. “You must forgive me for what I am saying. This is because my words fall far short of the way I really feel for my Dad, for he was the greatest man.” My voice broke. “Man that I’ve ever known…. Thank You.

Jim led us in the Lord’s Prayer. He then invited everyone to remain for the food and visit among other friends a family of Dad’s. Laura, Debbie’s mom came up to me and hugged me. I still called Laura Mom after all of these years. “You knew I would be here, didn’t you Baby. You’re still my boy.” “I knew you would,” I replied. She made comparisons between my Dad’s drinking and her husband’s who had died years ago now.  Although Dad certainly had a history with drinking, it was the cigarettes that took his life. There was no way to debate this, so I just thanked her for being there.

I was choking back the tears when just behind Laura I saw Sherrill from Mariner’s Inn standing behind her. Sherrill was as Irish as they came. Her long red hair now showing much gray but those blue Irish eyes smiling to me and yet sad. “Rick wanted to be here today but we have responsibilities over to Island Moorings and only one of us can be gone at any given time.” “It’s OK, please tell him I said hello” I told her. She hugged me and Brooke and Amy like we were her own children. 

The room spun around me. Carl, Crockett, Mondo, Rene and Red were all around us. “I think Mike said it all!” Carl proclaimed. “His yes meant yes and his no meant no.” 

I visited with all of the city employees that were there. Out of all of the places that I have been known to call home, Port Aransas is really my true home. It is not hard to see why Dad remained for so many years.

Laura, Jamie’s sister came over to me and offered her hand. We had known of each other but had never formally met. I did not get to attend Brooke and Jamie’s wedding four years earlier. There were two people who filmed the wedding. Dad had made me copies of both videos. Laura was a real Texas beauty with brown hair and brown eyes. Laura was so beautiful in fact that she caused one of the camera’s to malfunction and film nothing but her. I felt like I knew her. 

Then I saw Johnnie. She was introduced to me in 1984 in September. I never saw it back in the eighties, but today everything about her screamed flower child. Johnnie was it. She used to play piano and I used to visit her carrying a white Stratocaster. Our musical talents were so opposite. Her being so good and me sucking so completely. Well, part of that is true, I did suck, but I was working on it. What really happened was, Johnnie had grown up in classical music and she could make a piano do fantastic things.  It was clear, a lifetime of work lived within her. I  We were very opposite and respected each other’s tastes and abilities.

I remembered once she had auditioned for a rock group and I came over to coach her. No matter what rock song Johnnie played on the piano it had a classical feel to it. She was square peg trying to fit into a round hole. She had such a humility to her. She finally decided that playing in a rock band was not for her. 

Today Johnnie stood there her long black hair now showing a couple of well pronounced stripes of gray. Her daughter Tina stood next to her. Last time I saw Tina she was a fifteen year old, smart mouth brat. Today Tina was a married young woman of 26 with a child of her own. They welcomed Brooke, Amy and I with open arms. 

As we left the Community center, a good amount of people followed us to Bobbi’s. I sat at the kitchen table, wondering what is going to happen now. We had paid tribute. Shouldn’t the world stop now?

Since last Monday all of the flags across America flew at half. This was really because top Clinton official Ron Brown was assassinated over Croatia in what was reported as a freak plane crash.

In my mind, the flags were for Dad. All morning long the rumble of hundreds of Harley Davidson motor cycles echoed on the island. In my heart they were a tribute to him, in reality there was some sort of rally. Dad never joined such a group. Dad was always alone.

Dad’s heart was filled with turmoil so many years ago. Out of his graciousness, he decided to keep his distance from others. He did not believe in burdening anyone with his problems.He may have lived very alone, but I hoped that he knew that he wasn’t alone. He certainly was not. His contribution to the world was one of nobility and love. Who could find him wrong for this? I thought about this because Dad was raised catholic. I knew it had been decades since his last visit to church. The Community Center idea seemed the right thing to do. Why be false. God knew who Dad was. God knew of the love in a quiet man’s heart. God knew. That was all I really needed to remember. 

Johnnie literally sat on top of me hugging and holding me. Brooke laughed at her because of Johnnie’s kind spirit. Johnnie was just a caricature of love and comfort. There was closure somehow. The sun had come out this afternoon and the weather was getting back to normal. After the group of people broke up, Amy and I went to Tom’s house.

Tom sat there at the table, he put his hand on my shoulder. “Your Dad would be so proud of you. You did such a fine job today.” “Tom,” I told him. “I did nothing man. It just came from the heart.” 

“I sure am going to miss that asshole,” said Tom. Tears ran down his cheeks. This night, Amy and I stayed at Tom’s house again, this time, the water bed was avoided. Tom said he would sleep on it, but he didn’t. I told him not to.

Sunday happened. We went back to Bobbi’s house for Easter. Amy was having a terrible Easter because this was the first time that she and Sal were ever apart since they were married five years earlier. He was having a tough time back home.. Half his life was missing and it was difficult.

The next door neighbors were remodeling the house next door. Jamie yelled out to them. “You boys want some ass?” Jamie yelled. They all looked up. Jamie grabbed Laura and threw her over his shoulder. I kind of believe Jamie was doing this just to make Laura’s boyfriend Scott mad. It was clearly working. But, of course, “Mr. White Bread and Mayonnaise” dared not protest. Laura screamed as Jamie ran out of the yard with his sister over his shoulder. He actually carried her up the ladder next door before finally letting her go.

It occurred to me that eventually I would need to work on getting my sense of humor back. Not only this, but my sense of living back. Dad would want that. I was invited after the memorial to a friend’s to ride jet ski’s.  When I turned him down, he told me that I needed to start to move forward and not dwell on this.  We parted with me pissing him off when I accidentally called his 56 Chevy pickup a Ford.We all went outside to the picnic tables and had Easter dinner. Tina showed up with her daughter Ashley and husband Joe.

Bobbi’s friend Penny was there. Rosie stopped over. Theresa who worked at the newspaper, Port Aransas South Jetty was there. Joe backed his pickup in the driveway and had the stereo blasting. “Everclear” was was playing. The music seemed too upbeat to me. Reluctance still plagued me. Everyone around me seemed to be having too much fun. I know this was just my problem, my father would be telling me to cut it out if he was here. The Everclear music sang to me and I can never forget it. The song was Santa Monica.

Santa Monica
I am still living with your ghost
Lonely and dreaming of the west coast
I don’t want to be your downtime
I don’t want to be your stupid game
With my big black boots and an old suitcase
I do believe I’ll find myself a new place
I don’t want to be the bad guy
I don’t want to do your sleepwalk dance anymore
I just want to see some palm trees
Go and try to shake away this disease
We can live beside the ocean
Leave the fire behind
Swim out past the breakers
Watch the world die
I am still dreaming of your face
Hungry and hollow for all the things you took away
I don’t want to be your good time
I don’t want to be your fall-back crutch anymore
I’ll walk right out into a brand new day Insane and rising in my own weird way
I don’t want to be the bad guy
I don’t want to do your sleepwalk dance anymore
I just want to feel some sunshine
I just want to find some place to be alone
We can live beside the ocean
Leave the fire behind
Swim out past the breakers
And watch the world die

I could feel this Port Aransas visit ending. The island would never be the same again. I just wanted to cry. Jamie and I went to Dad’s house in the evening and packed up his Toyota pickup. He had to head back up towards Houston so that he could begin his second week at his new job.

The last Monday in Port Aransas. I got up and took a ride down the beach. I stopped and talked to Crockett. Then I continued down to the Jetty. I got out of the truck and walk a few feet out on it. So many times, Dad and I stood here. This was the place he called the end of the world. Indeed it was the end of the world for him. We walked out the Jetty at three o’clock in the morning in the winter against the wind and waves after having drank and played darts all night. We changed over to coffee and took a walk. We would watch the bold red sun rise from the water. No matter what I did, I couldn’t bring it back. I drove back to Bobbi’s house.

Brooke, Amy and I went to Dad’s house and took Dad’s freezer up to Tom’s house. We then went back to Dad’s to pack the truck up. Ben, an islander, who’s family name actually was dominant on the island including a street named after them, was a collector of sorts, met me at Bobbi’s and told me that he would take the house for me and the shed. This was a load off for me, although I suspected it might collapse as he tried to move it.

I went to City Hall to go over a couple of last minute things with Esther and to thank her for all of her help and the help of Island Cafe. I ran into Red while there. He shook his head. “Mike I could never publicly speak in front of a town like that. That was so good.” I was no longer the 19 year old kid that I was when Red knew me years ago. “A lot has happened Red. Many years and miles along the way. I only know that my Dad was not going to leave this world without everyone knowing just how good a father he was to us.”

I went to Clanton’s Texaco and had the oil changed on Dad’s truck. It may be a Port Aransas vehicle, I just knew it should make it home. Faith is a nice thing. That evening Tom invited us, including Bobbi, over for Chinese food. Tom actually made it himself. It was very good. It was quite the spectacle, he and Bobbi in the kitchen. There was so much innuendo flying around I was scanning the corners of the room for an umbrella. What would Dad say about this? It was good to see Tom moving forward.

April 9th Tuesday, the sun rises. I got up and went to Dad’s. I scanned this house. So much history. I don’t think I was prepared for the flood of memories that this was going to be for me. Debbie and I moved here from Avenue J in the fall of 85. We saw the demise of our relationship here and a couple intense on again off again times. That relationship made me grow up faster than anything else in my life. I was 19 and she was 26. She had 3 kids 10, 8, and 6 and had just got out of a 12 year rough relationship. We were together when I got the house, there was history. The house seemed to have memories in every fiber of its materials.

In 1986 I wrote a couple dozen songs here.  I was on fire.  It was the most productive time of my life for song writing.  I recorded dramatized tapes of stories and game shows for my friends who lived far away.  I discovered “The Trouble With Harry” on my tiny little black and white TV. I cooked my first ever meals here.

Good-byes were heavy in this house. I always seemed to be saying good-bye here. 

I remember leaving Port Aransas in 1986. How hard it was to say good-bye to Dad and Brooke. I returned with Carole in 1989. I beat alcohol in the place in the world where I had done my wildest times. 

The final night drinking September 9, 1989. The last wild night there would be, ending in explosive climax. He walked into the Gaff that night where I was drinking with an old friend Janet. You could feel him walk across the floor like he was the Outlaw Josey Wales himself. He would not even look at me. I tried to buy him a beer but he very clearly stated “I don’t want shit from you.” He finished his beer and left, I knew I had to follow. Somewhere in the anger of him telling me how badly I was screwing up, he threw an open full can of Budweiser across the room that hit me so hard in the side of the head it exploded all over the place. 

I plotted in my mind. Screw him! I will leave for New Hampshire tomorrow while he is working. But that was the night he saved my life. That night he did what he had to do to get me to understand so I could save me from myself. Parents have to do things that cause great pain to themselves in order to really love their children. He felt awful about about this the next day but from that day on I finally started to grow. I know that I could not still be alive today if he had not done what he did at that exact time. This brought about the end of Carole and I as it needed to. Saying good-bye to Dad and Brooke again. It ripped my heart out every time. WHY must there be good-byes? I hated them so much. 

My life seemed to be an endless string of good-byes. 1993 I returned to visit dad for 10 days. It should have been more but it was something. I was keenly aware of his vulnerability by this visit. Unfortunately, not enough. I think I will always have a hard time with this.

While I was there Ben came over and guaranteed me that he would clear the lot. I left the house turning back to look only one more time at 411 Ruthie Lane. 

We got into Brooke’s Saturn and picked up Rosie. Then we stopped at another house to drop off Taylor and John. As I sat in the car, Rosie said to me, “there is something I want you to have. It’s a sea bean.” She handed me the small, hard, brown pod that was no bigger than a quarter. “it has always given me good luck and I want you to have it.” “Thank you Rosie,” I said gratefully. “For everything. You don’t even know me and yet you have watched out for me since the moment I met you.” “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ve known Brooke for a long time.” Rosie played such an important role. The best part was, I never had a choice.

We headed over to the harbor where the charter boat that her husband Tommy ran was moored. Tommy stood on deck and helped us on. It was time to take care of Dad’s final request. 

We headed out of the harbor on the “Yellow Fin.” “Dad, you son-of-a-bitch,” I thought. Dad knew how much I hated vast amounts of water. This isn’t the first time he got me out on a boat in the Gulf. We sped at what seemed to be at least twice the speed of sound out into the main gulf stream. Tommy cut the engines. 

Port Aransas was just a little speck on the horizon now. The waves lifted and lowered us. Brooke, Amy and I spread Dad’s ashes on the water. They sparkled as they fell and floated the depths of the sea. Rosie gave Brooke rose pedals to spread with the ashes. Tommy banked the rudder so that the “Yellow Fin” cruised in a circle at and idle. We all stood at the rear with heads bowed. The sparkles dissipated in the dark water. The pedals continued to float on top of the water. Our circle got larger and wider. There was such a sweet touch at the way Tommy had done this. I do not know if he had ever done this before, but he gave Dad the
honor he deserved.

The “Yellow Fin” sped back to Port Aransas. I knew now. We were done on the Island. No matter what I wanted to hold on to, it did not seem to be here anymore. We went up to Tom’s and said good bye to him and Gayla. Gayla said, “I now know what Joe looked like when he was a young man. You talk like him, your voice is just like his, and you walk just like him. I will miss him and I will miss you kids.” My throat hurt I had to cry so bad. This was the last time I would ever see Tom.

We went back to Bobbi’s and thanked her for all she had done. She really came through for us all. For such a small lady, she has one of the biggest hearts I have ever known. I knew Dad would think so too.

Brooke, Amy, Taylor and John got into the Saturn. I got into the truck, went out Gulf Street and took a right turn on Cutoff Road. When we got to Cotter Street, we took a left and boarded the Ferry. As I shut the engine off to the truck on the Ferry I opened the door of the truck and got out. The light Texas wind blowing through my hair. My eyes were wet with un-cried tears. Goodbye Dad. I love you. Good bye Port Aransas, you were great.

As the ferry cut through the swells of the ship channel my mind screamed:

I am still living with your ghost
Lonely and dreaming of the west coast
I don’t want to be your downtime
I don’t want to be your stupid game
We can live beside the ocean
Leave the fire behind
Swim out past the breakers
Watch the world die
We can live beside the ocean
Leave the fire behind
Swim out past the breakers
Watch the world die