Go Shinning!

Ian,

You would hop into my car; you would give me a look. I would hand you my phone and you would act as the DJ spinning tunes. I cannot count the number of times when you would have my phone in your hand and ask me, "What to do some Shinning?" Then off we would go listening to "Wincing the Night Away." Interesting album and choice. Don't ask me about the cover - still don't get it, but looks like a modern Bosch or Dali outing.

The Shins seemed to arrive out of nowhere and on to our greatest hits list. They seemed to connect between atmospheric music, indie and good old guitar work. These are not Simple Songs, but complex, interesting and would hold one's attention. You were migrating out of heavy to the subtle and they seemed to fit as an appropriate transition - one that stuck. Although "Wincing" was THE album, "Port of Morrow", has stuck as it was given to Katy that last Christmas and was shared among the family. Songs like "Simple Song" really reminded me of the Who on Quadraphonia - but with alt-rock feel. You got the Black Keys, "El Camino" CD that Christmas. I never listened to the whole album until Danny gave it to me the following Christmas - it was a good choice for you. We would have really enjoyed listening to it together. Sorry we did not share it more. 

I think back one Saturday afternoon, you had been at TAMU, maybe in September, and were visiting home without friends (an odd occurrence) and you just said, "Let's go Shinning!" and we put "Wincing" on the Boss in the living room and talked about life, talked about music, and just listened to the whole thing. Not even 45 min, but that time remains golden - cemented in my memory - your face, your exuberance, your voice, our conversation. It reminds me how we could just relate to each other about almost anything. It's Only Life for us - how we enjoyed spending time together and just sit and be. Now, quiet afternoons Turn on Me and I really miss you in the deafening silence. You are like a Phantom Limb - I feel you still; hear you still; long to be with you still.

It was not just listening to music; we would often fill lazy days or moments with spontaneous sports. We would just pop up and agree to go out into the street outside the house, and throw the Frisbee. I taught Danny in CA; he became very good. We may have thrown together, but he really taught you and then Ultimate practice improved your game and Caylea jumped in too. I was busy getting my Sea Legs from CA on through TAMU to keep up with you in Ultimate! How fun it was to "flick" to "toss" to "overhead" to ... whatever and watch your athleticism - chase down my errant throws, catch the disc and return it. We would play until late - till we could barely still see the disc as it rose and fell between darkness and the illumination of the street light. Running up the hills in our yard, jumping over rocks, racing to keep a disc from hitting a neighbor's garage door. I still remember the times the disc or a ball went into the city storm drain. How we would run, use our feet to block or step on the disc to keep it from sliding down the storm drains - there were two of them to avoid right near the house. Once down the drain, there was No Way Down for this old guy - but you would not let the disc stay there. We would pull the man-hole open and you would climb down and fetch the disc. Once, there was a cat down in the drain - not sure why! He was surprised by you jumping down like a Red Rabbit and greeting him! Unfazed, you would toss the disc up, haul yourself out and we would be back tossing the disc again. 

 At TAMU, we would throw the disc outside the Corps dorm, around campus. Everyone seemed to stare at us. Most parents were there as functional elements to unload, carry, visit, etc. But we were there like friends to share experiences - and we were good at throwing, running, catching. I remember the evening we threw from the Corps Dorm all the way to North Gate to eat dinner. I knew all the "old people" were jealous of me being the "cool father." More like it, they were actually jealous of me having the "cool son" who still wanted to hang out with his Dad and be patient with him to join the games. 

The discussions about Ultimate as you walked or drove to or from practice still rattle in my mind. You needed your bike! You carried a disc everywhere and would love to play with whoever would throw with you. At Zilker, you made the Austin News with Derrick - throwing and catching - how cool was that! 

Disc replaced basketball as our causal competitive or collaborative pastime as you turned from Sophomore to Junior in High School. Seeing the lone basketball goal often leads to a Black Wave of sadness - I miss you - just miss you! 

But I must remember the memories of one-on-one, 3 point shooting contests, dunk competitions and doing things that were really just For a Fool as a father. I wanted to never be outdone by you and would strain my oldness to grab the rim, dunk, or improve my shot - waking up the next morning with lots of soreness. Climbing out of bed - getting my Sea Legs - you would be waiting in the kitchen - ready for the day like we did nothing at all. Jealous. 

You never out-grew the "hanging out with Dad and Mom" stage, none of our kids did, but as you grow up it did become less common. You would hang out with friends extensively and late - coming to visit from TAMU, or living at home. We had only two rules in the house - tell us where you would be and when you would be home - so if something happened we could find you. You would let us know you were home. You could text us - like Caylea - but you wanted the interaction - even late (or early!) in the morning. You would always come into our room. Mom and I would be sleeping and one or both would awaken as we felt we were being stared at or after you touch us - or quietly said "Dad, Dad! I'm home." I still remember seeing your outline in the dark saying that line: "Dad, I'm home!" Nervousness, no matter how mild, exists for parents when their kids are not in their sight of vision. It diminishes a great deal when you guys grow up and move out. But it is always there. Knowing you were home, safe - what a longing memory. I know these memories are a Bait and Switch, reminding me that I want you hovering over me to awaken me every night as I go to bed, but having to believe you are safe and truly Home. But the feeling of emptiness, lack of control and missing you is huge. Some people say It's Only Life, the circle of joy and pain that makes up human existence - but I say that is out of order. I want a different outcome. 

James Mercer of the Shins wrote about a rough transition in his life in "Fall of '82." I wish I could express things that well. The Spring of '13 was not just rough, but continues to wear heavy. You struggled with narcolepsy and needed Sleeping Lessons with associated sleeping meds - to synthesize sleep time into real rest. Your zest for life overwhelmed what was needed for the long term, to enjoy and live today. How I wish you took the lessons more seriously! How I wish I was more diligent about meds, sleeping habits, challenges between sleep and college, and the dangers of driving. I can't punish myself; you had to own your own life; but how I wish I could still parent you and get a different outcome!

I know these are largely random and disconnected thoughts just linked by the names of Shin's songs. But it has been good to just talk to you, to remember the music we shared, think afresh of you and know that you can hear me. The "Simple Song" expresses in a way what you added to our lives. So, "E" - read the lyrics with the thankfulness that are contained. 

Love you, 

Dad

Well this is just a simple song
To say what you done
I told you about all those fears
And away they did run
You sure must be strong
And you feel like an ocean
Being warmed by the sun …

My life in an upturned boat, marooned on a cliff
You brought me a great big flood
And you gave me a lift
To care, what a gift…
I know that things can really get rough when you go it alone
Don’t go thinking you gotta be tough, to play like a stone
Could be there’s nothing else in our lives so critical
As this little home! ...
Love’s such a delicate thing that we do, with nothing to prove
Which I never knew