daddio it's been 3 years i love you daddio daddyo

When I was a teenager, My dad had one of those illegal satellite cards that allowed us to watch all the pay channels for free on his DirecTV and so I'll never forget how I secretly cracked his 4 digit security code on the remote (2580)(right down the middle) which allowed me and my brother to sneak watch all the adult film channels.

Love - is like this thing that's not exclusive or limited - in this moment it feels as simple as a support aide to another person as we support aide our own selves while on our independent yet intertwined journeys - that get a little less lonely because of these support aides who present us with their versions of love.

It doesn't have to be forever. It doesn't have to be physical. It could be a thought, a moment, a series of seemingly mundane interactions that add up to care and profundity.

I loved my dad in that sense. He was a criminal for having that satellite card. I was a juvenile offender for covertly hacking his passcode (2580)(right down the middle of the remote). And it's been three years since he passed on, and I have this joke that it's been hard growing up without a father.

I had one. He was here then gone, a few times in my life, no one's fault. Just people being people throwing one another off course in the names of love (sometimes support aides clash) and how the grief morphs. I can't even say I dwell on him every single day now, which makes it all the more jarring when he does reappear.

I often tell the story of how I left the front door open when I barged in to see him on his last day alive (in a heroic two year fight against pancreatic cancer) (After a heroic 70+ year fight of being a human and all that it entails) and how minutes after he died a hummingbird flew into the house. And how when I am golfing with my brother (at cheap courses with Goodwill clubs) or walking around the Echo Park lake with my sister we will see hummingbirds together. How one morning I woke up in tears needing to know he was here and an hour later my brother spotted one at the breakfast place we were at together.

I see him every day as my smile turns more into his own. What a guy. What a guy. Oh the secrets we had from one another that we would have laughed at, boy did we have a lot of laughs together for a few years together, those ones where we had finally found one another, as support aides, in every way, including the forever kind of love kind of way.

Little Randy's Unsolicited But Very Welcomed Player Card on Me

Dan Choan nytimes travel section

mangela siobhanacita

It was the night of 5pm. We were driving cuz you said to drive. The sun goes behind the mountains this time of year not the ocean. The remains of its light glimmered in salt air or pollution by the time we got to the sand and it was spectacular.

Then in slowing to darkness a canyon drive with a bookstore with a Buddha in it. An overlook with a bad violinist practicing unseen nearby as teenagers fingered each other's hearts. I held you close to me like I always want to do. We made jokes about the Valley half sparkling below us, you said everything from Van Nuys to Woodland Hills was ours.

Some trace of the sun north made the sky red, it was dark but the sky was still somehow red now over the mountains. I felt inspired, what a ridiculous thing to say except for the fact that it never happens that way anymore. That inspired feeling was like a generous lighthouse in youth until I took it for granted and it became the default but as the default there became no lift from it.

A haphazard bar we swung our car back toward on Ventura Boulevard, I had spent thirty plus years missing it but with you we were found. The bartenders were part time porn stars with incredible personalities while the old ladies in heavy make up got rowdy and cat called the forgetful gentlemen sinking into their seats at the old tired but alive counter. It was so alive in that old establishment no matter how dry the carrot cake or dire the karaoke.

We played darts at the place next door. I would've paid to make that feeling stay stay stay but you know how it goes - to appreciate them you have to let them go and all that - so that they return and all that - the way those darts sped through the air and stuck to the straw or cork like bee sting arrows thrown by pleasure hunters talking in between our throws about our pains. It's like, they are only just starting to creep in here this morning in late September but it's like the Santa Ana Winds the way I love you, gentle, warm, powerful and strong right into the eye of chaos, a fire in Malibu started by them, I grew up in a trailer on a burned down lot at the top of a hill in Malibu, and I love you like a fire in Malibu.