In Remembrance
Looking back on my life is like looking back at a long bridge in the rearview mirror where the fog never seems to clear away completely. Almost like looking at old black and white photographs while in a snow storm. All right, enough of these damn puny metaphors...I'm no Acidman, that's for sure. My memories reveal themselves at some of the oddest times. You just never know when one will pop up from the subconscious and make you pull over to the side of the road to hang on to it, to remember; like Robbie's laughing heard from the outside of the house on poker night.
Dad's poker nights meant I could come home in any state I wanted. Be it drunk & stoned or up in the constellations on mushrooms. 'Cause once you were inside, standing next to the kitchen table, you could'nt identify a single person for all the smoke in the room. As dad would say, "you could cut the smoke with a knife." The smell was worse than any 50 year old bar in downtown Savannah. One of dad's buddies smoked the cheapest cigarettes you could find, the smell of them would carry you off down the road. I'd be standing next to that table looking at all those possum-eyed men having a good old time, drinking whiskey and playing cards, a gang of laughing hyenas. Once, I thought I was in a cowboy movie. Those damn poker nights would go until 4 o'clock in the morning. I'd go back to my bedroom and pass out with dad and acidman yelling and laughing at the top of their lungs, competing with one another through that smoke of stale cigarettes.
I looked up to Robbie for his guitar playing, but he was still an old man to me. Shit, I didn't want to play that old man music. I wanted to play heavy metal music, like Motley Crue and Iron Maiden. Anyway, I remember watching him play the guitar. It seemed like just another limb on Robbie, like it was natural for him. That made a huge impression on me and I can remember consciously making a decision to always have the guitar in my life. Robbie was one of those people that comes along and shines a little more light on what you're doing. I know he was a good friend of my dad, Catfish. Dad used to share all kinds of stories with us that included Robbie. Still does when I'm around...
My heart goes out to Robbie's family. Mr. Robbie Smith will be missed.
Dad's poker nights meant I could come home in any state I wanted. Be it drunk & stoned or up in the constellations on mushrooms. 'Cause once you were inside, standing next to the kitchen table, you could'nt identify a single person for all the smoke in the room. As dad would say, "you could cut the smoke with a knife." The smell was worse than any 50 year old bar in downtown Savannah. One of dad's buddies smoked the cheapest cigarettes you could find, the smell of them would carry you off down the road. I'd be standing next to that table looking at all those possum-eyed men having a good old time, drinking whiskey and playing cards, a gang of laughing hyenas. Once, I thought I was in a cowboy movie. Those damn poker nights would go until 4 o'clock in the morning. I'd go back to my bedroom and pass out with dad and acidman yelling and laughing at the top of their lungs, competing with one another through that smoke of stale cigarettes.
I looked up to Robbie for his guitar playing, but he was still an old man to me. Shit, I didn't want to play that old man music. I wanted to play heavy metal music, like Motley Crue and Iron Maiden. Anyway, I remember watching him play the guitar. It seemed like just another limb on Robbie, like it was natural for him. That made a huge impression on me and I can remember consciously making a decision to always have the guitar in my life. Robbie was one of those people that comes along and shines a little more light on what you're doing. I know he was a good friend of my dad, Catfish. Dad used to share all kinds of stories with us that included Robbie. Still does when I'm around...
My heart goes out to Robbie's family. Mr. Robbie Smith will be missed.
posted by Flatfoot at 9:23 AM
8 Comments:
Sweet son, thanks for the kind words, Dad.
Nice memories there, son-of-Catfish. :)
My mothers closest friend died last August and I never learned to call her by her first name. I'd have very much liked to call her *W* instead of the more formal Mrs *M*. I smiled when I saw the Mr. Robbie Smith. Reminded me of my conflicted thoughts on what exactly to call my mom's friend, now that I was an adult. LOL
I envy you those wonderful memories of your dad and Rob:)
What a beautiful story. Thanks.
Nicely done. I got to play poker once with your dad and Rob, and I got fleeced and loved every minute of it. I would have loved to sit at the poker you described, even though I sure as hell would have ended up leaving a pile of cash on the table.
I am here by way of your Dad's blog. This post made me smile. Thanks!
That was so sweet; thanks for sharing your memories. Came here via your Dad...
Glad ya'll enjoyed the post! I was happy to write it and share my brief encounter with the legend, Acidman.
Thank ya'll for all the kind words.
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