Goodbye: A tribute to my father.

So, despite that fact that I haven't written anything on this thing in well over a year, I grace you all with my presence.
About a year and a half ago, I moved away from home. It was 3 days after my 18th birthday, I was tired of living with my parents and sister and I was in love with a beautiful girl who lived a few States away. So, I packed my bags, caught the next Plane to NSW and began my new life. A life of my own, without worrying about Mum or Dad or My Sister or My Niece. Just me and the woman I love.
Life was progressing at a nominal rate until one day when I got a phone call from Mum. Dad was sick. He'd had a stroke. He was in the Hospital. HOLY FUCK! What the actual fuck?! I'd only seen the man 3 weeks ago and now he'd had a major stroke and the outcome wasn't looking good. Needless to say, I was fucking shocked.
But, not having a car or the several thousand dollars it would have cost to fly back up to Queensland and see him, life kinda continued without any encouragement.
Then I got the call, it was about midnight (that's always more dramatic) and it was Mum. I knew what she was going to say before she said it, there was no other reason for a call that late.

He was gone. *snap* Just like that. Here one minute, gone the next. I cried myself to sleep in my lovely ladies arms that night.
Then I called up my boss, told her the news and asked for the day off. She was fine with it. Tried to give me encouragement, didn't really work. I was back at work 2 days later. Dad was gone, yes. But my bills weren't. I had to work, I doubt I was very cheerful that day.

Then Mum called again, his funeral was coming up, would I be able to make it? No, Mum, I don't have the money to fly up. What if I could pay for your ticket? No, Mum, it would be thousands of dollars and how would I get home? Oh, that's ok then. Pretty sure I cried that night, too.

The issue was, Dad had died exactly a month after I had left home, a month to the day. It was Easter, flights were packed and expensive. I couldn't just pull the money to get up there out of thin air anymore than I could pull the money to get home out of my arse. I couldn't make it. Mum and My Sister understood, they did. Or at least they really tried.

I loved my Dad, he was probably the single best person I'd ever met. Sure, he had his flaws, he'd made mistakes. But still, he worked everyday up until he was fired for having a mini-stroke, just to support us. Don't tell my Mum this, but I'll always think that he knew he could finally rest now that I was looking after myself. My Sister would always have my niece, Mum would always have her. It was me he was worried about, and once I had left, moved on, he decided he'd had enough.

I know I wasn't there to send you off, I know some people make horribly cruel remarks about my absence and I know sometimes I make off-colour jokes to mask the pain, but. I love you Dad. I will always and have always. I know what I'll name my first Son and I know that I made you proud and you loved me. Since I couldn't be there when it happened, I know this is a poor excuse, but, I love you, Dad and I'll miss you.

Who is that person?

Have you ever had a think about the amount of people you interact with on a daily basis? Like, honestly thought about it? I work in the retail industry and I meet nearly 200 to 300 people a day, on average. I forget which people I have helped and, unless they are repeat, usual customers I never remember a face. That's not for lack of trying though. I do try, I just cannot remember all the people I meet once and then never see again. But there are those that I see repeatedly that I don't know anything about. The girl at Brumbys who sold me my breakfast pie. The girl at Woolies who sold me some water and a chair. The man at work who I spent 20 minutes with, explaining the difference between and Xbox and a PS3. Is it simply because I don't care? No. We just don't see people anymore. We see objects that resemble what people used to be but aren't. We see the shape of a person behind the counter, but only acknowledge our change. What do we know about them? Nothing, or so close to it to make no difference. The guy at the Servo, what's his story? Is he rich? Is he poor? Is he straight or gay? Sick or Heathly? Mean or Nice? Married or Single? The girl who cooks the food you eat for lunch? What of her? Does she have AIDs? Does she have Depression? Will she kill herself? What about the people that do? Why did they do it? Normally, we don't care unless, either, they were close to us or as gossip. Is it because we can't ask questions? Is it because we don't? We won't? When did we stop caring about other human beings outside our own little circle? When did it become socially ambigious to ask questions? Will they get mad if I ask them? Will they get upset? I'd better not just incase. I'm planning on making an effort to make people human again, just by myself. From this day forward I will endeavour to ask at least one person a day, a question in no way related to me. "So, what was your weekend like?" "How long have you been married?" "Are you planning on having more kids?". Just something to make myself realize that people are people. Not blank spaces filling the roles that people used too. What do you think?

Long Time No See.

Now, I know it's been months since I last took some time out to write this sad excuse of a blog. but I felt like writing something today, so lay off, huh. D'you know that sad day when we realize that our parents aren't perfect and that they don't expect us to be? Know what makes that worse? When they treat your siblings like they are perfect. Plain and simple favouritism. It's bullshit. I don't think my demands or requests are unreasonable; A bottle of Coke there, a bag of chips here. Oh, I forgot to mention, I'm a fat guy. Moving past that, why should I be made to feel like shit for asking my parents to get me things when most of the time I have the money for said things. That's not to say that I get treated like the Step-Child or anything, they love me, I know that. But why does it always, ALWAYS feel like they love my sister more? I have a job, I have hobbies, I have a girl and yet I'm not as good as my sister? This is why parents of only children are lucky, they don't have a favourite and lie about it to the others, they just envy their friends for their smarter, better behaved kids. I know I'm rambling but this seriously pisses me off and I'd guess that I'm not alone, So Em, Tim, you're the only ones who read this tripe, what do you think?

Some things I forgot

Sorry bout this fast second post but I forgot to mention a thing. To all those who like themselves a bit of screaming, sort of Emo-y music, The Amity Affliction is doing a show at the Gladstone PCYC in early September. Get there nice and early for decent standing room, I won't be there but since I live across the road I'm gonna get a show anyway!

More then you wanted to know

So, this if my first Blog post so I hope you will bare with me through it as we both learn a little. I'm Dylan, I have been called many other names: Red, Surrender, Douche-Bag, so for so forth. I'm 17, Male and Australian. Wow, I just A/S/L'd my own Blog... I was convinced to create this by my friend Tim, over at moosegoesrawr.blogspot.com, silly name I know, but no worse then my own. I've wanted a way to annouce to the world all the little things that daily dive me fucking insane, and apparently, this is a way. So to start off with something small, Why must I feel bad for doing the things that I like? I mean, they don't hurt anyone real, I have the time and money for it, so why must I be told that I'm a loser and a geek for playing WoW? (World of Warcraft for those of you who don't know it) It's a fun game and I meet some really nice people, so why the abuse from people who either can't play the game because they don't know how to use a computer or don't want to play the game because Reading is Hard? Just some thoughts for you to mull over, I'll probably be back, but lets hope that I'm not.