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Dependency

When the headlights struck my father he was in a rundown motel by the lake. It resembled nothing short of a nightmare. It had been a couple years since our last encounter, and this being the first time he and Benjamin met. My father's eyes were black and the skin clung tightly to his cheekbones. Clearly some substance possessed him. There were other similarly possessed people inhabiting this dark place. They moved slowly through the parking lot casting long looks. In his small room my father wasted no time before launching into extravagant stories of his youth and his current debacles with the law. In a surge of pride he put on an Iska Dhaaf t-shirt he had stenciled, bearing a large picture of my face, and told us about my childhood. He showed us swords and knives and spoke often of how he was dying. We left that night to stay at my Aunt's house nearby. Among the paintings of child angels and the sickening fragrance of potpourri I shattered into tears. We went back the next morning and played some songs for him. As the words left my mouth I realized how much my story was tied up with his story. As if the words were streaming from his pain and out of my mouth. He wept and the others gathered to listen. I was certain this would be the first and last time I'd play these songs for him. As he looked at me I could tell he saw me for the first time as I actually was, and his face warped somewhere between pure joy, regret, and wonderment. In his face I saw my own face more and more. How different things could have been for both of us given any other path. It was Benjamin's idea to have him perform "Dependency" for a music video. When I wrote the song I didn't picture my father, but after the experience months before it somehow made sense. I didn't quite know what it meant but I knew that it was important. It seemed important for Benjamin too, since his father passed away from an overdose when he was a child. I sent him the song and the lyrics and asked him to set a location. When we saw my father this time he looked better, aside from the coughing fits and regular nose bleeds. He took us to an orchard where a large oak tree stood. Underneath this tree his “belly button” is buried. Our family grew up working this orchard. A man who worked the fields spoke to me in Spanish. My father translated his words to me. He said my father was a good man and that he was dying. He said his daughter had recently passed. He wanted me to understand how sacred this moment was. He held his daughter in his eyes as he explained this to me. I taught my father the song and we sang it together in the orchard. It was strange to hear our voices blend for the first time. I was surprised to see how quickly he picked it up. The video began writing itself and we tried to capture the story unfolding around us. The next morning he got in a fight with his roommate. His nose bleeding into his hands on the side of the road. I don't believe he slept that night. I was pretty certain the video wasn't going to be finished then. After talking to him for awhile he calmed down and we were able to proceed. We finished shooting later that night. On the last shot my father fell into the mercury ridden lake. He was shivering cold and went to warm up in the car. His roommate said he couldn't stay there so we took him to a hotel. I helped him take off his boots and made sure he took a warm shower. I got a call from him the next day and his voice sounded clearer. Not many fathers would have the courage to do something like this. I’m very proud of him. It was easily one of the most meaningful moments in my life.