I going on a little well a lot of a personal side with this blog. My father would have been 60 today (Jan. 17). He will be gone 17 years this November. It is normally a kind of ruff day, but I get through each year. This year is different though. Since the beginning of the month it has been hard, and I have been dreading this day. Dad, and I were very close. We had a special relationship, and a lot of people didn't know or realize how close him, and I actually were/still are. This month has been hell actually. Especially after I decided to do a bunch of work on my wife's car. My did was a mechanic his entire life. He never wanted me to work on cars or semis like he always did. He used to tell me in a partially joking, partially serious manner "If you ever become a mechanic I'll rip your arms of, and beat you with the bloody ends.". He was joking yes, but he never wanted to see me go into hard labor as a career. He wanted me to use my talents for a living. He wanted me to be a cartoonist for Disney. Most people don't know but music isn't my only talent. I can draw, and write poetry. Though after my father was killed I only drew a couple times. Mostly for art class in school, and like 3 pictures maybe 4 since Dad was killed for pleasure. I lost all connection with it, and their are times that are hard for me to even work on music or pick up one of my guitars. One thing that always sticks in my head about playing is when I was practicing Metallica's One that I transposed for one guitar, and played in the 8th grade talent show. I was in the basement in the music room I had with my guitar blaring. Dad came storming in, and was telling me to turn down the radio it was too loud. He saw me standing there with my guitar in my hands, and my stereo wasn't on. He looked at me, and said "That was you? You're getting good.". That moment still sticks in my head, and will play like a movie in my head when I close my eyes playing at times. My dad was my best friend. He used to walk with me to high school in the morning, and we would talk the whole time. He would then slip me a few dollars to buy a soda, and junk food at lunch then would say "Don't tell your mom.". It brings tears to my eyes just sitting here thinking about all this stuff. I was abused by my other parent, but Dad and I were always close. I have nightmares to this day about how he was killed, and will wake up in cold sweats or having nightmares that something happened to my wife or sons. My father was killed by an idiot driver, and died in a violent and bloody manner. Those mental pictures of seeing everything when I was 14 will never leave my head. Horrible pictures, and memories inflicted on a child. I keep going no matter if those things haunt me, my seizures act up, or my back, abdomin, or shoulder killing me. Having those mental pictures, seizures, having the muscles torn of my right shoulder blade, having entire abdominal wall made of plastic webbing, walking around with 2 broken discs in my back on a daily basis for 12 years. I don't give in, and you guys never should either. Never give in, never give up, and never ever forget that.