“I always knew that you were insane with your pain.”

Even thousands of miles and an ocean apart, your father still kept up with our endless phone conversations. I should say, he indulged my calls. Maybe it’s a bit embarrassing to admit it. Nevertheless, the time spent reinforced our bond and, ultimately, that is what matters most as I keep our bond alive for both of us. I was living on Maui and Miguel was, I think, making plans to or had already relocated to the Rio Grande Valley. I’m not sure this will make sense to most people but, nearly two years later, I’m finding clarity and inspiration to chronicle who he was and what he meant to me in this life. This is an important effort that has perpetuity.

Miguel had a well of patience; it almost seemed inexhaustible but even the best of us have limits. He flinched at me once. For some reason, though, we kept on talking for hours, months, and years about the excitement, uncertainty, and idiosyncrasies of our youth. Thinking of his tolerance of me makes me chuckle with amusement and self-ridicule. I say amusement because I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for him to listen to my 20-something rants, crude opinions, and warped rigidity. He would just let me blabber on – and he certainly contributed too – about our perspectives on music, life, and family. For him, I was someone who could listen to the challenges of being involved in a generations-old family business. We’d go on like that for hours, peppering funny anecdotes, friendly jabs in the rib, and genuine camaraderie for an hour or longer on the phone.

Even when we both lived in Dallas for a couple of years, we’d talk late into the night. In hindsight, I was a bit obnoxious, especially when I’d call him at night after work which usually ended around 11pm at the earliest. He’d answer the phone and usually did his best not to sound groggy.

“Hey, were you asleep? Come on man, it’s 11:30!”

“No, no. I’m just laying here. I was watching TV earlier.”

We’d kick off our conversations about…music! Portland alt-rockers The Dandy Warhols second album was released in 1997 while we were located an ocean apart. Although living in God’s backyard enjoying the sun, Pacific ocean, and the whales, I was also extremely homesick despite the choice having been all mine. Speaking with Miguel in that time was soothing, an elixir.

We talked about the Dandys new album, and I had landed on a ultra-critical note of their first single and music video, “Not If You Were the Last Junkie on Earth.” He enjoyed it, but I dissed the song (and music video) for the blatant references to hard drugs and addiction which sounds ridiculous now when it was obviously a critique of drug use. So there I went off and, in classic form, Miguel’s deadpan rebuttal was, “What? I like it. Geez.” I pictured him from my distant apartment as he expressed his opinion while bobbing his head and raising his arms with open palms facing upward as he said those words to my amusement.

So to you, Miguel, on the topic of their first single from that Dandy Warhols album, I say, “What? I like it. Geez. ”