It was a chilly morning in September. My father and my sister had come to meet my brand new son, Chogyi.

My dad leaned into the bassinet, took one look into his grandson’s eyes and said,

Dad Blanket

“There is my Teacher…”


Chog Bassinet

He meant it. Throughout the years, Chogyi would test him. He didn’t really know it, or perhaps he did. But he kept my father on his toes, he kept him moving.

My father gave him his first guitar—Joey Eppard inspired him to pick it up.

He finally picked it up, my father came to play with him and Chog split to the skate park…

He put the guitar down when he was seven, and didn’t pick it up again until just before my father passed. He never got to see what Chogyi could really do with that thing…

Or did he? Or does he? Or is he riding alongside him when he plays?

I don’t know, but I do know that there is a blessed flame of his very own, within that young man, his heart is in his work and his work ethic is tremendous. And it burns the shit out of those strings and people are moved in a profound way when they hear him play…

I don’t know what the true story is, but I know that if he were here on this plane, in the body we knew him to have, my father would be beaming from ear to ear to see the evolution of this incredible young man and his guitar…

But if he were here, he would be missing shows, for their schedules would likely conflict…

I would venture to say that Chog is still teaching him.. the relationship has just gotten deeper.

It’s like that sometimes.

Happy Birthday Dad, I love you so… 


2 thoughts on “Happy Birthday Dad…

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