something about my dad, who died

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I never wrote an obituary type thing for my dad. He wouldn't have wanted me to pay to have it put in the shitty local paper, for example, nor would he have wanted it posted all over Facebook. I'm sure his friends have written plenty about him over there anyway. But today, on his 66th birthday and for no one in particular, I wanted to share a little bit about him.

My dad, James Edward Hayden, Jr., was born on January 27, 1957 in Uniontown, Pennsylvania, to Julia Angeline Hayden (née Vitti) and James Edward Hayden, Sr. He was an only child and a late addition; his mother was in her 40s and his father was nearly 50. He was close with his dad and had a famously comedic and difficult relationship with his mother. He played music from a young age, picking up drums and guitar in high school, which started a long career playing bars, hotels, and events with various rock bands throughout southwestern Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Maryland. His father died in 1974, the same year he graduated high school, and he ended up at California University of Pennsylvania studying English literature, where he received a bachelor's degree. (He attended, but did not finish, a master's program in the subject at Penn State.)

He intuitively understood music. I know he worked at it and practiced a lot, but it just came easily to him, and I think he was completely oblivious to the fact that not everyone could do what he did. He could play guitar, bass, piano/keyboard, and drums, and he liked to sing as well. He was always trying to improve. A few years ago I found out he was taking voice lessons from a friend who had perfect pitch, trying to maintain his singing voice and improve his range. I remember being so delighted with this information, which he of course didn't widely share. One thing I have learned from both of my parents throughout my adulthood is that it's never too late to get better at something or try something new.

My dad taught guitar lessons himself at Micarelli's Music in Uniontown on and off to teenagers throughout the years and while he didn't always like the music his students brought to him wanting to learn how to play, he was always pleased that they were enthusiastic about wanting to learn and improve, and he loved that THEY loved something enough to want to know more about it. My favorite thing about him, and something that I have always hoped to emulate, was that he always noticed and SAW when someone loved something, and he wanted to support that love in them. It didn't have to be something he liked, or even understood. He recognized passion and affinity in others and he wanted to learn more about them. I was the beneficiary of this many times, especially when I heard new music that I enjoyed, because I was always so excited for my next visit home so I could play it for him in the car. My dad took me to my first concert when I was 14 years old; it was the Pixies' first reunion tour (because I was a very pretentious 14-year-old). He drove me 5 hours to Camden, New Jersey to see them in the dead of winter. We've seen Stephen Malkmus, the Counting Crows (one of his favorite bands), Dweezil Zappa, Hallelujah the Hills (one of my favorite bands). Our shared love of music put a lot of miles on our vehicles, whether we were driving around listening to my iPod in the cassette tape adapter when I was in high school or on our way to Maryland or Ohio or New Jersey or Connecticut to see some semi-obscure live performance in more recent years, and these are some of my memories with him that I cherish the most.

Professionally, my dad bounced around a few different organizations, but his continuing theme was adult education. He taught math at the Community College of Allegheny County in Braddock in the 90s. Later, he taught computer skills classes at the Pennsylvania CareerLink, in Forest Hills and then in Uniontown, which was what he was doing at the time of his death. He also worked with people transitioning out of the prison system helping them with job skills training and finding jobs. He cared a lot about helping other people. I've sat through his computer classes before, and his patience and care with teaching basic computer concepts and applications to many folks who had never even seen a computer before was truly special and kind. He never thought there was a stupid question. As an IT professional myself, it's an attitude I try to bring to my own work every day, and something I learned by watching him.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention our family. My mom and dad met in the 1980s while working at a burglar alarm installation company. I was born in 1990 and they broke up as a couple in about 1993, but they remained committed to co-parenting me with grace and kindness and without the involvement of any courts. My mom went through a difficult divorce in 2006 and after that my parents became even closer friends. It was kind of traumatic for me at first -- I'm sure they could both recount me standing on my dad's porch SCREAMING while he and my mom hung out and had a drink together that this was NOT OKAY. But it was of course okay and better than any family unit I could possibly imagine.

When I went off to college my parents often visited me together. We shared awesome meals together and long car trips and hung out in many crappy hotel rooms eating pizza, drinking beer, and watching stupid shit on TV. We laughed together so much over the last 15 years before he died. I cannot emphasize that enough, that we were almost always making each other laugh.

My dad was a regular fixture at my mom's house over the last few years in particular and they always had breakfast together once every weekend, and even did their grocery shopping together. My mom's long-term partner became very good friends with my dad and they bonded over a mutual love of rock music and nice guitars, even writing some songs together in their spare time.

He had a lot of friends, many of whom I met for the first time at a memorial I had for him last August. He wasn't usually in big groups of people, but he made individual time for others on a regular basis. He simply had so many people in his life and he moved through the world touching them in different ways. They wrote in a guestbook that I put out at the memorial about his kindness and his musical talent, and the warmth they felt being around him.

I know I'm only writing about the good times, because there were so many. Like any relationship with someone you're very close to, nothing is perfect. My dad was a mercurial and weird guy (described by some who have met him as a "true eccentric") who lived in an 18th century timber house that was collapsing around him and was largely full of garbage. He had three cats, whom he loved deeply, but he never got two of them neutered and they pissed literally everywhere. I had to spend $20,000 having the house torn down because it was so bad and the withering look I got from structural engineers and contractors when I asked if any part of it could be saved is seared into my brain. I loved that house. I had told my dad that in March of 2022 I was going to take time off of work and help him clean it out. Instead, two months before that could happen, he died. He died late at night in a single vehicle car accident and I'm really never going to have clear answers about what happened that night. He had just turned 65, and was thinking seriously about retirement. It was supposed to be a new chapter of his life and he was going to be a bigger part of mine. He's not here anymore, and I hate it.

Most of all I miss his laughter. There are two types of families in this world (found or otherwise). Either you're a family that makes silly noises at each other or you aren't. We are a silly noises family. Every day I find myself making silly noises and thinking of him. I think I make them more now because they remind me of him.

Every day that goes by that I can't call him or text him or email him and talk to him about what's going on in my life is extremely difficult, because he was the person I always wanted to talk to first. He put me at ease about every bad breakup in my messy bitch 20s, every minor workplace grievance, every time I was annoyed with my mother. He celebrated every success I ever had, sometimes sarcastically with a "well fuck you!" if I called him to let him know about an awesome meal I just cooked (because he was jealous). (I haven't even mentioned how much he loved food, or what a wonderful cook he was, because I'm almost 1500 words in and I know there will always be more to say.) He also always let me know that he was proud of me and always ensured that I knew, in my heart, that my happiness was most important to him, and we shared our happiness together more times than anyone could ever enumerate. He's my best friend. He's the reason I hear jokes in music, the reason I love old movies, the reason I take road trips. He taught me to be kind, independent, gracious and patient with others, and to never settle for less than the respect I deserve.

I admit to struggling here without him, and I am also just gutted for those of you who didn't have a chance to meet him. He was so deeply fun to talk to and I think he and I brought out the best in each other a lot of the time. Happy birthday, Dad. It's always going to be a hard day for me now, but it wouldn't be so hard if our time together hadn't been so amazing. I love you.

my dad, a real one -- Jan 27 1957 - Jan 30 2022

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