And I Got All His Songs

You've heard of my father

He died last year
After an illustrious career
In the music industry

But this isn't about my father

This is about
What's left of my father

Namely, his songs

When he died
There was a scramble
For his assets

My father was married four times
And had children with each of his wives

Then there are the trysts
That resulted
In even more offspring

While he was alive
His lawyers made sure an allowance was given
To each of the children

Some of the off-flings
As my sister Melissa calls them
Had worked out one-time cash settlements
But us legitimate kids
We got weekly pay

Except for me
I never took the pay
Not because I didn't need it
But because it would have felt
Like I owe my Dad something
And I really didn't want to owe him anything

For most of my childhood
He was either absent or drunk
And whatever conversations we had
Were very similar
To the types of talks
You would have with someone
Lacking a short-term memory

I was constantly reminding my father

Reminding him that I was done with school
Reminding him that I was no longer married
Reminding him that my birthday was two months ago

These reminders made him sad
Therefore seeing me
Made him sad

So most of the time
He just...

That was why it was strange
That out of everyone
I was the one
Who got the songs

Cody, from his first marriage
Was the eldest of all the children
Official or unofficial

By birthright, the songs
Should have been his

Then there's Patrick
From marriage three
Who's become a pretty big deal
In the music world
These past few years

I think most people
Were expecting him to get the songs

There's also Melissa
She was my pick to get them
She took care of Dad this past year
Turning away all offers of help
And making sure he got the best care
His money could buy

But when he died
And all the award shows
Had done their tributes
The news broke

I was the one
Who would be receiving
All his songs

At first I wanted to give them away
But songs aren't like antiques
You can't just give them to a museum

I realized I could give the rights
To the songs away
But then I'd risk turning on the television
And hearing one of my father's songs
Played over a commercial
For a feminine hygiene product

The problem with the whole situation
Was that even though I didn't always like my father
I always did love his music

The rest of the kids
Got a more tangible inheritance

Money, houses, cars, more money

But I was still the black sheep
Because I had something better than money
I had the ability to GENERATE money

Everyone felt that the songs
Should have been divided up
Like everything else

With the number of songs
My father wrote and licensed
Each of us could have gotten
Approximately six songs apiece

All I could imagine in my head
Was a never ending series of legal battles
Determining who would get which song

Considering my father wrote an album
Called 'Dirty in the Alleyway'
During his more overt sexual period
That could have made
For some interesting litigation

I would have loved to have heard
My born-again half brother Josiah
And my soccer mom half sister Kerri
Fighting over the rights
To 'Twist It Up Inside Me, Baby'

. . . . .

My father did teach me one thing

He taught me how to play guitar

Since we were horrible at talking
Whenever I would visit him in New York
We would sit up on his rooftop
And he would teach me guitar

It didn't require a lot of talking
And it passed the time

We would smoke up there too
Great parenting, I'm aware
And sometimes he would write a song
With me sitting right there
Witnessing musical history

Maybe that's why I got his songs
Maybe he felt like I was entitled to them
Since I had been there for their birth

. . . . .

I decided I wasn't going to do anything
About having the music

I was just going to keep the songs
And if anyone else wanted them
For bad commercials or what-have-you
I'd take it on a case-by-case basis

Whatever I felt I couldn't decipher
I'd leave to the estate lawyers

Melissa said I was doing the right thing
But she also asked
If I'd give her the rights to the 'Bad Radical' LP
So she could print the lyrics
On a collection of t-shirts

I don't blame her

My father didn't give any of us
Much in life

Maybe that's why
So many people don't mind taking what they can from him
Now that he's dead

. . . . .

I went back to New York
Back to my apartment
Back to my cat
And my ex-wife
Who stopped by
To extend her condolences
And let me she was getting remarried

I forgot how much I missed
Her sense of timing

When she left
I went up on the roof
With my guitar
Same one I've had
Since I was fifteen

I played a few of my Dad's songs
I can't play very well
But I got the basic idea going

About two roofs over
I saw two kids
Really, kids
Like eighteen, nineteen
Dancing with each other

The girl was in a bright yellow sun dress
And the guy was in jeans
And a baby blue t-shirt

It took me a second
To realize they were dancing
To the music I was playing

I picked up the tempo a little
To make it more interesting for them

The guy got a little too fancy
With his hip movements
And the girl laughed at him
So he grabbed her around the waist
And spun her around
Finally putting her down
And giving her one of those kisses
You give when you're still not really sure how to kiss

I miss kissing like that

You know I forgot
How much people
Like my Dad's music

I forgot that he could make
A newlywed couple
A third of his age
Dance on a rooftop
And really enjoy themselves

Maybe he gave me the music
Because he knew
I wouldn't try to lay any claim to it

Dad was never really belonged to anybody
And neither did his songs

And in a way
That was sort of the beautiful thing
About both

Maybe he knew
I'd just leave his songs out there
For anybody to come along
And dance to